The Empty Throne Read online

  * * *

  I sat in the corner of the room, my eyes on my mother where she lay in her bed sweating and moaning, her muscles cramping. Although she had no awareness of my presence, I was convinced she would not die while I was on watch; that she would not leave the Faerie Realm if she were reminded she had a daughter.

  I fought the drooping of my eyelids but fell asleep nonetheless, waking to the sound of muffled voices. My father, the medicine mage, and Queen Ubiqua were gathered near the bed.

  “There doesn’t seem to be any improvement,” my aunt noted, her tone betraying her sadness over her sister’s condition.

  “None of our medicinal approaches are working, including Sale,” the mage replied. “I have never seen symptoms like these before and have no idea what malady has struck.”

  “Malady? Do you suspect something other than illness?” asked the Queen.

  The mage hesitated, clearly wanting to choose just the right words. “Either a never-before-seen illness has emerged or something else is the cause. Since a new illness would spread to others, the latter is more plausible.”

  My father glanced at me; then he abruptly joined the conversation. The pitch of his voice was higher than usual, as though something was squeezing his vocal cords.

  “Does this malady have no antidote?”

  “Since it is unknown to me, I have no antidote. And I have already tried all the plant-based remedies in our Realm.”

  The Queen, apparently having been reminded of my presence by my father, stepped closer to the mage before quietly asking, “So the source of her malady is not plant based?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  A long silence followed the mage’s statement, then Ubiqua asked one more question, a note of anger that I did not understand punctuating her words.

  “Is it from the human world?”

  “That seems likely.”

  My father muttered something under his breath, then strode toward the door.

  “Be careful, Cyandro, we don’t know anything for certain,” Ubiqua cautioned, and I wondered what she thought he was about to do.

  His exit interrupted, my father turned to face the Queen, his jaw clenched.

  “We all know he has long carried a grudge against Incarnadine. And we have foolishly chosen to ignore his abhorrent behaviors, unwilling to face the reality that he is neither a good father nor a good Fae.”

  “You are my Lord of the Law. You know we cannot proceed without proof. Bring me the proof, and I will deal most harshly with him—on that you have my word. But until I am presented with evidence, I will not take action against him, and neither should you. You have a daughter to think about, and she is going to need you in the days and years to come.”

  With a curt nod, my father stalked from the room, leaving me shaking in the corner, alone, bewildered, and terribly afraid.

  * * *

  I jerked upright, then slammed my palms on the cobblestone, swaying like a passenger in a fast-moving carriage. I pried my eyelids open. Where was I? In an alley. Why was I here? Because you failed to save your cousin and took the coward’s way out.

  Groaning, I sat up straighter, and my eyes landed on a gargoyle hunched nearby. No, not a gargoyle, but a young boy perhaps eight or nine years of age, wearing a coat so big it covered his legs and feet. He was examining me, munching on an apple.

  “You a’right?” he asked, a grin lighting up his brown eyes and dirty face.

  I rubbed my temples to clear my head, my royal upbringing producing a twinge of shame at the circumstances in which this young stranger had found me.

  “Yes, I’m fine. How long have you been sitting there?”

  “Don’ know exactly. Hour or two, I ’spect. Long enough to keep the vultures off a’ you.”

  “What do you mean?” Alarm penetrated me like the blade of a knife, and I scanned the area.

  “They ain’t here no more, but some nasty types prowl these alleys.” Pointing to the royal ring on my hand, he continued, “Wouldn’t wear that if I were you. If I ’adn’t come along, you’d be wakin’ one finger short.”

  I scrambled to my knees in preparation for flight, only to tip backward against the wall, my balance still off. How could I have been so stupid, so careless? When I’d been trying to find Evangeline, I’d been accosted in these alleyways by thieves after the very same prize.

  The boy chuckled at my clumsiness, and a touch of irritation flared.

  “Why would you help me?” I grumbled, fixing my gaze on him.

  He shrugged. “Looks like you’ve ’ad it rough, what with that beat-up face an’ all.” He pointed to my swollen eye in case I’d forgotten the injury. “Wasn’t right to ’ave to deal with more.”

  Shame again washed over me—had I become so jaded I couldn’t accept that another person would do me a kindness? Though I remained dubious of the boy’s interest and intentions, I found the words to express some gratitude.

  “Thank you, then, for what you’ve done. But tell me, how did you...?”

  “Stop ’em?” He smirked and pulled a slingshot from one of the pockets of his enormous coat. “Aim’s pretty good.”

  I laughed. “Remind me not to cross you.”

  “Good thing to ’member. I’m pretty famous in these parts.”

  Though I tried to stifle another laugh, the remnants of the drug I’d used, combined with tiredness and stress, pushed the sound up from my belly. The idea of this boy and his slingshot being a threat to anything other than birds or rats struck me as gut-splittingly hilarious. He watched me, smile firmly in place, waiting for me to regain control.

  “I’m sorry,” I gasped. “I’m not trying to make fun of you, it’s just...”

  “It takes some adjustin’, I know. But smart people learn.”

  “All right, I believe you. And I like to think I’m smart.”

  He raised his eyebrows, and my cheeks grew hot, the point he was making effectively driven home. I said no more, watching him polish off his apple and expecting him to leave. When he didn’t seem inclined to do so, I broke the silence.

  “So what’s your name?”

  “Don’ know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know? Everyone has a name.”

  “No doubt true. But mine got lost someplace.” He stood and tossed the well-gnawed core he held into a trash heap a few feet away. After rubbing his palms on his trousers, he settled cross-legged on the ground facing me. Annoyed by his attempts to dodge the question, I persisted.

  “Then what do people call you?”

  “Beggar, runt, scamp, sometimes just boy. Pick what ya like.”

  “And what if I don’t like any of them?”

  He shrugged. “Tag me with your own.”

  Exasperated, I nudged him with my foot, and he shifted farther from me. “No, that wouldn’t be right. Tell me what you like to be called.”

  He pulled off his hat and scratched his nest of curly brown hair, brows furrowed. “Guess I like Frat.”

  “Frat?”

  “Short for Faerie brat, but it suits me.”

  I nodded, then examined the youngster more closely. He was slight of build, seeming particularly so in the oversize clothing he was wearing, and was caked in street dirt the same way a carriage might be, with heavier layers at the bottom. But there was no sign of magic about him.

  “Are you Fae, then?” I ventured, more curious about this urchin than I wanted to be.

  “Half and half. Mum was human, so me dad must’ve been Fae. He didn’t stick round, you see. But she weren’t ’xactly happy about me being born with wings. Cut ’em off when I was little.”

  I gaped at him. How could a mother mutilate her own son? And how could he be so nonchalant about the experience?

  “Don’t l
et it bother you none,” he continued, discerning my reaction from my face. “I don’t ’member much of it.”

  “Where’s your mother now?”

  “Don’ know. Sort of here one day, gone the next. Pro’bly arrested or dead. No matter—I likes things better on my own. She weren’t always so nice.”

  “I’d say not,” I mumbled, more to myself than to him. Then I shifted onto one knee, putting my other foot beneath me. Feeling steadier than before, I stood, brushing debris off my leggings and cloak.

  “You?” he asked, pointing to my back.

  “Me? What do you mean?” I twisted, trying to examine my clothing, thinking that something must be stuck to it.

  “Your wings. How’d you lose ’em?”

  “Why do you think I lost my wings?” I protested, glaring at him. I wasn’t about to delve into my past at the whim of this boy. “For that matter, what makes you think I’m Fae?”

  “You’re Fae, and you lost your wings. Nothin’ more to be said ’bout it. Lots of injured Faeries seek out the Black Magic. You’re not the first I’ve found out here—just one of the few still livin’.”

  The matter-of-fact tone of Frat’s statement sent a shiver down my spine. How close had I come to being one of his more typical finds? I needed to get out of here, needed to get my head on straight.

  Swallowing down a surge of nausea, I said as calmly as I could, “Well, thanks again. But I’ve got to be on my way.”

  He scrambled to his feet and clapped his hat back on his head. “So what are you called?”

  Once more, I felt the color rise in my cheeks. Where had I left my manners?

  “My name’s Anya. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Frat.”

  I held out my hand, and he gave it an energetic shake. Though this was no time to form a relationship with a young boy—and I wasn’t interested in a sidekick in the aftermath of Shea—I nonetheless hesitated. Now that he was standing, he seemed even smaller and somehow more fragile. Guilt about leaving him alone assailed me, despite his bravado.

  “Do you have a place to go?” I asked.

  “I know more ’bout these streets than you do. Plenty of places to go.”

  “All right. I guess I’ll see you around.”

  I picked up my pack and slung it over my shoulder, then headed out of the alley. I didn’t glance back, though the sound of scuffling feet told me Frat had departed in the opposite direction.

  I quickly put some distance between me and the alley, but thoughts of the Fae boy weren’t so easy to leave behind. I couldn’t quite figure out why. It was true I felt a connection to him because of our common injury, and I doubted I’d ever rid myself of the image my mind invented of his mother’s abhorrent action, no doubt driven by the Fae-hating subculture in Tairmor. But while those things were horribly distressing and terribly wrong, something else was nagging at me. I kicked at some rubbish on the street, and it came to me like a rush of wind—all Frat’s suffering might have been prevented had his father not deserted his lover and child. I liked to believe none of my people would be so callous, so puerile. Our closeness to Nature created a bond with all living things, an understanding of our interconnectedness, and a strong sense of responsibility.

  But I was obviously fooling myself—there were Fae who were not good fathers, and by extension Fae who would desert their offspring. I knew well enough that my friend Evangeline’s parents had been neglectful. And then there was Illumina’s father... A faint echo from my dream rang in my head—he is neither a good father nor a good Fae.

  My stomach lurched and I halted, putting a hand against the wall of the building closest to me to steady myself. My breathing had picked up, along with my heart rate, and I feared I might faint. I leaned forward to rest my forearms against the stone, head bent down, my thoughts clanging into each other and sending pain through my temples.

  Could Enerris have poisoned my mother, his sister? There had always been something unsettling about the man, and my own experiences had taught me he was unkind. And even though he had been the firstborn of his siblings, he had been passed over for the throne in favor of Ubiqua. What would have made him unsuitable to rule in the eyes of their parents?

  As I struggled for breath, hazy memories from childhood slowly came into sharper focus—bits of conversation I had overheard about the fire that destroyed a section of the Great Redwood, rumors of injured and mistreated animals, vitriolic philosophies and arguments, and the scarifications on Illumina’s body.

  At the thought of my cousin, molten lead seemed to work its way into the pit of my stomach. In addition to sentiments she had no doubt etched into her skin herself, four words had been carved on her back in a place she could never have reached: belief, strength, power, perseverance.

  I clenched my fists, my heart turning cold even while anger burned my skin. I was glad Enerris was dead, glad worms and maggots were eating his flesh in some unmarked grave—it was believed he had taken his own life after Ubiqua had banished him to the human world for goading Zabriel into drinking a mug of Sale. But why hadn’t he been dealt with sooner? Why hadn’t he been stopped before he’d had the opportunity to hurt my mother? Despite all the actions in which he had engaged, had he really left no evidence behind? Pity welled within me at the thought of Illumina. There was clearly proof of Enerris’s demented philosophies on her body. Why had no one intervened on her behalf? And with such a man influencing her, how could she have turned out anything but damaged?

  I groaned in misery, the lingering effects of the drug conjuring images I wanted to ignore. Then the distressing conversation I’d overheard between the three men in the alley resurfaced. The men had mentioned the tunnels that ran alongside the river. I knew where to find the secret entrance, having used it once before. I might not be able to change the past, to change things for myself, for Evangeline, or for Illumina, but there was one thing I could still do for Zabriel. When darkness came, I’d use the passages to beat the human vultures to my cousin’s body. I needed to return him to Chrior, to give our people the comfort that a proper Fae parting ceremony for their Prince would afford. And though that was a rite I’d be unable to attend, maybe accomplishing this task would grant me the peace of mind I craved.

  Chapter Four

  MACABRE QUEST

  Even with the snowmelt, it was freezing at night. I didn’t mind the temperature against the broken skin of the welt on my forehead or my swollen right eye, but I wrapped my cloak tightly around the rest of my shivering form.

  The enhanced senses and advantages I’d had as a Faerie had steadily diminished in the time since the hunters had hacked off my wings, but my memory remained fully intact. I had little trouble navigating the pitted and muck-slobbered roads to find their more desirable relatives in a business district of the capital, where an out-of-use warehouse building hid an entrance to the caverns beneath the city. Officer Tom Matlock had shown Shea and me the secret exit from Tairmor when she and I had been on the run. We’d found much more than sanctuary on the underside of Tairmor, however. We’d found the body of the executed Fae-hunter Alexander Eskander in the clutches of a riverside eddy, and we’d encountered a colony of dislocated Sepulchres—once beautiful beings separated from the Faerie Realm and the magic they needed to thrive by the curse of the Bloody Road—who had begged us for help. I trembled, hoping I would not have to go deep enough into the caverns to reach the chambers the Sepulchres occupied—the chambers in which they almost reverently preserved the skeletal remains of the children they kidnapped and devoured for their purity. I didn’t know what help I could give them, what help they needed, or even if they deserved help. I shook my head to clear it. I doubted I had the strength to handle more than one problem at a time.

  Upon reaching my destination, I put a hand on the warehouse door to discover it yielded easily to pressure; its lock was broken. A trickle of sweat ran down
the back of my neck at the notion that someone might be lurking inside, but I swallowed my fear and stepped across the threshold. My gaze swept the darkened interior, landing on the heavy stones that covered the trapdoor. If anyone else was or had been in the building, it appeared the passageway had gone undiscovered.

  Abandoning caution, I rushed forward and moved the stones aside one by one, gasping with the effort. But my resolve remained undaunted. I would search until I found Zabriel, or what was left of him. What then? I’d hide his body—the cold in the caverns would help to preserve it—until there was word of Ubiqua’s arrival in Tairmor. It would be her responsibility as his mother and as Queen to take him to Chrior so that his body and spirit could be imparted unto Nature. But she couldn’t do that unless I found him. After all my failures, I owed this to the Faerie people. I owed this to Zabriel.

  I lifted the heavy trapdoor to be hit by the roar of the Kappa. Steeling myself, I removed the length of rope stored in my pack and threw it over a ceiling beam. Then I lowered myself into the caverns and headed downstream.

  Glutinous darkness fell away when I’d gone a few dozen paces. The cave wall to my right disintegrated into pillars that allowed a view of the river and the moonlight that played upon its surface. Stalagmites, precarious stalactites, and an occasional column where the two shook hands slowed my progress. Inside my boots, my stockings had long since surrendered to rips and holes, and my feet paid the price, with one less layer between them and the frigid river spray.

  For the most part, I scanned the rocks and water from the natural pathway, but where the Kappa fell out of sight behind the stone formations, I clambered around or over them to slosh through pools and eddies. I would not overlook any crevice that could conceal a body, despite how much I dreaded seeing my cousin’s remains.

  At a clatter of rocks behind me, I spun around, hand falling to the long knife sheathed at my hip. Who else was down here? Sepulchres? Scavengers? I strained my ears to hear, but the sound did not repeat. Rolling my shoulders, I forced the muscles in my neck and arms to relax and hurried onward.