The Empty Throne

“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 let 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?”