Page 118 of Crown of the Fae King

“Aye. So let’s get ye home before he comes lookin’.”

We poppedinto Engineering to find Persi waiting in the corner. After a quick hug, she opened my hand and slapped a heavy money belt into it, then held up her hands and backed away. “You’re it. And by the way, I don’t want to play anymore. It whined like a new puppy at night. Got a few naps in, but I’m out.” Then she winked. “Glad you’re all right.”

In the morning, I couldn’t bear to touch the giant pancake Alwyn made for me. I used the excuse that it was just too pretty. He’d used different kinds of berries to make a map of the British Isles and outlined it with whipped cream.

He pointed to the different sections. “Ireland, Scotland, and England. Congratulations on being wanted in every country. Sure but ye’ll have to put forth more effort to get Wales to notice ye, of course. My country is a mite harder to impress.”

When we gathered after breakfast, the sisters were on the monitor, and in front of everyone, I confessed almost everything, as I’d done the night before, to Wickham.

“The bad news is that I told Griffon what we’re trying to do. I told him about theThirds, and he already knew we were trying to find the Fae King.” I noticed no one was surprised. “The good news is that he isn’t in league with Orion.”

“That we know of,” said one of the sisters.

“Right. That we know of. I’m sorry. It just…”

“Don’t worry, love,” Persi called out. She sat back in her chair with her butt at the front of the seat, her legs out, her arms crossed. Her mocking accent was meant to lighten the mood, I was sure of it. “If that man was standing in front of me with his shirt off, I woulda told him anything ‘e wanted to know.”

“There’s a little more bad news,” I said. “Griffon is sure the king is dead. That he died…five years ago.”

“So whoever killed him has the power of…” Everly nodded at the list. “Beauty.”

One of the sisters asked how he knew.

I shook my head. “He wouldn’t say.”

Persi dropped the mock accent. “So what he said at the bar, telling us to find the king and see if he’d help us?”

“He was angry.” I sucked in a deep breath. “Any minute, he’s going to see those news reports about his brother’s last passenger. And that we were at Trinity. He’ll be something much worse than angry.”

“Wickham? Son?” Brian’s voice cracked. “Just how powerful are yer wards on this estate?”

We were at Defcon 5.Lockdown.

No one left the estate for any reason and we concentrated on our next plan, which was to locate the onlyThirdwe had a lead on—who tended to live at or near a lighthouse on the North Sea. We suspected it was the power of Hope, from our list, the power associated with the name Mercail or Pearl.

We made a list of the lighthouses that qualified, put them in a logical order, and tracked the weather forecasts. Every morning, there were defense lessons in the gardens out back, and if it was raining, we’d use the ballroom at the far end of the boys wing. If I did very well, I’d be rewarded with an offensive move or two.

I accidentally cut Kitch’s hand the first morning, so I offered to let him carry Hank around in his pocket the rest of the day. By that night, the only thing left of the wound was a pink line.

Persi watched the news so the rest of us didn’t have to. And on the third day, Wickham breached our little quarantine to pop out and make a call to Brooks. Brian, Flann, and I were waiting in Engineering when he popped home again, his expression grim, his clothes and hair dripping.

He waved for us to follow, and we settled around the dining room table while the Youngs fixed us tea. “We have some choices to make. None of them good.” Becca Young brought him a towel for his head. He thanked her and waited for the doors to close, then continued. “The police in Edinburgh have asked that ye present yerself for questionin’.”

“The police? Or Orion?”

“Brooks said they never mentioned the Inspector or Scotland Yard.”

“I can’t go to Edinburgh. None of us can. The last tower Carew’s phone pinged off of was in Edinburgh.”

Kitch joined us just as Ranald Young carried in a heavy tea tray. His wife, Deb, followed with a platter of cucumber sandwiches and skewered fruit. She poured five cups of tea, then nodded to Wickham. “The others have been served in the music room, sir.”

“I love afternoon tea,” Flann said. “Especially when someone else prepared it.”

Kitch downed a couple of sandwiches, then cleared his throat. “He’s not in Edinburgh,” he said. “He’s made his way to Wales. Pinged off a Yarborough tower this morning.”

“You’re sure?”

“Pinged off a few others in between. Must be stopping along the way, putting his battery back in to make calls.”

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