A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire, Book Two) Page 8

  “Howel? Turn around,” Blackwood said. He sounded calm, but the stiffness of his voice couldn’t be denied.

  A shadowy figure waited in the open doorway. For one heart-stopping moment I was afraid it was a Familiar or, God forbid, R’hlem himself.

  Then I noticed the leafy branches protruding from the thing’s head. It was not terribly tall—only coming up to Blackwood’s chest—but the fierce, glistening black eyes made me decide not to misjudge its strength. Its skin had a greenish tint, the same color as bog water. Tree bark was strapped in plates over its chest and legs like armor. The smell of damp earth and peat moss permeated the air, strong enough to make me gag. The creature raised its weapon, a sharpened stick, over its head.

  Not any creature—a faerie. Clearly, this was from one of the lower orders of the dark court. The lowlier a faerie’s blood, the less human it appeared.

  “Cain’s subjects. You trespass,” it declared in a gurgling voice. Cain? Of course: the biblical figure who killed his brother, Abel. Faeries did not have a high opinion of man.

  “Hail, fellow. Well met.” Blackwood sketched a low bow, his body graceful as a dancer’s. “Goodfellow, does your fair queen sit under the hill?”

  “Hail, fellow. Well met.” The faerie returned the bow, though its movements were stiff. Its joints creaked, like wood swollen with water. “My queen abides. You are trespassing on her land.”

  “Trespassing?” I couldn’t stop myself. “This isn’t Faerie.”

  “Howel.” Blackwood’s voice tightened with warning. The faerie grumbled. Brackish water dripped from it to pool on the floor.

  “My queen takes lands given over to the forest. Lands given over to the rot,” it said, its gurgling voice growing sharper. “Did you not notice the glamour upon the place? You must pay the penalty, Cain’s subjects.” The beetle-colored eyes glimmered. “Death.”

  Oh, damn everything.

  “Goodfellow.” Blackwood bowed deeply again. “I request a parley with Queen Mab.”

  “My queen dines under the hill tonight,” the Goodfellow said. “Be careful, for her appetite is great.” Blackwood breathed in sharply; I got the feeling that was not good. If only once, just once, we could meet some kind, cheerful creature that wanted to hug us.

  “We request to see her at table,” Blackwood replied.

  “You will follow me,” the Goodfellow said, and walked out the front door. Magnus, Maria, and I all exchanged looks, ranging from bewilderment to a sort of mute terror.

  “Have we any choice in the matter?” Maria asked.

  “Have you ever been hunted through Faerie woods by a baying pack of hounds and goblins?” Blackwood muttered. “The choice is parley or execution.” Blackwood stepped over the house’s threshold, his pack in one hand, several of the weapons tied to his back or around his waist. I checked my own collection—the bone whistle, Strangewayes’s dagger, the glowing lantern—and went after him. “Listen. This is important,” Blackwood said when we were all outside. “If they offer you food or drink, say no. If they offer to dance, say no. If they offer anything, be polite when you refuse, but do not say thank you. They’ll take that as a sign that you’ve accepted.”

  “I wish we’d run into the light court, not the dark,” I murmured.

  Blackwood walked beside me as the Goodfellow led us.

  “Common misconception. People often think the light good and the dark evil. They are different, yes, but not entirely dissimilar. Mab is more chaotic than Titania, the light’s queen. But Titania is colder. She does not even pretend to care for humans.”

  Truly, I learned something new and unsettling every day.

  We followed the faerie as he disappeared behind a large willow tree on the edge of the property. What had Agrippa told me once? Entrances to Faerie existed on the edge of a shadow, or out the corner of one’s eye.

  “Watch your step,” Blackwood whispered to me.

  We brushed aside a curtain of leaves and stepped over the roots. My feet gave out from under me, and I fell into the earth.

  —

  GNARLED TIPS OF ROOTS DRIPPED ABOVE our heads, and the walls were rich, damp earth. My hands and knees were already soaked. Climbing to my feet, I could just make out the others as they oriented themselves in the near darkness. Magnus and Maria stayed behind Blackwood as he kept a hand to the earthen wall, steadying himself. The Goodfellow waited for us at the cavernous mouth of a large, uninviting tunnel.

  “You will not stray from the path,” the Goodfellow declared. Faintly luminescent toadstools lined either side of a narrow, twisting walkway. Blackwood motioned for me to come forward. Once we’d assembled as a group, he led the way for us. I was quite happy to let him.

  The Goodfellow moved slowly, his legs too stiff to easily bend at the knee. He guided us around twists and circles and bends, until I feared we’d lose our way. Hadn’t I heard stories like this as a little girl? The faeries would lead children into a never-ending maze with the promise of silver buttons and sweets, releasing them after two hundred years had passed.

  The Goodfellow finally brought us into a great domed enclosure. The high ceiling was festooned with winking faerie lights, adding dim illumination to the dining hall below. A ridiculously long table stretched from one end of the cavern to the other. The cloth covering the table was moldering, water-stained green silk. Delicacies had been piled all along the length of it. At first glance, the fare looked normal enough: there was roast pheasant, wild boar, and clusters of small cakes with glittering icing. When I looked again, I noticed that the food was distinctly more odd than I’d thought. The roast pheasant was in fact a large bat; the wild boar, some sort of lizard-y, piglike creature; and the clusters of pretty cakes were dotted with shining eyeballs, which glanced wildly about the room.

  Blackwood’s warning not to eat anything sounded extremely wise.

  At least the guests were enjoying themselves. Raucous laughter filled the enormous space. The faeries were all splendidly and bizarrely dressed. The ladies’ outfits were especially fragile concoctions. One gown appeared to be constructed from thousands of fluttering gray moth wings; another’s consisted of mere whispers of smoke that glided over her pale skin. The gentlemen wore old-fashioned white wigs that gleamed with spiderwebs, and moth-eaten velvet suits of red and green. The music, piped from creatures that floated through the air, was off-key and out of time.

  As we made our way across the room, Blackwood pressed me against him, one arm tightening around my waist. Unthinking, I nearly slapped him away.

  “We must be partnered, or they’ll try to make us sit,” he whispered. Magnus took his lead and grabbed Maria. We followed the Goodfellow, but hands plucked at my elbow. Two women of ferocious, black-eyed beauty smiled benevolently at me.

  “Join the feast,” one of them cooed.

  “Heavenly tarts,” the other said, biting into one. A blood-red jelly oozed from the pastry. I prayed it was jelly.

  “This was a mistake,” Magnus said through his teeth, flinching as a woman with long, sharp talons pawed at him. The faeries’ appearances slipped and shifted the longer I regarded them, as though their handsome human visages were masks in danger of dropping away. Perfect noses grew longer, pearly teeth sharpened. Eyes became red or molten gold.

  The Goodfellow mercifully turned and shouted, “They are the queen’s distinguished guests. Let them pass.” The faeries pouted and returned to their plates. Heart pounding, I clung to Blackwood as we walked toward a throne positioned at the head of the table.

  “Is that my little lordling?” a female voice trilled. “Come, Georgy. It’s been absolute ages.”

  The throne was situated above the floor, accessible by six earthen steps. A woman sat with one leg slung over the chair’s arm. Even slouching, she appeared regal. This had to be Mab. The queen was a small, exquisitely beautiful girl who looked no more than nineteen, with bare feet and white, cobwebby hair that floated aimlessly about her head. A diadem of pearl and moonstone sat dain
tily upon her brow, glowing even in the low light.

  “Where is my lordling?” She giggled as Blackwood came to the foot of the steps and knelt. “Still as handsome as ever. Beauty doesn’t last on you humans, but I think that makes it all the more precious.” Mab sniffed. “We’re having quite a party, my little mortals. Such delightful music.” She picked at her teeth and took up one of the pale cakes on a plate by her side. “I like these,” she said conversationally, spreading jam across one with a knife that appeared to be made out of bone. In fact, all the plates and utensils I’d seen had been fashioned from bone. “Though I do miss the old delicacies. You people used to leave me the heart of a Roman legionnaire cooked in brandy. So scrumptious and perfect for an autumn evening.”

  “My queen, we humbly request use of your roads to return to the mortals’ realm. We did not mean to trespass upon your Cornwall lands,” Blackwood said.

  Mab sighed, got off her throne, and traipsed down toward us. She wore no corset that I could see, only a billowing white gown that appeared to be made from spider silk. One capped sleeve slipped from her pale shoulder, giving me a glimpse of far more of the queen than I wanted. Mab stalked over to Blackwood and waved her jam-smeared butter knife in his face.

  “You know there has to be a toll, my pet. I can’t have people running willy-nilly across my lands. What would happen then?” She narrowed her eyes and pouted. “I’d have to eat them all is what.”

  “If Your Majesty wishes, what might the toll be?” Maria asked. The girl had no bloody fear. Mab grinned at her.

  “This one speaks to me. Perhaps she can be a pet.” She reached for Maria, and I stepped in front of her. Mab scowled. “No. Not you. You’re too tall to help pull my walnut carriage.”

  I hated faeries.

  Taking a cue from Blackwood, I tried to be my most polite. “Majesty, I am Henrietta Howel, the burning rose of England, the sorcerers’ prophesied one destined to bring about the Ancients’ destruction.” Faeries liked long, showy titles. I curtsied. “We are your allies in this war. Giving us safe passage through your lands would illustrate the nobility of your character…and fully highlight and complement your matchless beauty.” Queen Mab beamed, blackberry jam smeared all over her teeth.

  “I like this tall one,” Mab said, poking me in the stomach.

  “Your Majesty is perfection, as generous as you are beautiful,” Blackwood said, his voice silk. He nodded at me. Apparently I’d done well.

  Mab studied Maria again—I think she was serious about taking the girl—but Maria patted her ax, and the queen turned away. Of course. Faeries detested iron.

  “You aren’t like that mean Imperator of yours, Georgy. That’s why I like you. Did you know he came to see me last week and demanded I open my roads to his Order? ‘Easier to get sorcerers about the country,’ he said. ‘Takes less time and costs fewer lives,’ he said. Well.” Her cobwebby hair rose in her passion. “I don’t even let my sister use my roads, so why does he think he gets a right?”

  “We are allies in this war, Majesty,” Blackwood said smoothly.

  “I’ve already given so many of my lovely subjects to the stupid war. Do you know that eighteen hundred goblins were slaughtered near Manchester, not two weeks before? And still the Imperator demands more.” Her eyes glinted with tears, presumably for her fallen soldiers. It made me soften toward the queen.

  “My apologies, Majesty, for any indelicacy.” Blackwood sounded sincere, and Mab appeared mollified.

  “That doesn’t change things, though. There has to be a toll.” She huffed, and considered. “Heartbreak. The pains of the heart are so delicious to me. That would be a token, yes, a very fair one.” She began to sniff at us, one after the other. She paused before me. Oh damn. “Mmm, such complexity.” Mab stood on tiptoe and brushed a hand through my hair; I kept still. “Women’s hearts are more complex than men’s, I find. Less virile, less passionate, but so utterly complicated.” She trailed a delicate pink tongue across her bottom lip. “How delicious.”

  I had to force myself not to push her off. My toes curled with the effort.

  “What do you want from me, Majesty?” I would not be afraid.

  “A piece of your heart,” she cooed, patting my cheek with her small, dry hand. Her eyes glittered, animal and wild. “One of those moments that gives you a scrap of hope on a gray day.”

  My mind rebelled. What would she take? A stolen moment on the moors with Rook? An evening playing chess with Agrippa? How would she take it? Mab must have read the resistance in my eyes.

  “You won’t get out of here otherwise.” Her voice was sweet to the point of insult.

  “Perhaps I might—” Blackwood began, but Mab dismissed him with a wave.

  “You’ve nothing to interest me, Georgy,” the queen said flatly. “Your feelings are always so mundane.” Blackwood tightened his jaw; suppressed anger danced in his eyes. We had to finish this.

  “Fine,” I said shortly. “Do what you must.” I clasped my hands together so she wouldn’t see them shaking. Mab put her fingers to my lips. I was preparing myself when Magnus strode forward.

  “Majesty.” He gave an elaborate bow, as deep as Blackwood’s had been. In his naval coat and breeches, with his skin golden from the sun, Magnus looked like a small scrap of light in this underworld. “You say a young man’s heart is more virile. Why not taste mine?”

  “No, Magnus,” I said quickly, but Mab’s nostrils flared. She crept closer and nestled against him, twining her small hand through his wild auburn hair. The queen pressed her cheek to Magnus’s chest.

  “Such pain.” Mab swooned and chattered her teeth. “How did I miss it?” She wrapped her arms around his neck, her feet dangling off the ground. Magnus grunted. “Oh, I have to taste this. Give me a memory,” she whispered in his ear, her voice turning guttural. Magnus flinched.

  “Please. Take one of mine,” I said.

  “No, no. I want this.” Mab kissed Magnus’s temple. “Such a beautiful face. One of the most beautiful I can recall. I would love to see you chained with all my other pets.”

  If she tried to put him in chains, I’d have her heart.

  “I prefer other forms of diversion to chains, ma’am,” he said. His reserve didn’t falter.

  Mab laughed, the tinkling sound of breaking glass. “Your pain is so exquisite, my little warrior.” She passed a hand along his arm. “It’s the taste of someone unused to defeat.”

  Magnus closed his eyes. “If you want something, Majesty, please take it,” he said, his voice tight.

  “Then give me a most cherished memory,” she whispered in his ear.

  Blackwood caught my eye. “Don’t move,” he breathed.

  “Quickly, if you please,” Magnus said. Mab touched his lips, pressed a hand over his heart, and pushed. Magnus grunted, pain etched on his face as she pressed deeper, harder. I winced as I listened to him cry out. I felt as helpless as if I were watching it through the bars of a cage.

  Maria came up beside me, keeping close. “Poor fellow,” she whispered, holding on to my arm. I could sense it: she was both comforting and controlling me, should I decide to act.

  “There it is,” Mab cooed, holding some strange thing in her hand. It pulsed with light. The sheen was soft and delicate, milk white and tinged with blue. Magnus grimaced, one hand on his chest. He watched with desperation as the queen handled whatever small piece of his soul she’d taken.

  And then she ate it. Gobbled it down like a small piece of cake. Magnus buried his head in his hands.

  “You bitch,” I snarled, tears springing into my eyes. Maria dug her fingers into my arm. Mab smiled.

  “I know,” she said in a singsong way. Traipsing up the steps to her throne, she returned to lounging. “You may use my roads. Remember not to stray from the path,” she called as we walked out, following her tree-barked knight.

  I slipped beside Magnus. “Are you all right?” I asked. When I tried to hold his arm to steady him, he pulled away with a s
hake of his head.

  “I hate this quest,” he whispered.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Indeed. You were…brave,” Blackwood said as he came up behind us. He sounded unsteady, as if complimenting Magnus required physical effort. Maria said nothing but put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  What a wretch I was. I should have forced Mab to take something from me. As Magnus walked ahead, I felt ashamed.

  The road twined ahead of us, growing rockier and more uneven. There was barely space for us to pass single file. As the path grew narrower, whispering voices on either side called out to us. Listening to them, I could feel my eyes growing heavier. My legs felt weak; I wanted to turn, to sit and rest—

  “Keep moving.” Maria grabbed me by my collar and steered me straight. “They’ve a way of tricking you.” Once she’d put me right again, she clapped her hands over her ears.

  I murmured my thanks, slapping my cheek to bring myself out of the daze, and covered my ears as well. The road inclined steeply up, up, and up. My temples ached, as if someone had looped a leather band around my head and was tightening it, degree by degree, until I was on the verge of going mad.

  We emerged aboveground between one heartbeat and the next. One instant, there was only dark earth above us. The next, the sun was so brilliant that my eyes watered and stung. Shouts of surprise erupted as a great crowd of people materialized out of nowhere. Maria was standing next to me, looking at the cobblestones beneath our feet with an expression of wonder.

  “By the Mother,” Maria muttered. “Where are we?”

  “In London,” I said, my eyes adjusting enough that I could recognize the streets. We’d come out close to St. Paul’s Cathedral, in the heart of traffic. A hansom cab came to a clattering halt mere feet from us, the horse rearing on his hind legs. A red-faced driver shouted obscenities at us, until he got a better look. Then he went pale.

  “Sorcerers,” he murmured.

  Maria huddled closer to me, like an animal seeking shelter. Had she ever been in a city before?