Page 11

MAXEN DIRECTED THE movements and logistics that took place before the ceremony, for which I was grateful. I knew I could leave that part completely in his hands, and he’d make the right decisions.

The corridors of the fortress had been eerily quiet as I’d made my way with my entourage to the backstage area of the auditorium. The ceremony wasn’t set to start for another twenty minutes, but obviously everyone was eager to claim a seat.

Oliver, dressed in his battle ranks uniform with a tailored coat thrown over the ensemble, never strayed more than five feet away from me. Nicole hovered nearby, too.

I suddenly realized that we should have had a kingdom seal designed and ready for this event. The Carraig Sidhe needed official colors, emblems, livery, banners . . . small details, perhaps, but things that would nevertheless help unify our small realm. Then again, maybe such touches wouldn’t have made much difference, given the unrest in the small realm.

Gods, we really were small. By far the tiniest kingdom in Faerie, both in population and territory. We couldn’t do much about increasing the population, not quickly, anyway, but we’d have to look into carving out more area for the kingdom. As an official kingdom, we had the right to expand.

My mind was trying to spin out with the long list of things yet to be done. I inhaled sharply, bringing in my focus. All of that would have to wait. Tonight, I needed to do my damnedest to make sure the fortress didn’t riot as Maxen attempted to place the crown on my head.

Emmaline remained with me backstage, but save for half a dozen student soldiers, the rest of her young battalion filed out. On Oliver’s suggestion, Maxen was sending them to line the floor along the front of the stage.

I edged over to Maxen, who was consulting one of his tablets. I leaned in and kept my voice low. “What’s the mood out there?”

He looked up, his sapphire-blue eyes distracted. “The tension is palpable.”

At least he wasn’t going to blow smoke up my ass. My gaze skirted over to Oliver. He had his people, few as they were, out there, watching for threats.

“Super,” I muttered.

“I’m making some last-minute changes to my speech,” he said. “I’m going to shorten it. I also set up a reception immediately to follow. I’m hoping the prospect of food and drink might be some small placation.” His tone clearly said he had doubts about how effective that would be.

My insides pulled tighter. I subtly pressed my hands against the sides of my thighs, trying to wick off the sweat slicking my palms. I wasn’t even half this edgy when I’d faced the arena for the Battle of Champions. Perhaps it was because I knew I would only have to face one foe there. Out in the fortress, there could be hundreds of enemies waiting to take me down.

“Five minutes until go,” Maxen said.

I nodded.

He directed the handful of people who would be on stage to their marks. A few minutes later, the curtains at the front edge of the stage swept aside, and everyone backstage except for me, Oliver, Maxen, and Maxen’s handful of assistants and pages filed out.

The stage was set up with a dais that supported a throne of sorts. The raised platform was covered with shimmering white fabric. I’d recognized the chair as the one Marisol usually had set up at the head of the largest table in banquet rooms when she’d hosted official functions. The dark wood had been hastily sanded and repainted the same bronze as the details on my clothing. Standing backstage, I caught a chemical whiff of the barely dry paint.

The crown was propped on a little display stand to one side of the podium Maxen would stand behind to say a few words. I’d asked him if I should speak, and he said it would be better if I didn’t. He said it was a time to establish me as the figurehead of the kingdom, for the Carraig to see me as a ruler. He was afraid that, given the circumstances, any kind of speech would be seen as me attempting to ingratiate myself to my subjects.

I figured the decision also had something to do with the fact that my public speaking skills were shit.

“It’s time,” Maxen said. A page took his tablets and scurried off to the side.

I leveled my chin, blew out a long breath, and waited for the curtain at the back of the stage to lift. Flanked by Maxen and my father, I walked slowly down the carpet runner that created a path along the right side of the dais. When the three of us reached the throne, we paused.

For a split second, you could have heard a pin drop in the auditorium. Then the entire room shifted and rose to their feet in a rustle of fabric and shuffling shoes. I let out a small breath. I’d been half expecting that no one would stand, that the entire population would sit on their hands and stare at me like children who’d been forced into their dress clothes and marched to some distant relative’s wedding. Or, perhaps, funeral.

Maxen waited while I placed my hand in Oliver’s and he helped me up the short step onto the dais. I sat on the chair that smelled of paint fumes and faced the completely packed auditorium. The audience took their seats. Oliver stepped up to stand beside me, while Maxen continued on to the podium and the sparkling crown.

Resisting the urge to squint into the glaring stage lights, I tried to spot faces I recognized. Or faces that looked like they wanted my head on a spike. I could make out the rows and rows of people, but all other details were lost in shadow. As I squared my shoulders and folded my hands in my lap, cold sweat rolled down my spine.

Maxen began to speak about a new era for the New Gargoyles, making history, and other platitudes, but I only partially registered his words. My gaze skipped over the crowd. The mood of the room was grim with a side of anticipation. I could feel it in the stillness, the frigid silence. Oliver shifted his weight beside me. He sensed it, too.

With the short speech done, Maxen reached for the crown. It was so quiet, his footfalls across the stage seemed to echo in the huge space. He approached me, holding the crown in both hands. His lips were parted, and he seemed slightly breathless.

Stopping just short of the dais, he bowed. Then he stepped up and came to stand directly in front of me. I leaned forward and dipped my chin slightly, and he lifted the crown and settled it on my head.

Just as he was taking his hands away, I spotted movement beyond his elbow.

“Shit,” I muttered. A few bulky figures were making their way from the seats toward the stage. They were coming fast.

Quick glances left and right showed more approaching from either side.

Oliver drew his sword. The crowd was beginning to react, the murmurs of voices growing. A few cried out in alarm. Some rose to try to escape.

Emmaline shouted a quick command, and the student soldiers all drew their weapons. Stone armor flowed over their skin.

I stood but didn’t reach for Aurora. Instead, I raised my arms.

“Stop!” I thundered, trying to be heard above the noise. “Stop now, or you sentence yourself to death. I command you!”

The young soldiers moved to intercept the would-be attackers, and my heart clutched. Please, gods, don’t let them kill the kids. The first couple of dissenters reached the area in front of the stage. They wielded clubs, using them to knock aside Emmaline’s soldiers’ swords, though a few of the students managed to get some slashes in, and one of the men screamed and clutched at the side of his neck.

I pulled magic and formed stone armor. Chaos began to erupt in the auditorium as others decided to join in the attack on the stage and more seemed to want to flee.

Oliver moved in front of the dais and crouched in a ready stance, turning his wrist to swing his huge broadsword.

Pulling the crown off my head, I tossed it back on the throne and kicked off my shoes. With an anguished growl, I drew Aurora and stood behind my father. The attackers were trying to avoid hurting Emmaline’s troops, but the kids were defending the stage with full force, and the violence was escalating. I had to do something before the situation completely unraveled.

Oliver lunged forward and swung at the first attacker to make it past Emmaline’s people. The young man with wild green eyes was no match for my father.

“Make them drop back!” I shouted at Emmaline.

She gave the command, and all of the students retreated up to the stage.

I wanted to scream at the idiots flying at us. They could object to me all they wanted. But they were putting innocent people in danger. And they were forcing my hand. I would have to order the execution of anyone who raised a weapon against me. I’d already given fair warning, and now I’d have to follow through.

Anger, despair, and frustration flowed through me in the background. But I couldn’t afford to give my emotions full attention. Oliver had worked over the next attacker to break through, forcing the man back and off the stage’s edge. My father didn’t want to kill anyone, but we both knew any attackers who survived and got caught would face the ultimate punishment.

My entire body was vibrating. My sword arm shook so hard, I gripped Aurora with both hands to try to steady the trembling. At first I thought it was my pent-up anger, but something was happening in the auditorium.

It felt like a tremor, but the ground wasn’t shaking.

Oliver whipped around. “Do you feel that?” he shouted at me, his eyes round.

“Yeah,” I said, shifting my gaze beyond my father.

The chaos and commotion seemed to slow. Everyone else was noticing it. What the hell was going on?

Suddenly a shockwave punched through the auditorium. I didn’t know how else to describe the invisible force that launched me clear off the floor.

The back of my head hit the edge of the throne’s seat, and white light flooded my vision. The light shimmered and then dissipated, and a familiar sensation swept through me. I was in the body of that ancient warrior woman, the one I’d inhabited when I’d killed Marisol. But unlike last time, I was only there for a brief moment, just long enough to recognize it.

I gasped as if I’d breached the surface of the water after being held under. Blinking rapidly, I wildly swiveled my gaze. I was back in the auditorium. The fighting had stopped. Everyone else was looking around, their faces as dazed as I felt.

“What in the name of the gods . . .?” Oliver trailed off. He squinted back at me, then turned to look out at the auditorium seats. “Petra, I think we’re under attack.”

I frowned, not understanding. Of course we were under attack. We’d been trying to hold our ground for the past several minutes.

“There!” Oliver pointed with his sword and then took a running leap off the edge of the stage. He shoved people out of the way as he tried to make his way up one of the aisles.

The house lights flickered. Then every bulb in the place lit up, probably flipped on by one of Maxen’s people. I looked through slitted eyelids, trying to see what had caught my father’s attention.

There, at the top of the stairs, stood Finvarra. He held something bright, faceted, and pulsing in one hand. White curls of smoke flowed off it like mist from dry ice. The other arm was at his side, and it was missing a hand and the lower part of his forearm. That was my doing.

With a strangled cry, I hiked up my dress with one hand and tried to charge forward with Aurora held aloft. Hands grabbed me from behind.

“No, Petra!” It was Maxen.

I let go of the fabric to try to peel his fingers away.

“It’s Finvarra with the Stone of Fal,” I said, but I wasn’t sure if Maxen heard me. The auditorium was erupting in shouts as people began to recognize the banished Unseelie High King. I whipped around to face Maxen. “We need to capture him! If we can hold him and get Jasper here, we’ll—”

Maxen squinted at me as if I were mad, and then another shockwave hit. Same as before, it sent me into that other place, that other body. Then I returned, this time still on my feet.

My vision cleared just in time to see Finvarra tuck the misting Stone of Fal under his shortened arm and whip his good hand up to toss a small, sparkling object into the air. A blinding flash burst outward.

I knew it was too late, but I hurled myself off the stage anyway, struggling to move with the heavy robe on and the skirt of my dress twisting around my legs.

The light faded, and Finvarra was gone. He’d used a portal jewel to spirit himself away. Just as he’d tossed the small orb, I’d seen his face. It was tight and red with fury.

I stopped at the base of the stage, still staring at the place where he’d been. Oliver had made it about three quarters of the way up the aisle. Now, he turned to race back down to me.

Everyone gazed around, stunned, and for the moment the insurgents appeared to have forgotten they were trying to kill me.

Oliver grabbed my arm and started hustling me toward the exit to the side of the stage.

I didn’t try to fight him. “What just happened? Did you see?”

“He tried to use the Stone of Fal on us,” Maxen said. “He attempted to activate it.”

I twisted to look over my shoulder at him. He’d snatched Nicole and was right behind us. “Are we . . .?” My blood chilled as it all began to sink in.

Maxen’s face was screwed up in a look of concentration. “Do you feel any loyalty to Finvarra?” he asked.

“Hell no,” I spat.

Nicole made a horrified face.

“I don’t either,” my father said. “If that was truly the Stone of Fal, it must have misfired.”

Oliver pushed me ahead of him through the door. The four of us began running, my bare feet slapping the tiles. He pulled me around a corner and sped up, half-carrying, half-dragging me with him.

“Where are we going?” I panted.

“My apartment,” he said. “It’s the safest place in the fortress for you right now.”

He was right, but that was going to have to change. I needed secure quarters of my own. It wouldn’t do for the queen to hide out in her daddy’s place.

I winced as images flashed through my mind. “Did you feel as though you went somewhere else?”

Maxen slid a look at me, and I knew the answer, though it took him a few seconds to respond. “It was . . . an odd hallucination.”

Oliver gave me a grim, pursed-lip glance.

“Yeah, I felt like I was a character in a scene.” Nicole passed a hand down the side of her face, as if reassuring herself that she was in her own body.

I blew out a noisy hiss of a breath through clenched teeth.

I looked at Oliver. “I think you’re right. The Stone didn’t work on us,” I said. “He tried it twice, and it didn’t work.”

No one had the breath to respond. None of us had any further answers, anyway.

We’d reached Oliver’s quarters. He passed his hand over the door, and it unlocked for him. He pushed me inside, rougher than necessary, but I could tell his adrenaline was still pumping full force.

I gulped air. “I need to get a message to Oberon,” I said.

“I’ll do it,” Maxen said.

My father gave me a hard look. “Don’t leave here until I come for you. Don’t open the door for anyone.”

Maxen and Oliver slipped out, and I went and bolted the door and then turned to my sister. She’d wrapped her arms around herself, and her eyes had gone glassy.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She nodded, but she looked pale.

I took her elbow and guided her to Oliver’s chair. “Here, sit down. I’ll get you some water.”

As I filled a glass at the kitchenette sink, my thoughts tumbled and my stomach churned. I took the water to Nicole.

“What’s the Stone you were talking about?” she asked.

“The Stone of Fal,” I said.

I pulled off the heavy coronation robe, and having nowhere else to put it, I draped it over the kitchenette’s small peninsula counter. I happened to glance down at my bare arm and noticed the fine hairs on my skin were standing on end and moving back and forth in waves. There was another sensation, too, this one through my entire body. A tiny electric current seemed to be sweeping through me in a rhythm, keeping time with my arm hair.

I turned to Nicole, who was sitting on the edge of the recliner with parted lips and splotched cheeks.

“Do you feel that?” I brushed my hand down my arm.

She slanted a look up at the ceiling and squinted. “I do feel something. A little shiver. Maybe it’s the delayed effect of the Stone. Maybe it takes time to work.” Her gaze sharpened on me, her face fearful.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Finvarra wouldn’t have left in a pissy huff if it’d worked. He’d have stuck around to see us grovel.”

I went over to her and gently pressed her shoulder back, encouraging her to relax into the chair. “Drink some water and try to take slow breaths. I don’t want you to get any more upset.”

She sipped from the glass and scooted deeper into the recliner. “Thank you, Petra. I mean, ugh! Damnit.”

A faint smile tugged at my lips. “It’s okay. Just don’t say those words to—”

“Anyone who might exact an oath from me,” she supplied. “I know, I know. I just forget the rules sometimes when I’m stressed.”

She absently dropped one hand to her belly, which at this early point in her pregnancy was still ballet-dancer flat.

I was just beginning to wonder how long we’d have to sit there waiting when I heard someone approach the door. I drew Aurora, even though only Oliver could access these quarters. I didn’t trust anything anymore.

“It’s me, Petra,” came my father’s voice just before the door unlatched.

He slipped inside and shut the door behind him. In one hand he held my discarded crown. He lifted the jeweled bronze circlet. “Emmaline saved it and gave it to me.”

I didn’t really want the crown, but he extended his arm, offering it. I reluctantly claimed it.

“Are her people all okay?” I asked.

“No deaths,” he said. He gestured impatiently to the crown. “You might as well put that on. It’s the safest place for it.”

It was the last thing I wanted to do, but I settled it on top of my head anyway. “Is there still fighting?”

He shook his head. “The situation’s been diffused. Maxen reached Oberon. He’s summoned you to go to him right away and give your account of what happened here with Finvarra and the Stone. We’ve got a clear path to a doorway.”

“How many of the attackers were caught?” I asked, my voice low.

His mouth hardened. “Only a handful captured. The rest of them escaped the fortress through doorways. They’re probably hiding out in other realms. We’ll have to put a price on their heads, of course, as soon as we know for sure which ones got away.”

I didn’t want to think about having to enforce the law on my would-be assassins. It would have to be dealt with, but for the moment I had to answer the High King’s summons.

“I don’t know the sigils to get into any Summerlands doorways,” I said.

Oliver pulled a folded piece of paper from in inner pocket of the ceremonial overcoat he still wore. “Yes, you do.”

I lifted my hand to take the note but then dropped my arm. “It seems a very bad time to leave the fortress,” I said, shaking my head gravely. “My first duty is here, to the Carraig.”

Oliver looked like he wanted to agree but said, “Petra, when the Seelie High King summons you, you have to go.”

I closed my eyes briefly. “You’re right. I’ll get back here as quickly as I can.” Turning to my sister, I put on what I hoped looked like an encouraging smile. “Rest. You’re safe here, and I’m sure Maxen will come for you soon.”

“Be careful, Petra,” she said. “Hurry back.”

I nodded and sheathed Aurora.

Oliver placed his hand on the door handle. “Ready?”

I took the folded note with the sigils. “Let’s go.”

He pushed the door open, and as soon as I stepped into the hallway, Emmaline and her troops, plus a few full-fledged Carraig soldiers, surrounded me. Oliver led the way as the group hurried me through the corridors to a courtyard. It was the same one I’d charged through, not knowing if my father was alive or dead, to escape the Duergar when Periclase had taken the fortress.

My guards took me right up to the arch. I unfolded the piece of paper and studied the sigils for a second, memorizing them. Then I began drawing the shapes in the air and murmuring the words that would take me into the netherwhere.

Suddenly aware of the soft grass under my feet, I remembered I wasn’t wearing any shoes. Too late. I stepped forward, and the chill embrace of the void claimed me.