A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(28)

Maria chewed on her bottom lip. I could see she was weighing what I said.

“No one will discover you here. If you help me, I’ll give you anything you want in return.”

Just then the door opened, and Rook rushed inside. He was breathing fast, as if he’d been running up the stairs. The color in his cheeks was bright. When he saw me, a wide smile stole over his face.

“You’re back.” His arms were around me in an instant, and he lifted my feet from the floor. I buried my face in his neck, breathing in the sunlight on his skin. His embrace lasted too brief a moment. “Thank God,” he said, putting me down. Rook noticed Maria and quickly bowed. “Apologies. Didn’t know a, er, lady was present,” he said, scanning her trousers.

I saw her notice the few visible scars that peeked out of his sleeve at the wrist. Today, they were red and inflamed.

“Maria Templeton,” she said curtly. “Beg your pardon.” She made her way around Rook and out the door. Damn. I followed and closed the door behind us, ready to beg—

“I’ll help him.” She folded her arms tight across her chest.

“You will?” My voice rose in excitement, and she shushed me.

“There are things we might try, if the hobgoblin allows it.”

“He will,” I said quickly.

“One more thing. I’d like a cot up here. I wouldn’t feel comfortable in one of your grand rooms downstairs.”

“Of course.” I’d give her half my own blood if it would make her stay. “Why did you change your mind?” Apart from my brilliant reasoning, obviously.

“You love him.” She said it boldly, without question. My face flushed. “There are few who love the Unclean in this world. Makes me feel I can trust you.” She extended her hand. “Congratulations. You’ve the services of a very skilled witch.”

—

WHITECHURCH REPLIED TO BLACKWOOD WITHIN HOURS. The ink on the letter was spattered, the words smeared—evidently, he’d written it hastily and shoved it into a messenger’s hand without bothering to blot it. Even though it was afternoon, bordering on evening, Her Majesty had invited us all to meet at Buckingham Palace immediately. Blackwood and I pulled up to the palace to find Magnus already there, pacing outside the entrance with his hat in his hand.

Fae warriors and a unit of sorcerers guarded Her Majesty’s door. The faeries were of the same rank as the Goodfellow, moss and lichen covering their wooden faces, carrying wooden shields and clubs studded with wicked-looking thorns. They said nothing as we passed them by.

The queen’s private sitting room had an ornately carved wooden ceiling and shuttered windows to keep out the now-waning afternoon light. Lamps had already been lit, and in the corner, beneath a painting of the old king, a bell-shaped brass cage sheltered a pair of singing yellow canaries.

The queen was seated on a velvet sofa; Whitechurch stood behind her. I couldn’t find a clue to his mood in his blank expression. His eyes, however, regarded each of us keenly.

Blackwood, Magnus, and I stood side by side and waited on the queen’s command.

“Show us,” she said at last.

Together, we laid Strangewayes’s weapons out on a long, polished table. Her Majesty got up and drew nearer, staring at the weapons in astonishment. The lantern especially interested her. She picked it up before putting it down again quickly, as though it would bite. Finally, I placed Strangewayes’s book.

Now what would she do? What would she say? It was one thing to discover these oddities, and quite another to be allowed to use them. Anticipation welled up inside me.

Whitechurch frowned as he studied our strange wares, but the queen looked excited. She touched a finger to one of the orange-gold daggers, her mouth forming a soft O of surprise. In a lavender gown, with her hair pulled back in a simple style, she looked less like a sovereign at the head of a terrible war and more like a young woman admiring a carnival trick.

“Tell us about these,” Whitechurch said, sweeping his hand over the assorted objects. Magnus and Blackwood allowed me to answer for all of us. It was no secret that the queen seemed to favor me. I tried not to let that go to my head.

“This is Ralph Strangewayes, and his otherworldly assistant,” I said, unrolling the painting delicately. The queen gasped at the sight of the monster. On the back, elegant handwriting declared this was Ralph (“R.S.”) and his servant Azureus, the Latin for “blue.” Aptly named, as the creature was the color of a high summer sky.

“And this book details the Ancients?” Queen Victoria flipped through the journal, using only the tip of her finger to turn the pages.

“How could Strangewayes have had such knowledge?” Whitechurch didn’t sound pleased. Damn. He wouldn’t love what I was about to suggest.

“I believe magician craft comes from the Ancients’ world,” I said. The queen dropped the bone whistle. “We know that Strangewayes was trying to give King Henry a son, and discovered a source of unnatural magic.” I crossed my fingers. “He must have found a path into the Ancients’ domain. These weapons are specifically designed for creatures not of this earth.”

“What are you proposing?” Whitechurch asked, though I could tell he knew and did not like it.

“We must learn how to use these weapons,” Blackwood said, though he did not sound enthused.