CHAPTER ELEVEN

In which Kelindria summons the Fire King. The Second War of the races is set in motion.

The Morrigan’s ravens were restless.

They picked up on Kelindria’s pensive mood, ruffling their feathers and cawing softly in the dimness. Kelindria sat on her throne, listening to the birds and staring absently at the flames as they burned in the fire pit in the center of the room. Something had changed. A new element had entered the picture, and it was in danger of unraveling all her plans. Plans she had been nurturing and tending for years. Decades. It all seemed connected to the appearance of this girl. Who was she? Where had she come from? It was as if she had simply appeared out of thin air, intent on causing havoc.

The second key was what bothered Kelindria. It simply should not exist. There was only one key. Everyone knew that. And the Queen of the Faeries (whoever it was that currently held the title) controlled it. It was the way it had always been.

Kelindria’s thoughts circled back to her first suspicions regarding this supposed key. Was it, after all, a trap? Had Titania finally grown a backbone and decided to put a stop to Kelindria, proof or no proof?

But no, Kelindria’s instinct told her this wasn’t so. It wasn’t Titania’s style.

So back to the question at hand. Who was this … this girl? And what did she want?

She sensed the Sluagh shifting in the garden outside. She closed her eyes and concentrated, looking through the creature’s eyes. It was that idiot Barnaby again. She sighed and briefly toyed with the idea of letting the Sluagh take him, but she resisted the temptation. He may still have some uses.

She ordered the Sluagh to let him enter.

She didn’t have to wait long. Barnaby came running into her presence, disheveled and sweating. His eyes were wide and darting as he stumbled to a stop in front of her.

“He’s dead. They … they killed him! Shot him—”

“Stop talking!” thundered Kelindria.

Barnaby started, then visibly tried to calm himself down.

“Now begin again. Who is dead?”

“The Black Knight.”

Kelindria thought for a moment that she had heard wrong. “The Black Knight? The Morrigan’s warrior?”

Barnaby gulped down a breath and nodded.

“How?”

“It was Wren. And the children. And Cavanagh.”

“Talk sense!” Kelindria shouted.

Barnaby drew a deep breath. “I took the Black Knight to Wren, as you ordered. But Cavanagh was with him.”

“Who is this Cavanagh?”

“Someone from the college. I never suspected him of being a member of the Invisible Order. I didn’t see his name anywhere, and he was always away … But he was there with Wren. He helped him escape. He wounded the knight in a fight, and then Wren and the children finished him off. He’s gone.”

“These children. Was the girl there again?”

“Yes. And … and that’s not all.”

Kelindria knew that whatever she was about to hear would be bad. “Speak,” she ordered.

“I heard them talk about the Raven King. I couldn’t hear what was said, but I definitely heard them mention it. More than once.”

Kelindria sat back in her throne. This was … distressing news. Most distressing. Catastrophic, one might say.

“Is that all?”

“I think so, milady. What should I do?”

“What do I care?” she snapped. “Just leave me to think.”

Barnaby scurried from the room while Kelindria sank deeper into thought. Her plans were in very real danger of coming undone. If she didn’t do something drastic, her window of opportunity would be gone. Did these children have something to do with the Raven King? What about this Christopher Wren? Was he perhaps the Raven King?

Kelindria slapped the arms of her throne in frustration. She wasn’t ready for this right now! Her plans were supposed to carry on for another decade or so. Only then had she intended on making her move. She didn’t have enough followers. She certainly didn’t have enough allies.

Unless …

She stood up and slowly approached the fire in the center of the room, staring deep into the flames. Dare she?

But no, such a thing was madness. When she had raised the subject to the Dagda, he had told her in no uncertain terms that to do such a thing would incur his wrath and break their partnership.

But maybe she wouldn’t need him anymore. If she did this, she would have the power all to herself.

Say it, she told herself. Say what you are thinking of doing.

To summon the Fire King.

The wood shifted in the pit, the flames dancing higher as if in response to her thoughts.

It was the Morrigan who had first told her about him. An elemental lord. Not from here. Not from Faerie. But from somewhere in between. A place of molten rocks and fierce heat. An elemental being that hungered to devour.

She’d had many dreams about this being. To scour the whole of Britain clean. To wipe everything away and start again. And this time she could lay the first stone that claimed London. It wouldn’t be Merlin and his Invisible Order. It wouldn’t be like the last time. No, this time round it would be the humans hiding away in their little groups, living underground like animals. Not the fey. The fey would rule from above. The fey would rule the whole land.

And she, Kelindria, would be Queen.

The flames mesmerized her, drew her in. She could feel the heat on her face. Should she just do it? She had the power. After the Morrigan had told her about the Fire King, Kelindria had searched through the ancient lore until she found out how to do the summoning.

But some fey would die as well. She could tell the Fire King not to harm them, but from what the Morrigan had said, he was hard to control. Once he started feeding, once the flames started spreading, would he hold true to their agreement?

But not all the fey would die. Most of them would head underground. And besides, when she was Queen, she would control the key. She could open the gates and allow more fey to come from Faerie. Most of the humans, on the other hand, would perish.

Almost of its own volition, Kelindria’s hand slipped into a pouch and withdrew a small, round stone. It was a dull black in color, surprisingly heavy for something so small. When the light shifted, tiny red sparks shimmered across its surface.

Afterward, she was never really sure if she had made a conscious choice, or if the stone had simply slipped from her hand. Either way, it dropped heavily into the flames, sending a shower of sparks drifting up into the air.

At first, nothing happened. But then Kelindria saw that the flames were drawn to the stone, wrapping around it like nurturing hands.

Kelindria waited. After a while, a sharp crack echoed through the room, and the stone split in two. Kelindria leaned closer and saw a lizardlike creature curled up inside one of the halves. Flames crawled across its skin. It flickered orange and red, like the embers in the fire. Then it jerked, and unfurled, crawling sluggishly out of the stone.

A salamander, thought Kelindria, watching the little lizard burrow deep into the flames. It lay basking in the heat, then it burrowed deeper into the ash and embers and simply disappeared.

Kelindria frowned. She used her dagger to push the wood around in the fire pit, but the salamander had vanished. She straightened up and looked around her chamber. Where had it gone?

There was a sudden roaring sound, and Kelindria felt a flare of intense heat against her face. She stumbled back and turned around to find the flames in the fire pit soaring high up to the roof. The flames were brighter now, almost white hot. She raised a hand to shield herself, squinting against the glare and the heat. The flames were rushing upward as if blown by a terrific wind, and in the center of this maelstrom was the outline of a fiery figure.

It was humanoid. But only just. Its face was long, its eyes dark pits of red heat that stared silently at Kelindria.

The heat was intense. Kelindria opened her mouth to speak, but the air was burned from her lungs. She had to step farther away from the fire.

“Greetings, Fire King,” she began. “I’ve summoned—”

You have not summoned me. I came of my own volition, said the Fire King. The words crackled and roared, as if the flames themselves were doing the talking. The words sent heat shimmers into the air between herself and the Fire King.

“Of course,” Kelindria said. “May I present my offer to you?”

I know of your offer. You wish me to burn this city from the earth. You want to be rid of the human animals.

Kelindria didn’t ask how he knew such things.

The question I ask, is what can you offer me?

Kelindria frowned. “I offer you food, I offer you London. I offer you Britain. To wipe all clean so that a new growth can begin through the ashes.”

You misunderstand. That is my prize. But what I am asking now is what you offer me. I desire something from you.

“What? What do you desire?”

Something precious. I demand a tithe. You must sacrifice that which is most precious to you.

“But why? I am giving you Britain. You can only come through if I summon you. Why should you need anything more?”

Because I am the Fire King! Because it is my whim. Now. Do you agree?

Kelindria stared at the flames thoughtfully. What choice did she have? It seemed that to complete this transaction she would have to hand over extra payment. Unexpected, but not something she was about to let deter her. Not now she had gone so far.

“What do you require? Gold? Sacrifices?”

Just tell me whether you agree to my terms.

“Fine. I agree.”

Kelindria thought she saw the mouth on the Fire King part in a smile. A glowing red hole gaped in the white hot mass.

Good.

And then Kelindria felt a prickling in her hands. She looked down and for a moment saw nothing unusual. Then a faint cobweb of lines appeared on her fingers. She lifted her hands to her eyes. As she did so, the faint lines grew deeper, wider, the pale flawlessness of her skin sucked away and replaced by wrinkles.

“No!” Not that. Anything else, but not that.

She turned and staggered back to her throne. The white ravens flew away from her in a panic, roosting high in the rafters. Kelindria fumbled for her looking glass, almost dropping it when she saw her nails growing long and yellow, her fingers shrinking to withered twigs.

She lifted the looking glass to her face. Except it wasn’t her face anymore. As she watched, her hair lost its lustrous red sheen and faded to dull white. Her face caved in before her eyes, her cheeks becoming dark hollows, her once glowing eyes becoming tired, surrounded by wrinkles and black shadows.

The Fire King had taken the one thing she treasured more than anything else.

He had taken her beauty.

Her screech of fury was heard far and wide. The white ravens took to the air in a panic, flying madly around the room in an attempt to escape the horrific, pain-filled scream.

The Fire King smiled and reached upward, plucking the white ravens one by one from the air.

All was quiet on Pudding Lane in the early hours of Sunday morning. Inside the bakery of Thomas Faryner, the bread ovens were banked for the night, checked by both Faryner and his maids.

The fires were out.

But in one of the five ovens, in the far corner, an old, stillwarm coal shifted. It rolled over, revealing an orange ember. The orange glowed brighter, then a tiny claw appeared, poking out from the coal. The claw reached out, grasping blindly, and touched a second coal. This second coal flared to life, and the orange head of a salamander pushed slowly out, its fiery tongue flicking into the air.

It could smell food. Lots of it. And nearby.

The salamander paused to gather its strength, then pulled itself out of the coal. It crawled sluggishly to the door of the oven. There was wood nearby. It could sense it. Fuel to gain strength.

It crawled over the edge and dropped to the floor. A small stool stood not far away. The salamander pattered across the cobbles, leaving red-hot footprints behind that quickly cooled to black ash. It reached the stool and climbed slowly up the leg.

The wood started to smoke. Then there was a small puff, and a flame appeared beneath the salamander. The lizard settled down while the flame grew bigger, letting the heat wash over its body.

It tasted the air with its tongue again. There was so much food nearby. It tasted oil. Pitch. Resin. Tar. Hay. Paper. Everything its master could possibly want.

Once the flames had taken hold of the stool, the salamander hopped to the wooden table. Behind it, a second salamander crawled from the flames it had just left behind in the wood. This second salamander looked around, then crawled in the direction of the wooden door.

The Great Fire of London had begun.