Free Flicker by Kaye Thornbrugh Page A

Byrony did. And like Byrony, he was deeply in love with Umbriel.
    At first, they despised each another on basic principle. Later, they despised each other for the secrets they knew, and the dangers they posed. Carrick was highly percep tive: He sensed By rony was jealous and flawed , though he didn’t realize how much . In turn, she recognized the true natu re of Carrick’s love , which could potentially complicate their relationship, should anyone discover it.
    Though Carrick made no attempt to disguise his disdain for Byrony when they were alone, he hid it from Umbriel. S everal of the Prince’s previous sweethearts had proved less than faithful ; he would be hurt to know his dearest friend couldn’t stand the only one who was true.
    What Carrick did n’t know was that Byrony had orchestrated the exposures of many of those faeries. She had fabricated crimes for those who had committed none, as well as evidence. It had been the only way to remove them from the picture, and to clear her path toward Umbriel.
    “Carrick is dear to me,” Umbriel said, interrupting her thoughts. “But he is nothing compared to you.”
    “Then why does Carrick accompany you to Court?” she demanded. Her voice was rough with anger. “Why does Carrick stan d beside you before the Queens? Why am I left to wait for your return to this realm?”
    “You kno w Feronia does not approve,” Umbriel sighed. “ She doesn’t understand . The Daoine Sidhe have always ruled the Summer Court, and Feronia loathes the idea of—of—”
    Byrony’s voice lowered to a growl. “One of the lesser fey joining your ranks,” she finished. “And she makes no secret of her feelings to the Court. The nobles sneer at me, Umbriel. They laugh behind their hands at the dirty dryad, and Feronia laughs loudest of all.”
    “Just as they whisper about me,” he contested. “ Never to my face, but I hear them all the same. Feronia thinks me mad for loving y ou. She prefers the daughters of the noble clans, and the Court follows her lead. She hopes to shame me into choosing another, but I love only you.”
    She let him stroke her cheek and run one hand through her hair, reveling in his touch . “I know that , ” she said.
    “Then you understand that Feronia makes this decree, not I.”
    “W hat more says Feronia?” Byrony’s voice wavered, not so much with fe ar as with fury .
    “She demands that you prove yourself worthy to sit beside me, ” Umbriel said, “ and rule as Queen of Springtime.” He sounded as if he were flinching at his own words, stung by them.
    “And what task has she set?”
    “You shall go to the human world and fetch the girl. Bring her to the site of the Ceremony when the Court has assembled, and Queens Feronia and Cressida shall grant you absolution. If you fail, you will be … ” Umb riel let the sentence hang .
    Banished. It was a common enough punishment. But Feronia was a fierce Queen, and given her dislike of Byrony, even execution wasn’t entirely out of the question. Byrony felt a brief, stabbing pain in her gut. Banishment or execution. She couldn’t decide which was worse.
    If only there had been a way to remove Feronia from play before now. Byrony could think of a dozen ways it could be done. Her favorite fantasy involved enchanting a serving maid into slipping a few poisonous spores into Feronia’s wine. Then Byrony would watch—from a safe distance, of course—as the spores took root in Feronia’s throat, and see dark flowers and corpse-pale mus hrooms crowd the Queen’s mouth, choking her.
    But setting up a few of Umbriel’s sweethearts was one thing; killing a queen was another. To arrange the deed, Byrony would have to ferret out nobles and servants with motive—faeries to which she almost never had access—then plant enough evidence and alter enough memories through enchantment to throw suspicion in many directions, none of them near her.
    This sort of work was detailed, difficult, and relied too much