The Mad Queen (The Fae War Chronicles Book 5) Read online

  THE FAE WAR CHRONICLES

  BOOK FIVE

  JOCELYN A. FOX

  The Mad Queen

  Copyright © 2017 by Jocelyn A. Fox

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication maybe reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the publisher. The rights of the authors of this work has been asserted by him/her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, or events used in this book are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, events or locales is completely coincidental.

  E-book design by Maureen Cutajar

  www.gopublished.com

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Other Novels by the Author

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Queen Mab, ruler of the Unseelie Court and all its lands, monarch of the Night and the Winter, once the most powerful being in any world, had felt the sting of betrayal several times throughout the centuries of her life. First there had been Andraste. Early on, Mab had dismissed the willfulness of the Crown Princess as the rebelliousness of a child given too much liberty and endowed with too sharp an intelligence for her own good. But as the years had passed and Andraste had shown no signs of repenting, no signs of turning away from her wild ways, the Queen had known it was time to take matters into her own hands. In the White City, she had instructed the Guards who were to receive Andraste on a strict course of action, a thorough breaking of the defiance that would certainly lead to ruin in the future.

  But the Princess had never arrived at the White City. The copper-haired squire who would become Mab’s Vaelanbrigh centuries later had escaped the battle, ordered by his master to bring word of the Enemy’s emergence to the Court. All of Mab’s power and skill at scrying had not been able to locate the Princess or her companions. Only when one of her patrols had located Knight Finnead, alive but scarred beyond compare by his year of captivity, had she learned of her sister’s fate. Her Vaelanbrigh had died on patrol, the first of her Three to be killed since she had been crowned, and it struck a blow that reverberated to her very bones.

  The rebels had glimpsed her pain and they had struck in that moment, thinking her weak. And in that first instant, she had been weak. She had not executed the rebels who survived. She had merely bound them in iron and exiled them to the mortal world. Their betrayal had deepened the ache in her chest where the love for her Vaelanbrigh had once been. And then had come the news that her sister had been killed. Her sister had betrayed her and escaped into death, where she could not be controlled, where she would not be the heir to the throne, but rather a martyr to those wishing for freedom beyond what they should dream.

  In the frozen months that followed, the Queen slowly extinguished the love that remained in her heart. She brutally separated herself from the love she had once felt for her people – all her people, all her children, all the members of her Court. Beautiful Tyr and his rebels had taught her that her love for her people meant nothing but pain and betrayal. Then she turned her attention to the love she had felt for her sister. She had loved Andraste, had wanted what was best for her, to prepare her for her future as heir to the throne, or at the very least as the mother of the heir to the throne. But Andraste had not even seen fit to survive. Her secret lessons and her love for noble Knight Finnead had deserted Andraste in the end, Mab thought musingly. And so she allowed her people to think of her sister as a martyr, as a rallying cry, but a silent one. The Queen could not bear to hear her sister’s name – not for sadness, but for fury.

  And now, centuries later, she sat on her cold throne and mused on the barb of betrayal that had once again lodged itself in her chest. How wrong of her to think that she had fully extinguished her ability to feel pain. How wrong of her to think that she could trust anyone. In the recent catalogue, her favored Finnead had cut her first and deepest. First, he had defied her, taking the side of the mortal child that had been bound to the Sword. And he had forced her to confront her Vaelanmavar, who was foolish enough to show his hand when trying to control the insufferable whelp tied to that ancient weapon. But the Vaelanmavar had not betrayed her. Carden had offered her his lifeblood to bolster her power, to give her some last strength in the struggle against the darkness.

  Then Finnead had escaped her in death, calling forth fragments of her long-forgotten sorrow over her sister, only to return as one of the Three of the Northern witch that had somehow been crowned High Queen. She could not understand the ways of the First. She caressed the furrows in the arms of her throne thoughtfully. If only the betrayals had ended with Finnead. With her power waning, she hadn’t struck at him in vengeance, not while the Shadow loomed over Darkhill and she feared for her own extinction…though the night that he’d ridden into the Unseelie camp to give her the message that Andraste was alive had sorely tested the bounds of her self restraint. Not only had he escaped her, not only had he bound himself to that wolf-bitch, but now he told her that he had been mistaken, those centuries ago, telling her that Andraste was dead. How could such a grave betrayal be forgiven? Her sister’s death had forged the key to lock away all her weak emotions. How dare he endanger her resolve, her untouchable iciness?

  And now…now it seemed that she could not choose a Vaelanbrigh worthy of service to her. Ramel had seemed the natural choice, the protégé of her once-favored Finnead, painfully eager to prove his allegiance and his worthiness after his mentor had defected first to the Bearer and then to the High Queen. Her fingers dug into the stone of her throne. But even he had betrayed her. He had fallen in love with the fendhionne and he had restored her memories. He had helped to spread the vicious lies about her cruelty and her loss of grip on reality. At first, the rumors had merely caused her to chuckle. But then, increasingly, she saw the glint of censure in even her closest courtiers. They were power-hungry, all of them, little snakes slithering about on their bellies, eager to snap up any morsel that she deigned to give them. Ramel should have been grateful to her for allowing the fendhionne to live and
elevating him to such status. Flakes of stone pattered to the floor in the wake of her claw-like hands as she slowly drew her nails over the arms of her throne.

  The armor had been the only way to ensure his obedience…but even then, somehow, he had escaped her grip. She hissed through her teeth. The fendhionne and the Bearer had probably helped, though she hadn’t tasted the iron tang of the Bearer’s taebramh before Ramel had arrowed so deeply into unconsciousness that she’d had to release her hold on him, lest she be dragged after him. Only the thin thread that bound him to the Queen as one of her Three remained, a gossamer strand stretched by the distance to the mortal world and the Vaelanbrigh’s precarious hold on life.

  Mab felt one of her fingernails snap down to the quick against the stone, blood trickling down into the furrows. She smiled as she reset her grip, bringing her hands forward to the front of the throne’s arms and the beginning of the furrows. She had been weak once. She had allowed herself to feel pain. She had allowed herself to feel love. But love had almost been her ruin as a ruler. She would not make that mistake again.

  She stood. Let the little snakes slither around her on their bellies. Let the rest of her people say what they would about her cruelty or her sanity. The blood that dripped from her hand onto the floor of the throne room froze in perfect black circles. If she had to teach them the lesson in blood, so be it. For she was Queen, and she loved nothing but the taste of her own power.

  “My lady.” Her Vaelanseld bowed before her, not daring to raise his eyes to her. “The hour of the High Queen’s council approaches.”

  Mab smiled. “Fetch my armor.”

  Chapter 1

  Moonlight silvered the treetops and deepened the shadows of the Louisiana night, an unnatural stillness pressing down on the yard behind the shotgun house, where until just moments before, the bone sorcerer had been trapped in the glowing dome built by Tyr and Merrick’s runes. It was almost a silent tableau: Farin collapsed in wordless grief over the still body of her twin, Niall staring at Ross and Duke searching the darkness of the yard as though he thought Corsica and the bone sorcerer might emerge from hiding.

  “What do we do now?” Ross repeated her question. As though her voice broke through the breathless suspension that held them all in place, the men moved forward. Niall stepped over Tyr, sheathing his sword as he knelt close to Ross. Vivian’s flashlight beam bounced between them and over to Duke as he took a knee by Tyr.

  “Oh God,” Vivian said. “He’s gone. The bad guy. That’s not good.”

  “Bring your flashlight over here,” ordered Duke, and Vivian obediently complied. She drew in her breath when the light revealed the ugly wound on the side of Tyr’s skull. Duke pulled his shirt over his head and with a grunt ripped it into two pieces, folding one into a makeshift bandage and pressing it against Tyr’s head. He nodded to Vivian. “Here, hold this.”

  Ross realized that Vivian wasn’t about to point out that she only had full use of one hand – V started to grip the flashlight in the hand of her broken arm, wincing slightly but determined to make herself useful. She leapt over to Duke’s side. “V, just concentrate on giving us good light. I’ll be your other set of hands.”

  Vivian switched the flashlight back to her good hand and took a step back, angling the flashlight to illuminate the whole scene as best she could. Ross pressed the cloth to Tyr’s head gently but firmly as Duke checked the silver-haired Exile for other wounds. Another shrill keen from fierce Farin drew her gaze back to Niall. The Seelie Knight held limp Forin in the palm of his calloused hand, Farin clinging to his thumb and entreating him in a melodic language that Ross couldn’t understand.

  Niall stilled. Ross’s scalp prickled as that strange energy – magic, her mind supplied – tightened the air around them, shimmering and leaping like flames. The beam of Vivian’s flashlight drifted as she stared in fascination at Niall.

  “V, please,” said Duke.

  “Sorry,” she said with a little jump, correcting the beam’s trajectory.

  Ross couldn’t blame her. She blinked and realized it wasn’t just a trick of her eyes in the darkness: Niall had begun to glow, a soft light that coalesced in his chest, pulsing like a heartbeat.

  “Like an arc reactor,” breathed Vivian, her flashlight wandering again.

  “Vivian,” barked Duke. He’d found another wound on Tyr’s thigh and paused in binding it until Vivian redirected the light again. She didn’t bother apologizing this time.

  The pulsing light in Niall’s chest began to slide slowly toward his left arm. He shuddered slightly. Ross realized with a shiver that the Knight was somehow manipulating his own life force. She didn’t know how she understood that, but she did, and one look at Niall’s face confirmed her suspicion. Farin’s voice sounded less desperate and more hopeful as the Glasidhe watched the knot of glowing, pulsing light slide down Niall’s arm.

  “V, give me the flashlight,” said Ross as she saw the sheen of sweat on Niall’s brow. Vivian transferred the light, earning a grunt of irritation from Duke until Ross held it overhead with one hand. The redhead moved to stand behind Niall, transfixed by the sorcery happening before her very eyes, but her gaze was full of wonder, not apprehension.

  The pulsing light reached Niall’s left hand. He held Forin and Farin in his right hand. His left hand trembled as he brought it close to Forin, the bright light as radiant as a miniature sun, illuminating the pale face of the Glasidhe warrior. Ross’s heart leapt as she saw, in that bright light, the minute motion of Forin’s chest. Farin had fallen silent, her wings flickering occasionally as she crouched by Niall’s thumb.

  A tiny bit of the pulsing light slipped down Niall’s hand, sliding to the pad of his forefinger like a drop of blood. His hands began to shake. Vivian stepped forward and laid her good hand on his shoulder. Niall clenched his jaw and the single glowing droplet fell from his finger, landing on one of Forin’s outstretched wings. He swayed and Farin clutched at his thumb for balance. Vivian dropped to one knee and looped her good arm beneath Niall’s shoulder, bracing her forearm against his chest. Ross saw her friend shiver, though that could have been because of the magic or simply because of her closeness to Niall.

  “Light,” grumbled Duke, and she efficiently adjusted the flashlight before turning her attention back to Niall.

  Like a match rekindling the dying embers of a fire, the drop of Niall’s glowing life force sparked a dim response in Forin’s aura. Farin let out a torrent of words in tearful relief as she hovered over her twin. The pulsing knot of light progressed slowly up Niall’s arm again, but his hands hadn’t steadied.

  “Take them,” Niall said hoarsely to Vivian. Vivian held out her flat palm, and Farin levered her twin onto Vivian’s steady hand, her wings straining with the effort. Niall dropped his hand and as his life force disappeared into his chest, he let out a shuddering sigh and his eyes rolled back in his head. Vivian yelped as she tried to shield the Glasidhe and disentangle herself from Niall while also softening his fall. Ross jumped over Tyr and grabbed Niall’s shoulders, ignoring Duke’s protests.

  “No, that’s fine, I can see just fine by moonlight,” Duke muttered grumpily as he finished checking Tyr for other wounds and inspected the makeshift binding on the Exile’s thigh.

  “I’ve got him, you just worry about Forin and Farin,” Ross said to Vivian.

  “Sorry,” gasped Vivian to the Glasidhe in her hand. “I didn’t mean to jostle you.”

  Ross didn’t hear Farin’s reply as she turned her attention to Niall, easing him down onto the ground. She wondered exactly what he’d done, her hands automatically finding the pulse at his neck for reassurance. His heart beat in the same slow and steady rhythm of the pulsing knot of light. The depth of the relief that flooded her stomach surprised Ross. She’d only known Niall a few days, but his steady presence and unrelenting strength had made it easier for her to accept all the strangeness suddenly descending in a whirlwind around her.

  “Is he good?” said Duke, fi
nally looking up from Tyr.

  “Just passed out, but strong pulse and steady breathing,” replied Ross. She took a deep breath. “We need to get inside.” Now that the imminent crisis of evaluating their wounded had passed, she felt exposed and vulnerable under the night sky.

  Duke nodded. “Which one you want?”

  For a brief moment, Ross appreciated the fact that Duke had just assumed that she’d be able to handle the dead weight of one of the men. It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t comfortable, but she’d trained for moments like this. She considered. “Better let me take Tyr. You’re a bit taller, might help with carrying Niall.”

  “Need help?” came Jess’s laconic voice.

  “About time,” countered Duke.

  “Someone had to secure the perimeter,” replied Jess, unruffled.

  “We had our weapons out here,” pointed out Duke.

  Jess held up a long knife and smiled without showing any teeth.

  “Here,” said Ross, pulling the Beretta out from where she’d hastily stashed it at the small of her back. Not the most comfortable or dignified of makeshift holsters, but she’d needed both her hands.

  “Sure you don’t want me to carry one of ‘em?” Jess asked.

  Vivian huffed a breath at him. “Don’t question Ross’s ability to fireman-carry someone. It’s not like it’s her job or anything.”

  “Hey, I was just asking,” said Jess with a hint of a smile, at the same time that Duke said dryly, “Down, girl. No need to attack.”

  Vivian raised her chin and looked at them haughtily, managing it even with one arm in a sling and the other extended carefully to steady her hand for the Glasidhe twins. “I’m just saying that Ross can handle it.”

  “Looks like it’s going to be a moot point,” said Ross, though her heart warmed at her friend’s stubborn defense of her strength. Niall stirred and blinked, his pale eyes focusing on her.

  “I’ll get Tyr,” said Duke without any inflection in his voice. Vivian narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously but couldn’t find any fault in his statement, so she held her silence and walked back over to Niall.