Crown of Moonlight (Court of Midnight and Deception Book 2) Page 11

  Lord Linus narrowed his eyes and studied me. “You have strong magic, Leila. Becoming queen only would have amplified it.”

  Unlike the barrier spell—which was all about throwing a lot of magic into a very simple but solid spell, potion work required lots of fine tuning. You had to drizzle the magic in, like a barista making latte art. I rotated the container as I slowly poured magic into the vial, watching my purple magic swirl through the potion. “What do you mean by that?”

  Lord Linus sat on the little bit of the stone patio bannister that hadn’t crumbled. “Since you became queen, every blade of grass in the Night Realm, every star you see in the sky above us, every Night Court fae—noble or common—resonates with your power. It began when the night mares bound you, and it’s what called the glooms and shades to your side.”

  “Wasn’t that my natural magic?”

  Lord Linus shook his head. “Your natural magic might have helped you win them over faster, but they came because they felt your power call them. They stayed because they like you.”

  “But it’s not like I have magic myself,” I said. “I just use artifacts to wield the wild magic.”

  “As all fae who use magic do,” Lord Linus said. “But you still have an innate power and magic—it’s your natural magic, but it’s also what makes your reign unique and individualistic to you. Your whole Court will tune into your power, and that can build them up, or shatter the whole realm.” He motioned to the crumbling castle for emphasis.

  “Technically, then, I should have more power because I’m queen,” I said slowly. “Even though I don’t feel like there’s a difference in my magic level?”

  Lord Linus frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Everything feels the same way it always has,” I said. “I don’t feel new gusts of power or resonating or whatever.”

  “My understanding is limited, but there ought to be a significant difference in using your royal artifact than a regular artifact.” Lord Linus rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, his face—the handsome, male version of my own—lined with concern.

  He acts like a clown, but then I see him like this…

  “No,” I said. “There’s no difference. Maybe there’s something wrong with me?”

  Lord Linus frowned. “Why would you believe that?”

  “Because my prism has been slow to react,” I said. “Sometimes it feels like I’m dragging it through my prism instead of channeling it.”

  “That sounds like a problem with your artifact. It can happen if an artifact is damaged—which would also affect the power level. May I?”

  I finished the healing spell and put the cork stopper in the bottle’s opening. My magic made the potion glow for a few moments, until the magic dissolved. Finished with my work, I handed my prism over.

  Lord Linus held the gem up to the glowing orbs of light he’d erected around us so I could see what I was doing with the potions. “The base looks chipped. Did something happen to it?”

  “It was like that when I picked it.”

  “I see. We’ll have to talk to Skye about getting you some supplementary artifacts.”

  “Is that allowed? I thought this was my royal artifact, and I’m only allowed to use it.”

  Lord Linus scoffed. “Nonsense. Can you see any fae king or queen willing to limit themselves to a single artifact in their obsessive struggle for power? Hardly! Traditionally the royal artifact is your main weapon, and strongest. But I’d wondered before if we’d have to get you something different. None of those artifacts were built with half fae in mind.”

  I felt like I needed to take some of Skye’s antacids as I listened to him.

  Not because he was wrong, but because he just sounded intelligent!

  Considering he acts like he has the sense of a chicken, this is shockingly coherent of him.

  I frowned as I looked back and forth between the two finished potions. Even though I’d used the same ingredients—potions from the same batch, even—my magic had turned the first potion a deep wine-red color—very fitting for its raspberry flavor. My second potion, however, had turned the bright red of a crisp apple.

  I held the two potions up to Lord Linus. “How is this possible?”

  He only glanced at the potions. “Potion making is an art—there will be some inconsistencies.”

  I set the potions down and worriedly rubbed my forehead. “It’s fine,” I muttered.

  “At least they’re both red,” he said. “That’s the shade this spell should be. It means they’re both still edible.”

  “I’m never going to be a good potion brewer,” I said. “I don’t have the time for it.”

  “Do I need to remind you that you’re the Night Queen? You’re not in the market for a second career.”

  “No—it’s just…I thought I should improve my magic because I’m queen, but I’m rethinking that strategy.”

  “Leila, you’re top notch at using your natural magic, and you’ve gotten impressively good at wards.” Lord Linus stood and made the motion as if to set his hand on my shoulder, then yanked it back at the last second. “You don’t have to be good at everything. Just use the magic you like to support your reign.”

  Can I really do that? My rapport with the night mares, glooms, and shades kind of won over my Court if you want to get technical. And I’m happy about my wards—I desperately need to keep us safe from the toxic areas outside the barrier.

  I mashed my lips together.

  Lord Linus held the prism up. “Why don’t we go take a spin through the castle? There are a few secondary artifacts in some of the rooms that are still preserved. We can try snatching some for you. Come on!”

  He grabbed one of the balls of light—cradling it in his bare hand—then trundled across the patio, and hopped through a broken door.

  I followed at a slower pace. “I can’t say I’m surprised you’d support stealing.”

  “It’s not stealing if you’re taking something that’s yours—and everything in the castle is yours!” Lord Linus looked back at me long enough to wink before he picked his way across the half-destroyed ballroom that looked out over the patio.

  I shook my head, but followed him anyway.

  He was sort of right—even though I suspected the nobles would have a heart attack if they knew. But I didn’t care about my reputation, I cared about the survival of my Court.

  “How’s everything with that assassin of yours?” Lord Linus asked.

  “Rigel?”

  “Unless you have another husband stowed somewhere, yes.”

  It was even cooler inside the castle. I rolled down the sleeves of my blue shirt—which I’d pushed up for potion making. “We’re getting along a lot better than I expected.”

  “He’s not being cruel to you—or doing anything weird to you?” Lord Linus asked.

  I laughed. “Rigel doesn’t have the ability to do weird stuff—his conduct is too rigid. Well—except he’s got this strange obsession with his wings.”

  Lord Linus stopped so fast I almost ran into his back. “He what?”

  “His wings—he seems convinced I want to see them and am trying all sorts of tricks to catch a glimpse at them.” I awkwardly fidgeted as Lord Linus stared at me. “Is there something about wings that I don’t know? Because he seems really protective of them.”

  Lord Linus leaned back on his heels. “I suppose that depends—what do you know about fae wings?”

  “The nobles have them—and some of the lower ranked fae do, too, like the pixies. I know the nobles rarely reveal them. They only show them to those who are really important to them—which is why I was surprised Rigel seems to think I’m bent on seeing them to the point of tricking him into showing me. Wouldn’t that defeat the whole point?”

  Lord Linus stared at the wall for a few moments, which was illuminated by the glowing orb he held. “In a way,” he finally said.

  “Am I wrong about wings?” I asked. “I never researched them much because as
a half fae I don’t have any.”

  It was one of the few drawbacks to being a half fae—no wings. But besides pixies, the fae didn’t use their wings to fly so I’d never cared anyway.

  Just like I hadn’t cared about fae monarchs before I was crowned because there had never been a record of a half fae monarch before, and didn’t that explode in my face?

  “No—it is an expression of importance.” Lord Linus whipped around and started marching again.

  “Is that all it is?” I suspiciously asked.

  “More or less,” Lord Linus said. “It seems that Lord Rigel is, perhaps, extra vain about his wings—I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  I narrowed my eyes at his back. “Are you sure about that? Rigel isn’t vain about anything else.”

  “You seem certain on that point.”

  “Yeah—because his thing is all about being deadly. I don’t think he’s even aware just how shatteringly handsome he is.”

  “Oh-ho-ho! My daughter thinks her husband is handsome, does she? Will I soon be greeting my first grandchild?” Lord Linus turned up a different hallway and peered over his shoulder to waggle his eyebrows at me.

  “Has anyone ever tried to explain to you just how annoying you are?” I asked.

  Lord Linus laughed. “It is the duty of a parent to annoy and embarrass their child—it’s good for their soul.”

  He just very successfully got us off the topic of wings. Is there something he’s not telling me about them? Or is it just that he is that much of an idiot?

  The subject of wings had come up once with Skye, and she hadn’t given me any additional information, which probably meant there wasn’t more to it—at least that she knew of—and Lord Linus really was just an idiot.

  But maybe I should look into the topic. Skye is half human half fae, she might have never learned much about it anyway. Yeah, I’ll research it—after I master barriers, figure out if there’s something wrong with me or my artifact, quell whoever is trying to kill me, and get the other Courts to play nice.

  Ugh. I felt tired just thinking about my to-do list.

  “We can take a short cut through here!” Lord Linus chirped.

  He’d led us to the chamber that held the original king’s artifacts, and all the other extra special Court items that Skye had shown me.

  He strutted past the displays, then paused, and circled back. “Actually, here. Touch the original king’s staff.”

  “Are you insane? I’m not touching that!”

  “Why? It’s not like it’s going to zap you—see?” Lord Linus reached over the velvet rope that cornered off the display and touched the original king’s crescent moon topped staff.

  “Stop it,” I snapped. “Skye would guzzle an entire bottle of antacid if she knew you were touching it.”

  “It’s not like the original king cares,” Lord Linus told me. “He’s dead.”

  This guy. I refuse to believe that I inherited any significant portion of his DNA!

  “I don’t care about him—personally I think he was a creep. But everyone in the Court is fanatical about him,” I said.

  “They aren’t going to know! Besides—there’s a point to it. Even though it doesn’t resonate with you, you should be able to feel the huge difference in how much the staff can channel compared to your chintzy, broken prism.”

  “My prism isn’t broken—it’s well loved.”

  “Yeah, I bet. Just touch the staff.”

  I stubbornly folded my arms across my chest.

  “It will help you see how the issue isn’t you or magic itself, but the tool you’re using.” He held out my prism and waved it for emphasis.

  If it helps…I need to be able to defend myself and support the barrier when the Night Realm shrinks again.

  I wavered for a moment, then gave in. “Fine. But if I don’t feel anything different, obviously the problem is—”

  I set my fingers on the staff, and my brain exploded.

  Chapter Ten

  Leila

  Not literally, but it certainly felt like it. Magic rattled around in my skull. It felt like it was pouring out of my eyes and fingers as it surged through me. But it wasn’t just magic, it was…everything.

  I couldn’t describe it, it just felt like I was drowning in my own mind.

  I yanked my hand back, fell to my knees, and gasped for air.

  “Leila?” Lord Linus crouched next to me, his voice tight. “What happened—are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I wheezed. “It’s just—that was.” I shook my head. “I should have known that creep of a first king wielded a seriously strong artifact. That rush was something.”

  Lord Linus frowned. “Rush? You should have just felt its capabilities—the staff is empty of magic.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not what I experienced. Its power slammed into me.”

  Lord Linus passed me my prism. “Perhaps we ought to save artifact picking for another day—when the Paragon can help. It sounds like your human blood might be mucking up the artifacts.”

  “Is that a common problem with half fae?” I asked. “I don’t remember the teachers mentioning anything at the after school program I belonged to in the Curia Cloisters.”

  As part of their mission of good will, the Curia Cloisters held classes for all the half supernaturals or supernaturals that were abandoned as kids to teach them about their abilities.

  I hadn’t had any problems with magic then, either.

  Ahhh, those were simpler times.

  “Let’s head back to the mansion.” Lord Linus stood, then offered me his free hand. “Unless you wanted to practice more potions?”

  I let him pull me up. “I had one left to bespell to finish the batch.”

  “Then we’re good to go?”

  I scowled at him. “No! I want to finish that last potion—then we can leave.”

  Lord Linus groaned, turned around, and headed back in the direction we’d come from. “Sometimes I worry you inherited too much of your mother’s sense of responsibility.”

  I glared at Lord Linus’ back and considered kicking a rock at him.

  It’s not worth it—he’ll just squeal and then say I’m going through a rebellious phase.

  I sighed and hurried after him before he could disappear through the doorway with his orb of light.

  Just one more thing to add to my to-do list, I guess.

  The end of September arrived faster than I thought possible, and with that came the first official day of fall.

  In my pre-queen days, this wouldn’t have meant anything to me—except that I could finally drink my pumpkin lattes and no one would harass me. But now, as the Queen of the Night Court, it meant it was time for an occasion I was fast learning to dread: a ceremony.

  “This is stupid.” I leaned my head back against the “throne” prepared for me and batted a dried corn leaf out of my face. “I don’t see any point in it whatsoever.”

  “It’s tradition,” Skye said. “Every year the fae monarchs mark the changes of the seasons, and hold a ceremony with each transition.”

  “What for? It’s not like fall isn’t going to come if King Birch over there doesn’t give King Fell a pumpkin.”

  I pointed to the Summer King, who was standing at one end of a crimson carpet that had been unrolled over a quaint field. Food—pumpkins, sweet corn, gourds, cucumbers, and onions—was mounded up in a pile behind King Birch, but he held in his arms a few heads of wheat, some green vine-y plants, and some colored leaves arranged in a rustic bouquet.

  The Autumn King stood at the other end of the carpet, wearing a cocky smirk with a thin wreath of golden leaves pressed into his russet hair.

  Apparently, to observe the “passing of the seasons,” King Birch was supposed to present a “harvest bouquet” to King Fell, officially passing the season off to him.

  Yeah, I’m pretty sure some heavy drinking was involved when they came up with this idea.

  I rested my chin on my fist. “Sheesh
. I should have been suspicious when Lord Linus insisted on staying home—he had the right idea.”

  “The ceremony has existed for centuries,” Skye said. “And it’s tradition for other monarchs—especially those in the Fae Ring—to be present to witness. You had to come.”

  “You’re just being quarrelsome,” Indigo said. “Because you hate socials.”

  She and Skye stood behind me, in the shadows of my temporary throne. King Fell had assembled four of them—one for me, King Solis, Queen Rime of the Winter Court, and Queen Verdant of the Spring Court.

  We were the “lucky” monarchs who made up the regional Fae Ring—basically the monarchs who made all the decisions for fae in the Midwest, including which monarch would serve as the fae representative on the Regional Committee of Magic.

  Being a part of the Fae Ring isn’t random chance—heck, no, that’d be a waste of power plays and politics! No, we were the Fae Ring because we were the most powerful Courts in the Midwest, and had been for decades, if not centuries.

  I scowled as I shifted in my stupid temporary throne—I’m pretty sure Fell designed them to be as uncomfortable as possible, and whoever was in charge of decorating had hot glued a ton of dried corn stalks to the wooden thrones, making them the perfect home for bugs.

  “Yes, I hate socials, but if someone could give me a legit reason for this, I wouldn’t be so bitter,” I said. “But as far as I can tell, this is just another way for monarchs to show off their power to each other. I mean, there isn’t even a human audience that they’re performing for!”

  I glanced to the side, where more onlookers stood—though calling them that was possibly a little misleading since I didn’t think they wanted to be there any more than I did.

  King Fell had recruited a bunch of his nobles to watch, but he’d also made all of the unseelie and seelie monarchs in the Midwest come to the ceremony.