The Seven Year King (The Faerie Ring #3) (5 page)

The gaudily dressed Court Jester sat in a relaxed pose next to the throne. The colorful stripes and patterns of his clothing were comical next to the morbid black that Donegal wore. Tiki imagined she could hear the bells jingle on the Jester’s floppy three-point hat as he whispered to the Winter King, who leaned forward with an elbow on his knee. In response to the Jester’s comment, Donegal sat back and laughed out loud.

When Donegal moved out of the way, Tiki’s gaze riveted on someone in the shadows behind the throne. Dain stood with his wrists shackled, a rope around his neck that doubled as both noose and leash. His handsome face had clearly been beaten. Anger like she’d never known boiled through Tiki’s veins until pure outrage fueled her voice.

“DONEGAL!” Tiki shouted. Out of the corners of her eyes she saw both Larkin and Rieker jerk around to look at her. The room went quiet in an instant. Even the music screeched to a stop.

“What are you—” Rieker started.

Tiki didn’t wait to hear what he was going to say. She seethed with anger as she stomped forward. The crowd fell away to open a pathway straight to Donegal. Tiki lifted her chin, her face set and focused. She
was
the queen and she was not going to let him harm one more person she loved.

“I am Tara MacLochlan—” her voice was loud and confident—“QUEEN of the Seelie Court.” As Donegal pushed himself to his feet Tiki pointed at him and roared, “GET OFF MY THRONE.”

Chapter Six

“I
t is Beltane, Donegal.” Larkin’s silky voice sounded from close behind Tiki. “The roar of the
true
Stone of Tara was heard throughout Faerie. It’s time for you to take your darkness and return to the Plain of Starlight.” She waved her hand through the air is if to erase him. “Be gone from here.”

Donegal walked slowly down the steps toward Tiki, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “So the rumour is true. A new Seelie Queen.” There was something deadly in his words. “Where have you been all these years, my pretty?”

Tiki returned his stare. “I’m here now.”

Bearach, Donegal’s
tánaiste
, came to stand behind him, arms crossed over his great chest, his red hair as bright as the flames that lit the torches. “It’s the same girl,” he said in a low voice.

Tiki pointed at Dain. “I want that prisoner released.”

Donegal swiveled to see where she pointed, then slowly turned back to Tiki, a calculating look on his face. “He’s a spy. Deceitful.” He raised his black eyebrows. “Untrustworthy.”

“I’ll negotiate.”

A smile played at the corners of Donegal’s lips, revealing teeth yellowed and blackened with decay. He shook his head. “Just like Larkin. You haven’t even sat on the throne and already you want something of mine.” Rings glittered on his fingers as he drew his black cape closed and stepped toward Tiki. “Surely you know there are no trades for spies. Only death.”

He stopped so close Tiki she could see the pock marks on his face, the jewels embedded on the gold crown he wore, the malice that glittered in the utter blackness of his eyes. “Your friend has been declared our Seven Year King.” His voice grew deceitfully mild. “On Samhain, I’m going to feed his heart to the
liche.
”

A laugh erupted from deep within Donegal’s chest. With a smooth sweep of his cape, the Winter King disappeared, leaving only a handful of black feathers that drifted lazily to the floor. Along with Donegal, most of the occupants of the room also disappeared, including Dain.

A STUNNED SILENCE filled the air after Donegal’s departure, soon replaced by the cheering of those who remained.

“Sit on the throne,” Larkin said, urging Tiki up the steps.

“She’s right, Teek,” Rieker added, sliding his hand under Tiki’s arm. “Claim what is yours.”

Tiki turned to Rieker. “But, what about Dain? Did you see—”

“I saw him.” Rieker’s expression was grim. “There’s nothing we could have done, while Donegal had him surrounded by his guards. At least we know he’ll keep Dain alive until Samhain. That gives us some time to form a plan.” He urged her forward. “Take the throne.”

Still surging with anger, Tiki marched up the steps and sat on the seat protruding from the belly of the golden dragon. She turned and her jaw sagged in amazement at the change in the Great Hall.

The shadows and darkness were gone, replaced by light and warmth. The black and gold fluted columns were now white and gold, sparkling in the shafts of sunlight that poured in through diamond-paned windows. Verdant vines, loaded with luscious looking blooms, grew in wild abandon along the columns, the succulent scent of honeysuckle thick in the air.

Tiki lifted her head. Instead of the macabre and disturbing scenes of death and mutilation that had covered the ceiling before, now there were paintings of pastoral scenes and friendship. Her eyes riveted on one picture in particular—a well-dressed young man, clearly a mortal, held his hand out to a beautiful blond girl with an almost ethereal appearance, a pair of wings shimmering from her back.

She recognized the picture immediately. It was a depiction of
Sir Thomas’ Folly
, a painting that hung in Buckingham Palace. The same painting where she’d first hidden the ring of the truce. Rieker had told her the scene was named after a play where a prince fell in love with a faerie only to lose his kingdom to her deceptions. Like the paintings on the ceiling of the UnSeelie Court, were these images snapshots of the truth, as well?

“Rieker, look—” she nudged him where he stood next to the throne and started to point to the ceiling when her attention was diverted. Those who had remained in the Great Hall after Donegal’s departure had gathered in front of the throne and were bowing down to her. Even as she watched, faeries began arriving at the Palace of Mirrors.

The Macanna had been the first to arrive, great hulks of men and women who took positions around the throne and throughout the Great Hall, clearly guarding her. These were the men and women who had followed her father, Finn MacLochlan, when he’d left the Seelie Court of his father, Finvarra, and made his way to London. They held spiked mauls and curved daggers, their arms crossed over their immense red-coated chests, but smiles lit their faces as they celebrated the changing of the guard.

The trill of a panpipe started playing a jaunty tune at the back of the hall, soon joined by reedy flutes and the lofty tones of a harp. The little man who’d spoken to her at Westminster Abbey when the Stone of Tara had first roared approached the throne and swept his tri-corn hat from his head.

“Welcome to the Seelie Court, Majesty.” The light flashed off the golden buckles of his long shoes as he danced a small jig. “It is at last the time for celebration.” He locked arms with another little man next to him and they danced into the crowd, waving their hats above their heads.

The party grew louder and the room crowded as more and more faeries of the Seelie Court arrived. Tiki watched in amazement as they took turns coming to greet her and offer their welcome. A vast array of creatures filled the room. Many were gorgeous and almost human-looking in their appearance, while others were distinctly other-worldly and unfamiliar.

“You are very beautiful, Majesty,” croaked one small man whose bulging eyes reminded Tiki of a frog. He spread his short arms in a deep bow. “Welcome.”

Others came and paid their respects, nodding and bowing before her.

“At long last, a queen for the Seelie court. Welcome Majesty.” The familiar scratchy tone caught Tiki’s attention. She spied the speaker some distance from the throne. Wraith-thin and wrapped in rags, Tiki was sure it was the beggar who had been on the path of the Night Garden on her very first visit to the Palace of Mirrors. The creature’s skin was paper-thin and did little to hide the jutting bones of its skull.

“Thank you,” she said gently. Unsure if she was speaking to a male or female, Tiki’s heart went out to the wretched state they were in. “Are you ill?”

The creature shook its head, greasy strands of hair shifting with the movement. Its chin was propped on its hand, as if the weight was too great to bear. “Just hungry.”

Jarred, Tiki peered closer. Was this creature in this state from lack of food? Tiki would never forget the months of being so hungry that a constant ache had filled her entire being. Larkin had told Tiki and Rieker that the illusions of the faerie court hid a world that was falling apart—were faeries starving here?

Tiki leaned toward Larkin, who stood on one side of the throne surveying the crowd, a victorious smile creasing her lips. “Where do we get food?”

“The kitchens, of course. Why do you ask?” Larkin’s eyes flicked to the small creature at the bottom of the steps. A frown tightened her brow.

“Because we’re having a celebration and we need food.” Tiki’s voice grew stronger. “For everyone.”

IN LESS THAN an hour, tables lined one wall of the Great Hall, laden with an astonishing array of tasty treats. Tiki whispered in Rieker’s ear and within minutes one of the Macanna approached with a full plate. Steam rose from the colorful selection of food and Tiki’s stomach rumbled as she inhaled the scent of the tantalizing dishes.

Balancing the plate in one hand she stood up and marched down the steps toward the creature, who had hobbled toward the wall and now sagged weakly against one of the great columns. Rieker followed Tiki, staying next to her side.

“What are you doing?” Larkin called after them.

Tiki slowed as she approached so as not to frighten the little thing. She put the plate on the ground and slid it close. “Eat what you can. There’s always more.”

The creature raised its head toward Tiki, great tears filling its eyes. “For me?”

Tiki knelt down. “Yes.”

It stared at the plate for a long moment, as if expecting the food to disappear. Finally, it reached out a shaking finger and touched one of the rolls, the pressure leaving an indent in the soft dough. “Thank you, Majesty,” it whispered in its scratchy voice.

“What is your name?” Tiki asked gently.

The creature hung its head. “Ailléna.”

So, she was a girl. An image of Clara, buried in a pile of garbage on Craven Street outside Charing Cross, filled Tiki’s mind. The little girl had been half-dead when Tiki had stumbled across her.

“Eat up, Ailléna. I don’t want you ever to be hungry again.”

Tiki stood and put her hand on Rieker’s arm. “I need to go home.”

Chapter Seven

“Y
ou want to leave
now
?” Larkin scowled at Tiki. “But you’ve just arrived. You’ve just claimed the throne—there is much yet to be done.”

Tiki put her hands on her hips and waited. She was sure Larkin could handle whatever needed to be done here without her. In fact, Larkin most likely preferred to handle it herself. Hadn’t that been the whole point of convincing Tiki to find the Stone of Tara?

“There are decisions to be made—” the faerie swung her arm wide— “the palace is in a shambles after those disgusting dark creatures have filled these halls for the last six months. You have a court of advisors who needs to meet with you.” Larkin barely paused for breath. “Do you think Donegal is going to just acquiesce to your power as the Seelie Queen?” A bitter laugh erupted from her throat. “No doubt at this moment he is plotting how to best end your reign before it even starts. And have you forgotten about the
liche
?”