The Devil's Looking-Glass - By Mark Chadbourn Page 0,132

shadowy figures formed in several of the mirrors, each one growing more distinct as if they were stepping out of a thick fog. He recognized several members of the Unseelie Court’s High Family, including Malantha, seductive and cruel, the silver-haired Lethe, a grotesquely fat, bald Fay he had glimpsed in Paris the previous year, and others he did not know. Each seemed to be standing in a different chamber, at courts across the world, Will guessed, where they wove their manipulations of men. And among them stood Deortha, his eyes ringed with shadow, the bird and mice skulls braided into his hair trembling with each faint movement.

‘What is this?’ Carpenter muttered, shuddering. ‘Are we betrayed?’

‘I am sure the High Family care little for us at this moment,’ Will murmured in reply. ‘Greater matters must now occupy their minds.’ He nodded to Meg and Launceston, and they forced Mandraxas to his knees in front of the mirrors. The Earl pressed the tip of his dagger against the nape of the King’s neck.

‘They are here to pass judgement,’ Will said to Carpenter. And to witness an execution? He wondered how much Deortha had told the other members of the High Family. He watched Jenny look along the row of Fay lords, her face cold, and knew there was no love lost there. She took Grace’s hand in her own, perhaps an unconscious desire to protect her sister from these predators.

A faint click echoed from the shadows behind them, but as Will peered into the gloom Mandraxas turned his face towards his siblings and uttered, ‘You will not judge me. I am King.’

‘King.’ Deortha shaped the word with cold precision. ‘You keep the Golden Throne safe for our Queen at the pleasure of the High Family. It is a privilege.’

Mandraxas’s brow knitted as he looked along the row of emotionless faces. Silence swaddled the chamber. After a moment, Will realized that the cold-faced Fay were communicating in some manner beyond speech. The King’s features darkened, and he flashed a threatening look at Deortha before he glanced back at Will.

‘I will not be your prisoner,’ he said.

It was then that Carpenter cried out, stifling the sound with a trembling hand. Will turned to look at the man. It was not in his nature to be scared of any Fay, Will thought, not even one with the power of a King. Yet tears now streamed down the man’s face, and his brow was beaded with sweat. Muttering under his breath, he lurched out of sight behind Will as the latter turned back to the mirrors.

Deortha’s pale eyes shone like the moon, urging the spy to complete their agreement and take the King’s life. Will felt Jenny’s apprehensive gaze heavy upon him too.

With a hard smile, Mandraxas was saying, ‘Nothing is left to chance.’ As Will struggled to understand the context of the King’s words, he glimpsed Meg’s brows snapping together and heard Grace’s startled gasp. Movement flashed on the edge of his vision.

Dagger drawn, Carpenter lunged. The blade shimmered as he thrust it towards Will’s right eye.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

THE GLINTING STEEL filled will’s vision. And one thought seared: Carpenter’s great betrayal had doomed them all. He jerked back in anticipation of the blade’s sinking into his skull, just as he sensed a flurry of movement and a sudden impact. His attacker spun away. The deflected blade ripped through the flesh above his cheek and tore into his tangle of black hair. Blood dripped on to the flags.

In agony, he stumbled back, wiping at the burning wound with his sleeve. His gaze fell upon Carpenter, who was sprawled across the stone floor, pinned down by Launceston. ‘Kill me,’ Carpenter pleaded, staring into the aristocrat’s pale, impassive face. ‘Do it now, as you vowed.’ When the Earl didn’t respond, Carpenter blinked away tears and wailed, ‘If you do not end my life, I will betray you again and again until I have slain you all. You will not leave this place.’

Will saw Meg hovering over Mandraxas with her dagger drawn, Grace and Jenny beside her, all of them gripped by Carpenter’s plight. Blood trickled between his fingers. He saw the truth in the treacherous spy’s words. Sooner or later, Carpenter would attack them again. With a surge of bitter regret for the friend he once knew, he drew his own dagger from his boot.

As he levelled the blade, Launceston caught his wrist to block the strike. ‘Let him live,’ the Earl said, his voice quiet but his eyes