Page 112 of Crown of Wings and Whispers

I squeezed Griffon’s hand while we waited. Wickham soon joined us. “No worries,” he announced. “The female judge owes me four turns of the hourglass. We have plenty of time.”

While Persi brought theSeanairup to speed, Kitch leaned toward me and put a hand to the side of his mouth. “Dinnae be impressed. He cannae lose at cards.”

I was surprised. “He cheats?”

Kitch shook his head. “It has more to do with his recent acquisition of a wishing power.”

Anrai assured us we could extract Orion’s powers without the need to open his prison. Then he offered a suggestion. “Might ye consider allowing the Naming Powers to choose the rightful King? It might mean more stability, in the end…”

I knew this was coming, but I hadn’t had much time to prepare myself. As Griffon was the eldest son of the true Fae King, we all assumed he would be expected to take the throne. But I couldn’t see us sitting around that cold throne room all day or making our lives in Fairy. I didn’t want to live in a house like Bridie’s, filled with trees and fairies, feeling like I was camping all the time.

I wanted to live somewhere…cozy, like Bridie’s house before my eyes had been opened. With room out back for a dragon…

And finally, I couldn’t imagine what those creative and destructive powers would do to my levelheaded Griffon. Or maybe I assumed too much. Maybe he’d been designed to bear that kind of weight on his shoulders. But whatever happened, I intended to stand by him, or sit beside his throne, or mop his kitchen floors and bake him cakes. Whatever it took to ensure he was as happy as humanly or non-humanly possible.

Of course, Wickham might be a logical choice. He wasn’t Fae, but that white power inside him proved he was capable of handling that kind of burden.

I watched Persi and wondered if she’d now be expected to give up her Power of Light—the single power that saved us all. I prayed she was ready to let it go. It might not be possible to crown a new Fae king without all eight Ideals and Corruptions.

Lorraine and Loretta took positions at opposite ends of the iridescent bars. They looked ready to wrestle an alligator if necessary. Wickham stood six feet away from where Orion still knelt in defeat, surrounded by a puddle of gold fabrics, glittery fringe, and rich embroidery.

Flann and Brian stood with Archer on the far side of Persi and Kitch, watching every movement. I wondered if they planned to write down our adventures for posterity. Or maybe they’d already started.

Flann caught me looking his way.Ready for this?

No.

Come now. It’ll be grand.

Wickham stomped his foot three times. “Orion, known as Ambition, in exchange for yer move to Nothingness, do ye surrender yer Naming Powers of Beauty and Vanity, Fertility and Famine, Peace and War, Art and Destruction, Youth and Decay, Life and Death…for the greater good, with all the contracts and conditions with which ye might have multiplied those powers?”

The prisoner’s chin fell against his chest once more. “Yes.” It was little more than a whisper. Then he shouted it again without ever looking up.

“Do ye give them freely and without compulsion?”

“Yes.”

“Then let them be surrendered.”

I stepped to the side so I could see clearly. With no green mist like the last ceremony I’d witnessed, I wondered how Wickham would get the powers out without cutting off Orion’s head. But I didn’t have to wait for the answer. The white mist that unnerved me seeped out of Wickham’s open palm and dove through the bars. It punched into Orion’s chest as if in punishment.

The prisoner’s chin lifted with a snap, sending his golden curls swinging. Colored mists shot out of his forehead and puddled twenty feet in the air, as if they’d encountered some invisible ceiling that kept them from escaping. Green, pink, orange, red, purple and indigo never mixed as they percolated for a few seconds, then began swirling, slowly, and moving toward the bars.

The white mist retreated from Orion’s chest. The Fae’s head fell forward and hung limp. As the mist was pulled back into Wickham’s hand, it beckoned the colors to follow it. They turned toward the taunting fingers. Like a pack of leashed dogs, they strained for Wickham like they were considering him for their new host.

Wickham reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask, spun the top off, and held it out. A mist of bright ocean blue rose out of the small hole, expanded, and stretched up to join the others. After a few seconds, the colors moved on together, headed toward Griffon.

I had stepped away for a better vantage point, so I wasn’t there to hold his hand, and I sure as hell didn’t want to draw their attention. I could only cross my fingers and watch.

Again, the thick colored mists strained forward. The orange stretched closer, closer, until the others pulled it back. When they turned away as one, relief flooded my eyes with tears and they poured down my cheeks.

Griffon was mine! All mine!

I side-stepped back to him and took his hand. He gave mine a squeeze, but his attention was glued to the colors hovering in front of Persi.

Queen of the Fae? It was a great idea. I’d trust her with every one of the Naming Powers, but Persi wasn’t Fae either. The colored mists seemed to have come to the same conclusion, because they moved on. Passing Kitch without notice, slowing as they neared Brian and Flann, then stopping completely before a wide-eyed Archer.

Archer. Son of the Fae King!

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