Blackbird Crowned (The Witch King's Crown #3) - Keri Arthur Page 0,103

wasn’t, but there was little point in saying anything else. The Blackbirds had their honor and their code, and it was too late to change anything now.

Ricker stopped beside me and regarded the sword for several seconds. “I have to admit, I expected something far more ornate.”

“That’s because most of the paintings depicting her in the hands of previous kings were of the false sword, not the real.” I stepped forward, drew Elysian from the asphalt, and then swung the still-cloaked scabbard around and sheathed her. As the gray stole her from sight, I added, “The time of the witch kings is long gone—”

“Because we now have a queen.” Ricker’s smile flashed, full of cheek. “Or rather, Luc has.”

“He may have chosen a queen, Ricker, but it wasn’t me.” Bitterness rolled through my reply, and I didn’t really care. I swung around and motioned to the archway. “My car?”

“This way.”

I followed him through another maze of rooms and ended up in a large underground parking area. Ten white passenger vans stood in a single file in front of the exit, their windows blacked out and armed guards standing at the ready as each one was loaded with men and women of various ages. There were three other vans to the right of this line, the back two with a driver and a guard standing at the ready but no passengers waiting. Ricker led me across to the van standing at the front of this smaller lot.

“You’ll have to follow the convoy out initially, but once you’re over the Thames—”

“The Thames?” I cut in. “Where are you taking the staff?”

“To a secure location outside of London.” He smiled lopsidedly. “It’s safer if you don’t know.”

“Safer for them, you mean.”

“Yes. As I was saying, once you’re over the river, you can leave the convoy. Jan and Mike will follow you for several miles to ensure there’re no taggers and then will peel off. Hopefully, you’ll be able to get to where you want to go without Darkside’s operatives being any wiser.”

I touched his arm lightly. “That’s brilliant—thank you.”

He nodded, opened the van’s door, and then motioned me in. Thankfully, it was an automatic, rather than a manual drive, which meant gear changes were at least one less thing I had to worry about when maneuvering the van’s bulk through some of London’s smaller streets.

“There’s a two-way on the passenger seat,” he continued. “Mike will let you know when they’re sure it’s clear. Until then, don’t head to your destination.”

I nodded and pulled the seat belt on. “Good luck tonight.”

“With the London gates closed and reinforcements on the way, we should be fine.”

“There’re still plenty of half-breeds out there.”

“Yes, but will they dare risk attacking us when they can’t be sure if Elysian’s wielder remains inside?”

“Given my brother wants the queen and her family dead, there’s a very good chance they will. Keep alert.”

He nodded, his expression suggesting that was a given. “Your actions have at least given our witches time to regain strength. We can hold. Just don’t take forever to bring your brother to account.”

I couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped. “Something that might be a bit easier to do if you lot held to your ancient vow to protect the witch king rather than the queen who currently sits on the throne. And hey, let’s not forget that doing the former might actually achieve the latter.”

He frowned. “Gwen—”

“Forget it, Ricker. I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise anything more.” With that, I grabbed the door and slammed it shut.

His expression was troubled and he clearly wanted to say more, but, in the end, he simply stepped back and motioned to the guards standing near the exit. The doors immediately opened, and the convoy came to life. I drove up behind the last van in the line and followed it through a long, somewhat winding tunnel, then up a ramp into the street. I had no immediate idea where we were, but I suspected it wasn’t close to the palace.

Once we’d crossed the Thames and driven under a rail overpass, I set the GPS for my destination and followed its directions through the streets until I’d crossed back over the Thames and finally reached the M4 motorway out of London. Several miles along, the two-way squawked and a deep voice said, “You’re clear of taggers, Ms. De Montfort. We’ll leave you to it.”

I picked up the device, hit the button, and said, “Thanks for letting me know. Good