The Dire King (Jackaby #4)(6)
“Oh,” I said. “Yes, of course.” I removed the silver dagger from my pocket and presented it to Virgule.
Virgule took the knife. He slid it from its sheath and then back. He returned it to me. “This blade is of no consequence. It is not the offending item.”
“Then what?” I emptied my pockets item by item, wondering how on earth Jackaby had managed to complete this process before me. I presented the vial of holy water, my notepad, the padlock key.
“There. Iron. Place the implement in here, please. It will be returned to you in due time.” He gestured to a knothole that I was quite certain had not been there a moment before, and I deposited the key within it. “Now,” said Virgule, “you may enter.”
As I watched, he approached the wall of living wood ahead of me, took a steadfast step, and was simply and suddenly inside the circle. The nearest tree abruptly became the farthest, leaving an obvious gap directly in front of me, as though the impenetrable barrier had been nothing but a trick of the eye all along.
I shook my head and followed, a lady of science and reason strolling into an impossible fairy ring.
The sounds of the bustling city all around us melted away. The grove was cool and shady, with a faint hint of vanilla and citrus in the air. Jackaby acknowledged me with a nod. He stood in the middle of the clearing, the light from the noonday sun finding its way through the circle of branches above us to bathe him in a column of golden light. All around him little flecks of pure white danced and spun through the sunbeams.
Virgule crossed the grass to stand beside another willowy figure. She wore robes of deep blue in contrast to Virgule’s greens. Her hair was honey blond and her features were even more graceful than her counterpart’s, save for a pearl white scar running from one high cheekbone down to the corner of her lips. She stood with a military bearing and an emotionless expression. “Seer,” she said. “It has been many years.”
“Thank you for granting us an audience,” said Jackaby. “Miss Rook, allow me to introduce General Serif and Captain Virgule, emissaries to Lord Arawn.”
“Charmed,” I said.
“Not noticeably,” said Virgule. “Is it a passive enchantment?”
Serif cleared her throat. “Whether we will escort you anywhere remains to be decided,” she said. “Lord Arawn does not waste his time lightly on the tribulations of humans.”
“He will have time for this,” said Jackaby. “It concerns the Dire Council.”
“The Dire Council has long been disbanded,” she told him. “You’re chasing shadows.”
“One of those shadows is currently locked in my root cellar,” Jackaby replied. “She killed a lot of innocent people before we put her there, and she wasn’t working alone. Her father remains at large, and he has recently claimed dominion over the earth and Annwyn, which concerns both our homelands.”
All around him, the little flecks of light in the sunbeams had begun to circle, orbiting the detective, gradually moving faster and faster.
“The Dire King,” Virgule whispered timorously.
Serif shot him a cold glare. “Rumors,” she said. “You have testified to nothing about which the Fair King is not fully aware.”
“Your rumors have been leaving a trail of corpses across my city,” Jackaby insisted. “And they’ve been recruiting from your side of the veil to do it. Redcaps, vampires, nixies.”
Serif was impassive. “Your city is of little concern to us, Seer, and a handful of Unseelie nuisances are nothing that the Fair King cannot quell. If you have nothing further—”
The beads of white spinning around Jackaby suddenly collided at a single point, bursting into a brilliant, blinding flash. I shielded my eyes, and when I looked up again, blinking in surprise, an archway had opened in midair. It was rimmed with sparkling light, and beyond it I could see a room lined with heavy columns. Serif’s words appeared to be caught in her throat. Virgule found his voice before she did. “Our master will see you now.”
Chapter Four
The council room of Arawn, the Fair King and lord of the Seelie fae, was not bathed in golden light, it was not cool and airy, and it definitely did not smell of vanilla and gentle citrus. The room in which we found ourselves as we crossed through the portal appeared to be part of a medieval castle. The walls were hewn of massive stones and hung with heavy tapestries depicting all manner of humans and beasts engaged in war, in sport, and in activities that would have made my mother blush. Above us the columns gave way to vaulted ceilings that might have looked equally at home in a cathedral. A wide fire occupied most of one wall, and in spite of the cavernous space, the air was hot and heavy. At one end of the room was a terraced rostrum, like the pulpit of a church, and on this stood a tall throne embedded with gems that sparkled violet in the crackling firelight. The throne stood empty, but on either side of it sat twin hunting hounds, milky white with vivid crimson ears. They lifted their heads to watch us as we filed into the room.
A wide oak table stood before the dais, and around this two figures were seated, quarreling. Both wore brown robes and neither looked especially regal. “A trade embargo with the Northern Elflands won’t accomplish anything,” said the first, a dour fellow with round spectacles. His hair was tied in a no-nonsense knot at the back of his head. “Lord Arawn is well aware that King Freyr has no authority over the dark elves. We would only strain one of our strongest alliances. Appealing to the dwarves is the best way.”