The Queen of Nothing (The Folk of the Air #3)(60)

Screams fill the air. Some of the Court begin to run toward the doors. I draw Nightfell. The guard stare at Cardan in horror, weapons in their hands. I see Grima Mog racing toward the dais.

In the place where the High King was, there is a massive serpent, covered in black scales and curved fangs. A golden sheen runs down the coils of the enormous body. I look into his black eyes, hoping to see recognition there, but they are cold and empty.

“It will poison the land,” cries the smith. “No true love’s kiss will stop it. No riddle will fix it. Only death.”

“The King of Elfhame is no more,” says Madoc, grabbing for the hilt of his massive sword, intent on seizing victory from what had been almost certain defeat. “I mean to slay the serpent and take the throne.”

“You forget yourself,” I shout, my voice carrying across the brugh. The Folk stop running. The rulers of the low Courts stare up at me, along with the Council and the Folk of Elfhame. This is nothing like being Cardan’s seneschal. This is nothing like ruling beside him. This is horrible. They will never listen to me.

The serpent’s tongue flicks out, tasting the air. I am trembling, but I refuse to let the fear I feel show. “Elfhame has a queen, and she is before you. Guards, seize Madoc. Seize everyone in his party. They have broken the High Court’s hospitality most grievously. I want them imprisoned. I want them dead.”

Madoc laughs. “Do you, Jude? The crown is gone. Why should they obey you when they could just as easily follow me?”

“Because I am the Queen of Elfhame, the true queen, chosen by the king and the land.” My voice cracks on that last part. “And you are nothing but a traitor.”

Do I sound convincing? I don’t know. Probably not.

Randalin steps up beside me. “You heard her,” he barks, surprising me. “Take them.”

And that, more than anything I said, seems to bring the knights back to their task. They move to surround Madoc’s company, swords drawn.

Then the serpent moves faster than I could have expected. It slides from the dais into the crowd, scattering the Folk who run from it in fear. It looks as though it has become larger already. The golden sheen on its scales is more pronounced. And in the wake of its path, the earth cracks and crumbles, as though some essential part of it is being drawn out.

The knights fall back, and Madoc draws his massive sword from the earth. The serpent slides toward him.

“Mother!” Oak screams, and takes off across the brugh toward her. Vivi attempts to grab him. Heather calls his name, but Oak’s hooves are already pelting across the floor. Oriana turns in horror as he hurtles toward her and into the path of the snake.

Oak stops short, reading the warning in her body language. But all he does is draw a child’s sword from a hilt at his side. The sword I insisted he learn through all those lazy afternoons in the mortal world. Holding it high, he puts himself between his mother and the serpent.

This is my fault. All my fault.

With a cry, I jump down from the dais and race toward my brother.

Madoc swings on the serpent as it rears up. His sword hits its side, glancing off its scales. It strikes back, knocking him down and then sliding over his body in its haste to chase its real prey: Grimsen.

The creature coils around the fleeing smith, fangs going into his back. A thin, reedy scream fills the air as Grimsen falls into a withering heap. In moments, he is a husk, as though the poison of the serpent’s fangs ate away his essence from within.

I wonder when he dreamed up such a curse, if he ever thought to be afraid for himself.

When I look up, I see that most of the hall has been cleared. The knights have fallen back. The Bomb’s archers have made themselves visible high on the walls, bowstrings held taut. Grima Mog has come to stand beside me, her blade at the ready. Madoc is staggering to his feet, but the leg the serpent slid over doesn’t seem inclined to hold him up. I grab Oriana by the shoulder and shove her toward where Fand is standing. Then I get between Oak and the snake.

“Go with her,” I shout at him, pointing toward his mother. “Get her to safety.”

Oak looks up at me, his eyes wet with tears. His hands tremble on the sword, clutching it far too hard.

“You were very brave,” I tell him. “You just have to be brave a little longer.”

He gives me a slight nod, and with an agonized look back at Madoc, he races off after his mother.

The serpent turns, its tongue flickering toward me. The serpent, which was once Cardan.

“You want to be the Queen of Faerie, Jude?” Madoc shouts as he moves with a limping gait. “Then slay him. Slay the beast. Let’s see if you have the bravery to do what needs to be done.”

“Come, my lady,” Fand pleads, urging me toward an exit as the serpent moves back toward the dais. The serpent’s tongue flicks again, tasting the air, and I am gripped by fear and a horror so vast I am afraid I will be swallowed up by it.

When the serpent winds itself around the shattered remains of the throne, I let myself be led toward the doors, and once the rest of the Folk are through, I order them shut and barred behind us.





In the hall outside the brugh, everyone is shouting at once. The councilors are yelling at one another. Generals and knights are trying to secure who is supposed to go where. Someone is weeping. Courtiers are clutching at one another’s hands, trying to make sense of what they saw. Even in a land of riddles and curses, where an isle can be called up from the sea, magic of this magnitude is rare.