A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(84)

“Halt,” the faerie said, wooden joints creaking. “Imperator, Her Majesty wishes for you and these four,” he said, pointing to Magnus, Blackwood, Dee, and me, “to meet in her chambers.”

“We’ve no time to entertain Mab,” Whitechurch said, sounding impatient. Blackwood sighed; he knew the Fae did not appreciate rudeness. But the Goodfellow didn’t seem put out.

“Her Majesty says it’s a matter of a toll.”

Magnus flinched, and I barely kept from cursing. Still, there’d be no progress until we appeased Mab, and Whitechurch seemed to understand that as well. The creature led us away, and the call for the squadrons to hold position rang out. Soon we’d lost them in the dark.

After a few turns down a rocky road, we arrived at a wooden door in a great rock face. The Goodfellow tapped his spear against the door and it swung open, revealing a low-ceilinged room, rather like a burrow. The place smelled peaty and damp. I rubbed my hands together, willing myself to take heart. We’d be gone from this place soon.

Mab appeared quite literally from nowhere. Her midnight-blue dress, studded with pearls, was so low-cut it went to her navel. Much was revealed.

“Is it time for the war yet?” She clapped her little hands like a gleeful child.

“We are prepared to move, Majesty,” Whitechurch said. He already sounded tired of indulging the queen.

“Oh, I’m sure you are. And you will be moving. Shortly.” She smiled, showing a bit too many sharp teeth for my liking, and played with the skirt around her legs. “My tall one will be quite safe. As for the rest of you, who can tell?”

I didn’t like the way she’d said that. The wooden door had vanished, leaving a wall of solid earth. Whitechurch’s words became clipped.

“Enough of this. When do we leave?”

“You leave now.” Mab reclined onto a chaise of moss, wriggling her bare toes. “What a shame, tall girl, that your friend turned so terribly shadowlike. Such a disappointment.”

It became difficult to breathe.

“How do you know about Rook?” I murmured, gooseflesh creeping up my arms. Mab giggled, as though I’d asked a silly thing.

“Because I ordered it, of course. Where’s my little doctor?” She peered around the room, one hand shading her eyes for dramatic effect. Someone moved in the corner, and then Fenswick appeared, holding his four hands behind his back in an apologetic fashion. “Your human was healing, apparently. Someone had to fix that. What would dear R’hlem do without his Shadow and Fog?”

I couldn’t have understood what she’d said. But the way Fenswick averted his eyes, his ears drooping, was undeniable.

Rook had been healing, and Fenswick had poisoned him.

“Madame, are you saying you had knowledge of the Ancients’ hold on that boy?” Whitechurch reached for his stave.

Mab opened her mouth and screamed. Her scream pierced my brain and rattled my vision, a siren song from hell. My ears felt as if they might explode.

Something twined about my arms and pulled them to my sides. Vines sprouted from the earth and coiled down from the ceiling. A loop of vine cinched around my waist, dragging me to my knees. Blackwood, Dee, and Magnus shouted as the same happened to them. Soldiers, the Goodfellow among them, burst from out of the very walls, going from clay to flesh in an instant, and forced Whitechurch to his knees. They held his arms and pulled his head back to look the faerie queen in the eye.

“You treacherous creature,” Whitechurch spit. He struggled against the guards. “Why?”

“Because you are too greedy, Imperator.” Her girlish tittering died. “You never thank me for the bodies of my lovely subjects lost fighting your stupid wars. R’hlem understands. He knows the Fae are not his enemies. So the bloody king has offered a marvelous bargain,” Mab cooed, flicking her fingers at Whitechurch’s eye. He jerked in pain. “He burns your kingdom and gives my people the north again.” She sighed. “And we receive ten thousand Englishmen as slaves. Isn’t it glorious?”

I began to set fire to the vines. One of the knights took a blade of bone and held it to Blackwood’s throat. Mab lifted an eyebrow.

“Would you care to use your power now?” she asked me sweetly. Blackwood winced as the knife cut him.

My fire disappeared at once.

“Howel, do what you must,” Blackwood snapped. Mab patted his cheek.

“Isn’t your sister on the road to your estate, my little lordling? Would you care to test me?”

“You demon.” Magnus pulled against his bonds.

Mab huffed and turned back to Whitechurch. She leaned closer, a malevolent light in her eyes. “You know, there’s a toll to be paid for using my roads.”

Whitechurch didn’t flinch as Mab trotted over to one of her soldiers and drew a long, savage-looking bone sword from his scabbard. She grinned, licking her teeth. “I think your head will be payment enough,” she said, pointing to Whitechurch with the tip. Then, to me, “Frankly, I’d take yours, but he wants you without a hair out of place. Can’t imagine why.”

The perfect image of William Howel I had carried in my heart was gone forever. Of all the reasons to hate R’hlem, that might have been the greatest.

“And you.” She sniffed at Blackwood, Dee, and Magnus. “Well, I’ll make up my mind later.”