A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(85)

“Sorcerers.” Whitechurch looked at us. He no longer struggled against his captors. There was no fear in him. He refused to give her that. “Her Majesty commended you.”

While the boys screamed, I could only stay silent in horror as Mab sliced off Whitechurch’s head in one clean sweep.





“I think he’ll look quite nice on a mantel,” Mab said conversationally, shaking Whitechurch’s head by his hair. Drops of blood rained onto the earthen floor. “Though I’m not sure what a mantel is. Hmmph.” Mab chucked the head across the ground, then gestured to her soldiers. “Take their weapons.”

They took our swords and daggers, snatched the whip and the flute off the boys. They ripped the bone whistle from my neck and grabbed my dagger as well, piling them into a corner along with our staves. I wanted to cry out for Porridge, as I felt strangely sure my stave was crying out for me.

I stared at Whitechurch’s crumpled form. I wouldn’t allow myself to shrink away from the image. I memorized the slumped angle of his body, the blood-speckled collar of his shirt.

Her Majesty commended you. What had the queen said the night I became a sorcerer? I grant my commendation, that you will take up arms in my defense, that you will live and die for my country and my person, and that your magic shall find its greatest purpose in the service of others. Whitechurch had ordered us to remember.

Feeling surged through me. We were not going to die in this place.

Mab went to Blackwood. “Lord of Sorrow-Fell.” She said it with mockery. “I don’t care if it’s my sister’s property. Humans settling Faerie lands? Disgusting.” She spit in his face. Blackwood didn’t move a muscle.

“I doubt Your Majesty has read much of Dante. According to him, the lowest level of hell is reserved for traitors,” he murmured.

Mab snorted with laughter, then frowned at Dee. “Who are you? Oh, wait.” She slapped his face. “I don’t care.”

Finally, she moved to Magnus, whose eyes glinted with challenge. Mab purred, sliding her hands through his hair.

“Mmm, such a handsome young man. The epitome of beauty.” She pressed herself against him. With the vines holding his body, Magnus was helpless. “I was going to kill all three of you boys, but I think I’ll keep you as my pet. You really will look so nice chained to my wall. You’ll be such fun to play with.” She traced the tip of one finger along Magnus’s jaw. “As long as your youth and beauty last, of course. Then you’ll be scrumptious food for my little goblins.” Leaning forward, she licked his cheek. “What do you say to that?”

“Madame.” Magnus gave a breathtaking smile and instructed her to do something with herself that was physically impossible. The faerie went rigid. “Would you take that as an answer?”

“Maybe I’ll feed you to my goblins now,” she growled.

“Good, because I’m rather bored by the company.”

My mind raced. If I freed myself, I’d be too late to keep Mab from killing the boys. How the devil was I to manage this?

Something fluttered into my lap. It was a handkerchief, with HH embroidered at the corner in dark blue thread. It looked exactly like my old handkerchief.

Because it was mine. I peered up at the soldier standing watch over me, a short creature with a wooden helmet and a visor of bone. Impossible to see who it was.

The vines at my wrists gave, and the one about my waist went slack. The soldier was cutting me free with…yes, an iron ax. No one noticed. All eyes were upon Magnus and the queen.

Maria’s voice whispered in my ear, “When I signal, fire.”

No music had ever sounded as sweet as her voice in that moment.

Across the room, Fenswick put one clawed finger to his lips: silence.

“Let’s begin by cutting something off,” Mab mused, laying the edge of her sword on Magnus’s arm. “You won’t need your hands. Will you?”

The last vines fell. I would have only one chance at this. Leering, Mab raised her sword.

Maria threw her ax, splitting open the head of the soldier who held the knife on Blackwood. Mab squealed, and while she was distracted, I stood.

Throwing out my hands, I unleashed my powers.

Flame billowed from my fingers, consuming the pale queen in one violent burst. She dropped her weapon with a scream and crumpled to the ground. I didn’t stop, even when her shrieks died and her body shriveled. I kept my flame on her, the smell of charring flesh and burnt hair making my eyes water. She wanted to put Whitechurch’s head on a mantel? I wouldn’t stop until there was nothing left but a greasy smear.

Maria wrenched her ax from the dead guard and attacked the Goodfellow and his soldiers. Fenswick, meanwhile, proceeded to cut the boys from the vines. They grabbed their staves from where Mab had put them by the side of the room, and joined the fight. Soon all the faerie knights formed a crude pile on the ground, and the queen was left in a smoldering heap. We retrieved the weapons as quickly as we could, strapping on swords and daggers with shaking hands.

“Wait,” Magnus growled as he marched toward Mab. “I’ve appendages to remove.”

“There’s no time!” Fenswick touched the earthen wall, and the wooden doorway reformed. “You need to return to London—now!”

Maria pulled off her helmet, tossing it to the side as she shook out her hair.