Page 70 of Crown of Tides and Fury

Like saving the last chocolate in the box…

Wickham booked an entire restaurant in London for our celebration, convinced Griffon wouldn’t be tracking us. And since it looked like Orion still hadn’t caught on to the fact thatThirdsheld the Naming Powers, he didn’t see any more danger than usual in letting Persi out in public.

I suspected part of his confidence came from the fact that Kitch would stay close to her. Of course, she was perfectly capable of defending and protecting herself. But on top of all that, she could disappear in the blink of an eye. This was not a woman easily caught.

“As long as ye dinnae drip any blood on the ground,” Wickham said, as we were getting ready to leave. “Orion shouldnae ken anything about ye.”

“He has seen me, though. At Soni’s wedding, in the tent. When no one else could see me, he could. Just before you popped us out.”

Wickham stared at her for a minute. “I wonder how.”

Persi shrugged. “Just thought I should remind you.”

“Glad ye did. Now,” he rubbed his hands together, “let’s find our party hats, aye? Ivy and I are in dire need of distraction…and a dance.” His gaze cut to me. “Be certain ye leave that feather at home, aye?”

27

Summon The Pawns

Archer Carew kept his mouth shut and tried to blend in with the odd collection of Fae whom Orion had assembled as his court. The golden-haired, golden draped creature had claimed the Fae King’s empty throne and entertained the delusion he could make the position permanent. The Fae world was in chaos, and unfortunately, it didn’t seem like anyone was foolish or powerful enough to challenge him—at least, not for the time being.

Archer’s wisest move was to lie low, be as useful as possible, and learn as much as he could. From what he’d gleaned thus far, some intrigue was playing out between the Fae and Clan Moire, and he knew, in his bones, the outcome would reshape the world as he knew it. If he planned to witness the grand finale, and if he ever hoped to find out what happened to his sister, he had to play sycophant for as long as he could stomach it.

After taking a royal beating from a band of Highland mercenaries, he’d escaped into the realm of Moire’s Embrace, and expected death to follow him. But instead, he’d been plucked back into the land of the living, made whole, and offered a place at the Fae King’s Court. Naturally, he’d accepted, but when presented to that Fae King, it wore a new face.

Nothing had seemed sane since.

As a tall Fae himself, he stood at the back of the crowd and watched as a new creature was ushered into the throne room. He recognized his brother immediately. No other possessed Griffon Carew’s bearing. He wore a loose jacket and no shirt. Those wings Archer coveted all his life were sheathed.

What was his brother doing here? Would he know to hold his tongue, to tread carefully? This would-be king was merciless, impatient…and not without talents. There was no warning Griffon, but Archer shuffled his way to the outer edge of the mob in case he was needed.

Family over all.

* * *

Griffon had been summonedby the King of the Fae.

Supposedly.

The courtier who came for him was no courtier he’d ever encountered, and he knew of no reason why the king would have disappeared years ago only to return again. No, the king was dead. Whoever summoned him now was an imposter. And if Griffon expected to discover who now defiled the throne, he had to answer the summons.

“Will you show the way,” he asked the courtier, as if he were unsure how to reach the throne room on his own. The fellow cut a large doorway to accommodate Griffon’s wings, but he furled them and slipped on a jacket before preceding the Fae through the opening. Then Griffon waited for him to lead again.

Blue glowed from the entrance in the rocks—a glow that had gone missing, along with the king.

Was he wrong? Had King Ghloir returned after all?

Music poured toward him as he neared. All strings. Cellos in unison. Ominous, edgy. The Fae King preferred an orchestra…

Griffon wasn’t acting when he paused at the end of the corridor to take in the sight over his head. The blue glow had always come from the starry sky of the ceiling--mixes of purple and indigo constellations, the bright yellow pricks of distant suns. Here and there, across the expanse, hung glassy teardrop-shaped formations, like so many stalactites turned to water, and suspended in time, just before dripping.

This. This he had missed. And in case it was his last chance to appreciate the enchantment first created by the king and a new bride, he lingered in a feeble attempt to memorize it.

“Griffon Carew!”

With the announcement, all heads turned his way. He scanned the faces before him. Unfamiliar. Many belonged to lesser Fae, poorly camouflaged in courtly garb, who had no business in this place. Bare, colorless feet retreated beneath dragging hems as creatures cleared a path up the center of the room, between himself and the throne. They were curious, nervous. Clueless.

Unlike Griffon, they had no reason to believe the Fae sitting upon the dais was not the rightful king.

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