“We still need a queen.” There had always been a high queen, one who possessed a rather peculiar set of gifts— the ability to use all four elements.
Ciarán’s hands wrapped around his mug. “I think most have forgotten Tiana’s daughter. She lives in the mortal realm with her father.”
“Did she inherit her mother’s abilities?” Kevighn did a double take. “Are you planning on killing the girl?” Ciarán’s face contorted into a look of disgust. “You don’t honestly think I’d do that? No, we’ll raise the girl here, with us, continue collecting the pieces, and when we’re ready, we’ll have our revolution. Tiana will be overthrown, and this girl will be the new high queen.”
There were many, many holes in Ciarán’s plan, but it wasn’t Kevighn’s place to question him. “How will you get the girl in the first place?”
“That is where you, my dear friend, come in.” Ciarán clapped him on the arm. “I need you to do what you do best—get me the girl.”
“You want me to go to Los Angeles and steal the girl away from the former king of the earth court?” Kevighn couldn’t quite believe his ears.
“You do know who her chief tutor and companion is, right?” Ciarán’s smile grew sly as he swirled the drink is his glass. “I don’t think anyone will mourn if you killed Quinn the Fair in the course of your task.”
Kevighn drew in a sharp breath. “You’re offering me the chance to kill him?”
Ciarán nodded. “If it were my sister, I would have killed the bastard straight out.”
“You could—I couldn’t.” It still would have caused a war.
He grinned over the rim of his glass. “It won’t cause a war now.”
For reasons unknown Quinn had joined his former king in exile.
“I’ll do it.” Maybe Stiofán would be there and give him a reason to kill him as well.
“Good.” Ciarán raised his glass in a toast. “To brotherhood.”
Kevighn raised his. “To brotherhood.”
They drank. Putting down his glass, Ciarán gestured to the bar. “Welcome home. It’s about damn time. Your talents are wasted on the likes of her anyway.”
Kevighn looked around at the various dark court folk—brownies, goblins, ogres, the banished, and the generally unscrupulous, the real “monsters” behind the stories used to scare mortal children. Perhaps the high court looked down on dark court folk, but they possessed a code you’d never find in anyplace else, especially the high court. They welcomed him back as if he’d never left.
He clapped his old friend on the arm. “It’s good to be home.”
Ciarán was right; it was about damn time.
Nineteen
Ill
Noli’s mouth felt stuffed with cotton. She hurt too much to even consider moving. The door opened, but Noli kept her eyes closed.
“I brought you coffee, how’s the patient,” Vix whispered, the door closing behind her.
“Her fever’s not breaking,” Jeff murmured. “I’m worried.”
“We’ll be in Chicago soon to refuel. I think we should get Noli a doctor,” Vix replied.
“No, I think our best chance is to refuel, press on to Boston, and bring her to grandfather’s.”
Right, she was unwell. Her skin blazed and she wanted to drink a barrel of water—which, unfortunately, required sitting up.
“Jeff … do you actually think your family will welcome us?” Vix blurted. “It’s so sweet and old fashioned that you want me to meet them, but what if they turn us away? At least in Chicago we can find a doctor. She’s so pale and still.”
“Grandfather Montgomery is a lot of things—but he won’t turn us away on Thanksgiving, especially when I’m trying to do what’s right,” Jeff returned. “Also, if Noli’s unwell, it’s a non-issue. Mother will never allow Grandfather turn us away.”
For once Noli wanted her mother. Mama always knew how to make tea just right and when coddled eggs would be better than toast. Real sheets, cool ones which smelled nice, would feel so much better on her too-warm skin than hammock strings.
“Are you certain? It just feels so … risky.”
“We need to take her to Boston,” Jeff insisted.
Noli’s struggled to sit up. “I want to see Mama.” The words felt as thick as badly knitted socks, but if she didn’t speak up, they may stop in Chicago instead.
“Easy.” Jeff helped her sit, hammock rocking with her movement. “How do you feel?”
“Warm.” She shrugged off her blanket. “And thirsty.”
Jeff handed her a cup of lukewarm weak tea, which she drained in two gulps and returned to him. He placed it on the worktable, sat on her workbench, and picked up his own mug. Dark rings circled his eyes and stubble dotted his chin. Vix didn’t look any better as she leaned against the closed door. The three of them took up all the space, crowding the miniscule space.
Taking a handkerchief, Jeff dipped it in some water and handed it to her. Noli wiped her face with it. Her entire body throbbed and the tea did little to slake her thirst.
“Where are my roses?” She looked around.
Jeff gestured to her worktable. The wilted roses drooped, tiny leaves and petals raining onto the floor. “Would you like your pot of mint?”
“Please?” She just wanted to be near something green and growing.
“There you go.” He tucked the pot of mint in her arms and put the fallen blanket back on her lap. “Would you like something to eat?”
“I don’t feel like eating.” Really she just wanted to drink some water and go back to sleep. “I’d like some more tea or water, please.”
“I’ll get some.” Vix left.
“I want to see Mama.” She just didn’t want to be left behind in Boston. “I feel horrid.” Even her hair hurt. She noticed she still wore her blue dress and corset, though someone had removed her boots.
Jeff squeezed her shoulder. “We’re going to Boston. Grandfather will summon a doctor, and Mother will have the kitchen make you coddled eggs and tea.”
“And Mama and Grandmother will have your and Vix’s wedding all planned before we even finish Thanksgiving dinner,” Noli laughed. “Better you than me.”
Throwing back his head, he laughed. “True. You’ll help Vix out, won’t you?”
“Help me with what?” Vix returned with a cup in her hand, which she gave to Noli.
“I appreciate it.” Noli took a tentative gulp of water, wishing it were cooler.
“Why do you never say thank you?” Vix leaned against the door frame. “Is it because those words mean something to them?”
Nodding, she took another gulp of water. “I’ll help you with the legions of female relations who will spend all of Thanksgiving arguing if we should serve quail or pheasant at your wedding.”
A look of sheer and utter terror crossed Vix’s face. “We’re not getting married at Thanksgiving, are we?”
“I don’t think even Grandmamma can plan a wedding that quickly,” Noli joked as she finished her water. “Though she might try.”
“Noli, since you’re feeling a little better, could you please explain what’s going on here? I don’t understand— about you having magic, about that man calling you a sprite, about our neighbor being Fae.” Jeff squeezed her knee.
“Must I?” She looked away, stomach churning at the idea of talking about everything.
“Would you like me to leave?” Vix added.
Noli shook her head. “It’s the idea of telling the story that bothers me—not you hearing it.” She lay back down in the hammock, clutching the pot of mint. “In order for it to all make sense, I have to start at the very beginning. The day I regret will all my being. That was the day where everything changed. I’d finally managed to fix Father’s old Hestin Dervish Pixy and V and I took it out for a test flight … ”