Page 96 of Hidden

Farras shrugged one shoulder, his bound hands robbing the gesture of his usual grace. “So cut my head off.”

“You expect to die, do you?” Elroth’s smile was pitying, and for the first time, Farras’s defiance faltered.

“What—”

“I did not give you leave to speak, fool.” The king grabbed the top of Farras’s head, spreading his fingers wide to grip his skull. “If you long to be close to the throne, I can ensure you will always have a place beside it.”

Eyes wide with sudden understanding, Farras screamed. “No!”

Magic slammed into Farras with the force of a war hammer, making him shudder wildly. Light flickered around Elroth and his prisoner, but not the usual light fae glow. This was an absence of color—jagged scraps of nothing ripping the air around them. The backwash alone made Izetta stagger, but Farras curled forward until his forehead touched the floor. This was the power of the sovereign he had wanted so badly, but now it was turned against him.

Farras slowly shriveled—Izetta could think of no other word as his flesh seemed to evaporate from twisting bones. When Elroth finally released him, he stayed curled up on the floor, slowly rocking back and forth.

“Get up, fool.” Elroth nudged him with his foot. “You have new duties.”

Farras pushed himself to his knees. When he looked up, the bones of his face had altered, so that chin and nose were too sharp, like a child’s nutcracker doll. His hair had crisped and frizzed to a ragged sun around his head.

“My liege,” he wheezed.

A collective shudder passed through the fae huddled against the walls. One of the wolves threw up. Izetta wished she could. Every vampire understood transformation, but she’d never seen anything like this.

“Be it known that you, Farras of the Forest Fae, are stripped of wealth, of title, and of all your magic,” Elroth said, his voice carrying the full weight of authority. “You will never be king of the fae, but I sentence you to be the Lord of Misrule.”

Farras let out a shriek of rage that sounded like tearing metal.

“It has been many years since I had a court jester,” the king said. “But you are fully qualified for the position.”

Farras scrambled to his feet but could not pull himself upright. His bones were no longer straight. He stumbled, caught himself, and howled in defiant anger. When he finally got control of his limbs, he weaved and bobbed with a strange, hopping gait.

“I will kill you in your sleep,” he rasped, brandishing claw-like fingers. “I will tear out your eyes and devour them. I will drip poison in your wine.”

“Then I shall pen you with the hounds until you mend your ways,” the king said blandly. “You will have to earn your comforts, cousin.”

“This is not who I am!” Farras shrieked.

“It is exactly who you are,” Elroth retorted. “Every monarch who sits the Throne endures the test of this particular magic. The purpose is to reveal a fae’s true spirit, to manifest their nature in the flesh, and so it has done with you.”

Arms raised, Farras hurled himself at the king with another ear-splitting scream. The warrior in black grabbed the jester by the back of his torn silk tunic, holding him in place while his feet still tried to pedal forward.

Elroth looked on, his face pale. “Let this be an education for anyone tempted to treason. The Throne is not a prize to be taken, but a trust to be defended. Until Farras understands his own folly, he will remain a fool.”

Wolf, fae, or Undead—they all stared in profound shock. The shifters shuffled closer together, needing the comfort of touch. When Errata’s shoulder brushed hers, Izetta slipped her arm through the cat’s.

“Vlad’s fangs,” Malatest said under his breath. “And I came here looking for revenge.”

Izetta made a soft noise that might have been a stillborn laugh. “We’re rank amateurs, my friend. There’s a reason we’re scared of the fae.”

The king addressed his retinue. “Take my jester away and find him motley. Perhaps Bronkin left something he can wear.”

The moment Farras approached the portal, the way station he had built began to tremble.

CHAPTER 34

The vibration beneath Lila’s feet deepened to a shudder, and then stopped. Everyone in the hall shuffled nervously, glancing around as if looking for the cue to run. The king’s retainers closed in around Elroth, one of them gesturing toward the portal.

Lila immediately understood what was happening—she’d seen the problem herself on various job sites. Farras’s magic was broken, and enough minutes had ticked by that the spell that built the way station was adjusting to the fact. If the building’s magic had been set properly—the spell anchored across a large group of casters for safety—the transition should have been seamless. This was sloppy work.

Unless … A thought occurred to Lila, but she pushed it away. Not even Farras was so arrogant. The idea came again, except this time there was a smell in the air that made her queasy. No, not a smell exactly, but a feeling like something scratching on the inside of her skull.

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