Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It was the second I’d seen in one day and numbness rolled up my legs, settling under my breastbone, when I looked at it. I took long strides to the entryway, knowing it was too late for me to do anything.
Malcolm lay spread out on the carpet, his cane tossed beside him, as though someone had tried to get it out of the way.
I knelt, my knees landing heavily on the floor, and put my fingers at his throat.
No pulse. With my magic, I reached out and tried to sense for him, but all I felt was a deep, empty nothingness.
Someone had drained him of magic and left there on the carpet like trash. Anger smashed into my chest, and I hissed out a long breath. He didn’t need to die.
I settled back on my heels and looked around. Now that I knew what I was looking at, the entryway looked familiar. How had he kept his nature hidden from me? For that matter, how had he hidden the rest of this house from me?
In retrospect, I recognized the couch and the tv. But he must have been incredibly powerful if he could throw a glamour that would confuse even me. Why had he been interested in me? Was it to keep an eye on the Summer Queen?
No, Malcolm had never even once asked me about her. In fact, he’d been nothing but kind to me since we met. I felt my anxiety deflate as the grief rose up again. I didn’t have many friends, and I thought he’d been one.
“What am I supposed to do now, Windrose?” I asked his corpse.
He would have had some way of summoning the courts, but I had no idea what it was. I pushed a knuckle hard into my eyeball, seeing sparks and flashes. When I opened my eyes, I saw the cane.
Squinting, I noticed some details that hadn’t been clear before. Symbols for each court were carved across the top where his palm would rest. I remembered the hole in the floor in the large stained glass room.
Testing a theory, I picked up the cane, unsurprised at the weight now I understood who’d been using it. I walked back to the seasons room and placed the cane into the hole. It fit, standing upright when I stepped back.
Nothing happened.
Narrowing my eyes, I tried calling out, “Summer Queen, I summon thee.”
The room was thick with heavy potential, like rain about to fall, but nothing happened. I went to the large stained glass windows, but there were no buttons or leavers. There wasn’t even a residue of magic I could examine.
Brushing my fingers against the head of the cane, I pushed magic into it.
I kept the amount low, and felt a vibration come back to me, like touching a guitar string that had been plucked.
Hesitantly, I increased the amount of magic and the cane sprouted roots.
They plunged into the ground, but unlike my own friendly tree, no damage was done to the wooden floor.
It was all an illusion or—no, that wasn’t right.
The tree was growing, but it was growing into the Far Realm.
It looked almost like a glamour, but I imagined if I touched it, it would be solid, roots growing blue and yellow, purple and white, orange and brown, pink and green.
The colored roots raced towards the stained glass, lighting them up.
Doorways opened in front of the windows and I caught images of the Far Realm, the different courts glancing into the portals.
Soon, fae came through. I expected an entourage when the Windrose summoned the courts. To my surprise, it was just one fae from each realm.
The Winter King entered first, then the Spring Queen, Autumn King, and Summer Queen. I recognized them from my time at court and felt goosebumps rise at how much power was in the room with me.
“What is the meaning of this?” the Winter King asked, his gruff voice chilling the surrounding air.
“Where is the Windrose?” the Spring Queen asked. “You. You were the Summer Queen’s favored childling. What are you doing here?”
At that statement, the Autumn King stepped forward, examining me. “You summoned us? Explain yourself.”
“Yes, Parker Ferro,” the Summer Queen purred. “Explain yourself.”
She didn’t need to tug at the obligation between us to make herself clear. The room crackled with the power the four of them held. I raised an eyebrow, waiting to see if she’d push the issue.
She smirked at me, and waved a hand, a throne appearing behind her for her to sit in. The rest of the royals did the same, their expressions ranging from curious to dark.
“The Windrose is dead,” I said. “So is Timothy Powell.”
Pulling the pendant out of my pocket, I approached the Autumn King, offering it over. He examined it, turning it in his hands, a frown etched between his brows.
“The Windrose is dead?” the Spring Queen asked, her light voice musical. “How? Who killed him? You aren’t claiming to have done it, are you?”
She smiled as she spoke the last, her laughter echoed by the Winter King. The Summer Queen was scrutinizing me, her eyes narrowed, and she asked, “Did you kill him, Parker?”
“No,” I said quickly. “No. It wasn’t me. There’s a serial killer here in San Amaro who’s draining paranormals of their magic. I’m pretty sure he got to Malcolm, too.”
“On what evidence?” the Winter King boomed. “No human could have killed him, he has power beyond their ken.”
“Come see for yourself,” I snapped. Stalking out of the room, I walked back to Malcolm’s body. It was unchanged, and I stood to the side as the Kings and Queens examined it.
The Spring Queen bent over him, her hands hovering above his chest. She frowned.
“The child speaks true, the Windrose has no more magic in him.” She glanced to the Winter King, and I noted the silent exchange between them.
In the previous Summer Queen’s reign, the Spring and Summer courts had been allies, but with her death, it looked like that had shifted. The Autumn King examined the pendant in his hand and said, “Timothy was killed in the same manner?”
“Yeah. And someone used his body to summon a demon from one of the other realms.” I leaned back against the wall, crossing my arms.
The Autumn King frowned and looked to the Summer Queen. “I had no idea humans were so advanced in their magic that they could summon a demon. Perhaps it is a rogue fae?”
“You think between the four courts, none of us know of a rogue fae draining human magic?” the Winter King spat. “No. It is either one of our agents or it is, as the child says, a human.”
For a moment, tension seemed to crackle between the royals. I looked between them as they eyed each other. The only two who seemed to trust each other were the Winter King and the Spring Queen, and even she was eyeing him with a slight curiosity.
I could see her wondering if he was so dismissive because it was one of his court, perhaps acting in some attempt to steal power from him. After a long pause, the Autumn King said, “I have seen enough.”
He stalked back to the room they’d entered, and the rest followed, with me bringing up the rear. I stopped short when I entered, as the thrones had rearranged themselves, now in a semicircle ringing the tree.
The tree itself had finished growing, an oak similar to the one I’d used to find the Windrose’s house. But instead of a rough, crooked trunk, a throne had grown out of it. The seat sat empty.
I shifted on my feet, crossing my arms, as the monarchs took their seats.
The Winter King, his throne made of ice that seemed lit from within by shifting lights, stroked his auburn beard and looked around the assembly. The Spring Queen, her throne made of vining roses, turned to him, and murmured, “The seat needs to be filled.”
“I agree,” the Winter King said. “It has never before sat empty.”
“Balsam, we have time yet, don’t you think?” the Autumn King asked, his throne of branches cracking as he moved, faded leaves shivering as he shifted in his seat.
The Winter King’s eyes flicked to the Autumn King, and his lip hitched in a sneer. “Do we? Who was this Timothy Powell who carried your insignia? Perhaps he was a pawn who had outlived his usefulness and would create a suitable cover for a monarch who would tip the scales between courts.”
“I agree,” the Summer Queen said, her throne made of prisms that sparkled, reflecting light like a lake on a summer day. “Why does the Autumn Court want no one who might sit in judgement? Your season approaches, perhaps a war comes with the cooling weather?”
“Absurd,” the Autumn King spat. “We all know which of us here are dogs of war. It was not me who won my throne with regicide, Lilacina.”
“Oh, no, much better to manipulate an infirm King into handing over his crown,” the Summer Queen said, sugar dripping from her words. “Such a pity his majesty passed so soon after you ascended to his throne.”
“Perhaps we should refocus on the issue at hand,” the Spring Queen said. “Who knows of a fae that could take the Windrose’s place? Someone who has no loyalty to one court above the other.”
“I know of none,” the Winter King rumbled. “This is why it’s always been that the falling Windrose trained his replacement. The only fae who are not aligned with a court are exiles, and I have no urge to call them back so they might sit in judgment of us.”
The Summer Queen smiled, and I felt a chill trace up my spine. She motioned to me, a ballerina’s graceful gesture drawing attention to where I slouched next to the Windrose’s throne.
“I know of at least one who would fit those requirements,” she said. “Parker of No Court.”
“This child?” the Winter King said. “Surely you jest. Where are you from, boy?”
“San Amaro,” I said. “And I’m not your boy.”
“A changeling?” the Winter King asked. “What court do you align with?”
“None,” I said.
Tilting her head, the Spring Queen said, “But I saw you in the Summer Court when Aster was queen.”
I noticed the Summer Queen’s lips tighten at the mention of her predecessor, and I wondered how deeply I could dig the knife in before she tried to bring me to heel.
“Queen Aster was generous with me,” I said. “She was a great ruler, much loved by her people.”
The Summer Queen was glaring at me, but didn’t’t yank on the reins she held, so I continued.
“I appreciated her generosity with me, but I owed neither her nor her court loyalty,” I said. “I never pledged fidelity to her.”
She’d only asked once. Maybe if I’d stayed longer, the pressure might have increased, but even at the time I felt like it was only a passing fancy on her part. It had seemed like a joke, and she’d never brought it up again.
“No court?” the Spring Queen asked. She squinted at me and I felt a breeze brush my cheek. “He tells the truth.”
She lilted slightly on the word, and I wondered if she could see the obligation stretching between the Summer Queen and me.
“I cannot trust someone who served, even informally, in another court,” the Winter King said. “He will not have my vote.”
“You, yourself, said there is no one else. He is an outsider, an unclaimed changeling,” the Spring Queen said. “Have faith, Balsam. If he is unworthy, it will become clear soon enough.”
The King looked at her with narrowed eyes, and then nodded, a piece of a glacier crashing into the ocean. “Let him hang himself on the rope we provide.”
“Are you comfortable with him, given that he so clearly prefers Queen Aster to you?” the Autumn King asked the Summer Queen.
She smiled, all teeth, and said, “I am. Who better to sit in fair judgement than one whose affection is to a dead woman, rather than one of us living?”
“Isn’t anyone going to ask what I want?” I snapped. I had no desire to be Lilacina’s puppet Windrose, finding in her favor over and over again, giving her the advantage among the courts. The Autumn King wasn’t wrong that of the four of them, she was the one who could raise an army to go to war.
“What do you want, Parker of No Court?” the Winter King asked.
His eyes were blue, but unlike my own, his faded to pale white. His auburn hair was thick and his skin flawless. Glinting scales ran across his cheeks.
“I don’t want to be Windrose,” I said. “I want no part in court politics. I’ve seen enough carnage in my life.”
The Summer Queen laughed, her voice high. When she looked at me, it was a hawk looking down at a mouse in the field. Would the mouse be faster, or would it end in bloodshed?
“He speaks as the Windrose already! Was it not the Windrose who castigated us for the violence in our politics?” she asked. Reluctantly, the other monarchs nodded their assent. “He grew up away from our courts and our politics, so he will view any questions without bias.”
“I am reluctant to agree with the Summer Queen, but she has a point. I’m not sure we could find anyone else who could take the position,” the Autumn King said. “Should we call a vote?”
The Winter King snorted. “Let us call a vote, then. Who votes in favor of naming this child, who understands little of the Far Realm, to the most powerful position in the land?”
I opened my mouth to protest, to say I refused, that I understood it was an honor, but I wanted no part in it.
The Summer Queen twisted the obligation between us, her face never wavering.
I choked back a cry of pain. It was clear what she required of me.
No matter my feelings on the issue, I would become the next Windrose or die fighting it.
“I vote in favor of him,” the Spring Queen said, her eyes on mine. They were a warm pink, the first blush of color on a cherry tree. Her smile was reassuring. “I think he will do well.”
Oddly, the words gave me hope, and I couldn’t figure out why.
“I vote in favor of him,” the Autumn King said. He looked at the Summer Queen and nodded his head, gesturing with his fingers. “I am curious how one who so clearly despises the Queen will be fair to her court.”
“I vote for him,” the Summer Queen said. “I thank you for your concern.”
“I am outnumbered, it seems,” the Winter King growled. He glared at his ally, but the Spring Queen merely smiled at him, the expression drawing a frown to his brow.
“Are you ready, Parker?” the Summer Queen asked. She tilted her head, a warning, and I nodded, my teeth clenched so tightly I was sure they were going to crack.
“Assume your throne,” the Winter King said.