and twice as ugly.
Kevighn’s heart sank as others in the bar echoed the sentiments. They’d begin throwing things at him any moment.
“Stop.” A cloaked figure at the wooden bar stood, barely taller than Kevighn, but imposing nevertheless. Immediately, the bar fell silent.
Ciaran had spoken.
“Kevighn, did everything go as expected?” The dark king’s hood fell back. He gestured to the bar. “Sit.”
Everyone returned to their business. Kevighn took a seat next to him. Ciaran signaled the bartender, a rather comely lady leprechaun, for two drinks.
“The pieces are mine now?” Ciaran asked.
“Yes.” He felt no guilt at giving them to the dark king. However, he had a feeling Noli still had a piece. It would be safe with her and when they needed it, he could get it.
“It’s quite the gift.” Ciaran accepted the clay mug from the bartender, who stood on a box to see them. She handed one to Kevighn.
“Brogan is collecting them?” Kevighn took a sip of decent ale, dark and cool. Ciaran made it himself.
“Indeed. He’s contracted others to collect the pieces as well from museums, private collectors, and even archeological digs all over the world. He knows where many of the pieces are—but not all.” His eyes twinkled. “Though I don’t appreciate him using my name.”
“What do you plan to do with them, if I might ask?” Whatever it was, it would be less self-serving than Brogan.
Ciaran shrugged. “What do you expect? I’m going to rebuild it, just as he is trying to. Only I shall be successful. A rebellion is brewing. Tiana isn’t good for the Otherworld, and no one can stop her except for me.”
Well, conceivably the Bright Lady or the magic herself could stop the queen, but there was only one time in memory where that happened. That was when the Bright Lady broke apart the staff, scattering its pieces to the ends of the mortal realm. Without the staff, the land had to rely on the blood of mortal girls for nourishment.
Most of that era had been forgotten—especially by the monarchs. Even the stories told to children to explain the sacrifice forgot that small detail.
“Rebellion?” Kevighn breathed. Even thinking the word could be treason. Being dark court didn’t make them immune to spies or the high queen’s wrath, “Yes, Queen Tiana cares naught for the Otherworld and her subjects.” Ciaran shook his head. “Pity.”
“We still need a queen.” There had always been a high queen, one who possessed a rather peculiar set of gifts— the ability to use all four elements.
Ciaran’s hands wrapped around his mug. “I think most have forgotten Tiana’s daughter. She lives in the mortal realm with her father.”
“Did she inherit her mother’s abilities?” Kevighn did a double take. “Are you planning on killing the girl?” Ciaran’s face contorted into a look of disgust. “You don’t honestly think I’d do that? No, we’ll raise the girl here, with us, continue collecting the pieces, and when we’re ready, we’ll have our revolution. Tiana will be overthrown, and this girl will be the new high queen.”
There were many, many holes in Ciaran’s plan, but it wasn’t Kevighn’s place to question him. “How will you get the girl in the first place?”
“That is where you, my dear friend, come in.” Ciaran clapped him on the arm. “I need you to do what you do best—get me the girl.”
“You want me to go to Los Angeles and steal the girl away from the former king of the earth court?” Kevighn couldn’t quite believe his ears.
“You do know who her chief tutor and companion is, right?” Ciaran’s smile grew sly as he swirled the drink is his glass. “I don’t think anyone will mourn if you killed Quinn the Fair in the course of your task.”
Kevighn drew in a sharp breath. “You’re offering me the chance to kill him?”
Ciaran nodded. “If it were my sister, I would have killed the bastard straight out.”
“You could—I couldn’t.” It still would have caused a war.
He grinned over the rim of his glass. “It won’t cause a war now.”
For reasons unknown Quinn had joined his former king in exile.
“I’ll do it.” Maybe Stiofan would be there and give him a reason to kill him as well.
“Good.” Ciaran raised his glass in a toast. “To brotherhood.”
Kevighn raised his. “To brotherhood.”
They drank. Putting down his glass, Ciaran gestured to the bar. “Welcome home. It’s about damn time. Your talents are wasted on the likes of her anyway.”
Kevighn looked around at the various dark court folk—brownies, goblins, ogres, the banished, and the generally unscrupulous, the real “monsters” behind the stories used to scare mortal children. Perhaps the high court looked down on dark court folk, but they possessed a code you’d never find in anyplace else, especially the high court. They welcomed him back as if he’d never left.
He clapped his old friend on the arm. “It’s good to be home.”
Ciaran was right; it was about damn time.
Nineteen
Ill
Noli’s mouth felt stuffed with cotton. She hurt too much to even consider moving. The door opened, but Noli kept her eyes closed.
“I brought you coffee, how’s the patient,” Vix whispered, the door closing behind her.
“Her fever’s not breaking,” Jeff murmured. “I’m worried.”
“We’ll be in Chicago soon to refuel. I think we should get Noli a doctor,” Vix replied.
“No, I think our best chance is to refuel, press on to Boston, and bring her to grandfather’s.”
Right, she was unwell. Her skin blazed and she wanted to drink a barrel of water—which, unfortunately, required sitting up.
“Jeff … do you actually think your family will welcome us?” Vix blurted. “It’s so sweet and old fashioned that you want me to meet them, but what if they turn us away? At least in Chicago we can find a doctor. She’s so pale and still.”
“Grandfather Montgomery is a lot of things—but he won’t turn us away on Thanksgiving, especially when I’m trying to do what’s right,” Jeff returned. “Also, if Noli’s unwell, it’s a non-issue. Mother will never allow Grandfather turn us away.”
For once Noli wanted her mother. Mama always knew how to make tea just right and when coddled eggs would be better than toast. Real sheets, cool ones which smelled nice, would feel so much better on her too-warm skin than hammock strings.
“Are you certain? It just feels so … risky.”
“We need to take her to Boston,” Jeff insisted.
Noli’s struggled to sit up. “I want to see Mama.” The words felt as thick as badly knitted socks, but if she didn’t speak up, they may stop in Chicago instead.
“Easy.” Jeff helped her sit, hammock rocking with her movement. “How do you feel?”
“Warm.” She shrugged off her blanket. “And thirsty.”
Jeff handed her a cup of lukewarm weak tea, which she drained in two gulps and returned to him. He placed it on the worktable, sat on her workbench, and picked up his own mug. Dark rings circled his eyes and stubble dotted his chin. Vix didn’t look any better as she leaned against the closed door. The three of them took up all the space, crowding the miniscule space.
Taking a handkerchief, Jeff dipped it in some water and handed it to her. Noli wiped her face with it. Her entire body throbbed and the tea did little to slake her thirst.
“Where are my roses?” She looked around.
