The Raven Queen
Authors: Che Golden
HOW TO SAY THE CHARACTERS' NAMES
First published in Great Britain in 2014 by
Quercus Editions Ltd
55 Baker Street
7th Floor, South Block
London
W1U 8EW
Copyright © Che Golden 2014
The moral right of Che Golden to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue reference for this book is available from the British Library
eBook ISBN 978 0 85738 534 5
Print ISBN 978 0 85738 381 5
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
You can find this and many other great books at:
www.quercusbooks.co.uk
Che Golden has led a typical second-generation Irish life, spending most of her childhood shuttling backwards and forwards between London and Blarney, Co. Cork, trying to get people on both sides of the Irish Sea to pronounce her name properly. An ex-journalist, she has now settled permanently in Somerset with her husband and two children, blissfully making up whopping, complicated lies that sometimes turn into books.
Praise for
The Feral Child
âGripping, mystical and adventurous,
young readers will be hooked â¦'
Irish World
âAn exciting adventure story combining
contemporary life and fantasy'
Irish Examiner
Even darkness must pass
J.R.R. T
OLKIEN
A Note from the Author
In this book, some of the characters have unusual names.
To find out how to say them, turn to
HOW TO SAY THE CHARACTERS' NAMES
.
The black wolf felt the hair on his back rise with fear. He shook his head, his thick black ruff of fur rippling on his neck. He had been summoned by the Winter Queen and that couldn't be good, whatever mood Queen Liadan was in. Fenris found it best if no one noticed him or his pack in TÃr na nÃg. He was sure that if Queen Liadan had not extended her protection over the pack, there were plenty of faeries that would enjoy a wolf hunt. Fenris had made sure the other wolves, especially Nitania and her cubs, were hidden deep in the brooding forest of TÃr na nÃg before he set off for the White Tower.
He was no coward, but it had been very hard to place one paw in front of another as he had crossed the ice bridge that Liadan had sculpted from the waters of the lake with her cold touch. The bridge arched to the foot of a crumbling road that led to the copper gates barring the way to the Winter Court's stronghold. The gates swung
open silently at his approach. All was still and quiet as he padded along the road, with only his shadow and the sound of his breathing to keep him company. In the rest of TÃr na nÃg, spring was giving way to summer. Queen Sorcha of the Spring Court would be weeping and tearing at her hair as the power of the season ebbed from her court, while Queen Niamh of Summer would be gloating in triumph as she felt her strength grow. Queen Liadan brooded while waiting for the earth to turn to winter, and while she brooded, winter's cold leaked from her.
Outside the White Tower the air was balmy. The placid waters of the lake sparkled like diamonds in the afternoon sunshine and the ice bridge wept in the heat. But within the White Tower winter reigned and hoar frost shone on every inch of stone. Fenris's breath curled from his mouth and formed droplets on his whiskers. The tower reached into the sky above him, twisting and turning on itself as it climbed. So high did it reach, so narrow were its uppermost turrets, that the courtyard at its base would have been shrouded in eternal darkness had Liadan not created a staircase of mirrors to catch the sunlight. The light stepped all the way down the stone frills of the balconies and windows, through the ruined fortress that only ghosts now called home, all the way down to Liadan's hall, where she trapped it.
The hall sat neat and simple in the chaos of the overblown tower, testament to the taste and modesty of a past Winter Queen. Rippling stone steps led to massive double wooden doors carved with flowers and beasts. Ice crackled over their surface, silvering a wood that had been blackened with age. Frost crept beneath them and inched its way down the steps with slow-moving fingers. Fenris shuddered. The Winter Queen was angry.
The ice burned the rough pads of his paws and he flinched as he made his painful way up the steps to stand outside the doors. The golden lock, crafted by a smith who was long since dust and bones, began to click and whirr at his approach before springing open, letting the doors swing wide enough for him to slip his lean body between them.
The court was full. Every faerie that served Liadan was present in all its finery. Golden sunlight lit up diamonds, emeralds, rubies and sapphires, sleek inhuman hair, the soft pelts of the furs the faeries wore as protection against their own queen's cold. All eyes turned to Fenris as he padded into the hall, but no one spoke. The building pulsed to the rhythm of a crowd breathing but not a cough nor a sigh disturbed the eerie silence. Thick soft rugs lay beneath the feet of the courtiers as they watched him from behind fluted columns that lined a path to the glittering throne of
crystal where Queen Liadan sat. Fenris held his head high as he walked slowly toward the Winter Queen. He did not need to turn his head to see her court. No Tuatha graced her hall, only golden, glittering elves with their beautiful cold faces and their diamond-bright eyes. Standing among them were the plainer, darker shapes of sprites, trolls, goblins, gancanagh, glaistigs and other faeries who were drawn to the cruelty and madness of Liadan's rule for the blood and the fear and the pain they feasted on. Fenris was surrounded by enemies who would rip him apart in seconds, but he gritted his teeth and focused on the tiny figure seated in front of him.
She was dressed in a simple white gown, her hair hanging straight and heavy, so long she could sit on it. Black as a raven's wing, it framed the stark bones of her snow-white face. Her eyes had been boiled white by the cold that had consumed her when the Winter crown had been placed upon her head. It had killed the colour in her face so that now her blood-red lips were painted on, and the roses in her cheeks had withered to grey.
âYou disappoint me, Fenris,' said Liadan. Powdered ice puffed from her painted lips with every breath. Ice crept from her feet and began to inch toward him, spreading thin fingers as it came.
âI am sorry for it, Highness,' said Fenris.
âNo, I think not,' said Liadan. âTo say you are sorry
means you regret what you did and implies you would never do it again. And yet, despite my displeasure, you have twice helped the Feral Child.'
Fenris said nothing, merely blinked his long eyes slowly.
Liadan tipped her head to one side. âDo you know why I named you Fenris, when I found your pack staggering through TÃr na nÃg, terrified and bewildered? Fenris, according to my people, was a wolf who would eat the moon at the end of days and bring abut the destruction of the world. You, Fenris, seem to be determined to bring about the destruction of
my
world. But I know how to deal with you, wolf.'
The wolf tensed and his ears swivelled back as he caught the sounds of soft footsteps creeping up behind him and the slither of a chain running between fingers. He whipped round, ears pinned to his head, and snarled in the faces of the three faeries who held a long silver chain between them. He crouched to spring, but as he launched himself into the air they rushed at him, lifting the chain high so that it passed between his snapping teeth, and as it caught the corners of his mouth the impact threw him to the ground. The breath whooshed from his lungs and he heard a crack as one of his ribs broke against the flagstone floor. His attackers were on him in seconds, winding the chain around his muzzle to
keep them safe from his teeth and then binding his legs with the cold, slippery silver. He kicked and struggled and scraped long claw marks in the stone with his black nails, but it was no use. The giggling faeries pressed him down with knees and hands and one grabbed the chain around his muzzle and yanked hard on it, twisting his head up so he had to look directly at the red-eyed faerie who stood over him. Her bone-white skin crawled with grey tattoos and her ice-white hair was stiffened with lime so it swept up and away from her pointed face in a Mohican. Fenris's eyes bulged as she began to draw her sword.
âYour namesake was bound, just like this, and his jaws were pinned with a sword to stop him biting,' said Liadan. âThey say he is tied to a rock beneath the earth, waiting for the time of chaos. He is strong, Fenris, stronger than you, but how he must suffer. Your suffering will be much greater and I think it will bring your little friend running. Let's see how long the Feral Child can ignore the cries of her friends as they pay for her arrogance, before she tries to save them.'