Briar Queen by Katherine Harbour Page A

queen’s coronation.” Absalom flung open a set of glass doors stained with images of poisonous-looking flowers, and they entered an office with antique photographs on green walls and a giant fireplace of white marble containing blazing candles.
    Phouka sat on a desk that had been constructed from birch trees, images of birds, leaves, and insects carved into the wood. Her auburn hair was coiled up with pearl stars. She wore a white suit with flared trousers and a bodice like chain mail. She was painting her toenails silver and didn’t look up when they entered.
    â€œMy queen.” Absalom gestured to Finn, Jack, and Moth. “We’ve guests who’ve come from a battle.”
    Phouka raised her head. She moved off the desk. “Absalom, fetch the first-aid basket from the kitchens—and I’m not a queen. I’m only regent.”
    â€œShall I fetch Lazuli—oops. Never mind.” As Absalom left, Finn glanced at Jack, who’d stiffened at the mention of the gentle, pale-haired Fata. She looked at Phouka. “What happened to Lazuli?”
    â€œHe was murdered on All Hallows.” Phouka didn’t drop her gaze from Jack’s.
    â€œI didn’t kill Lazuli.” His voice was low. “He told me what I wanted to know and I left him.”
    â€œI didn’t think slitting throats was your style. Who did that artwork on your chest?”
    â€œA Grindylow. Sent after him .” Jack nodded to Moth.
    Phouka’s attention settled on Moth. “And you are . . . ?”
    â€œI’m called Moth.” He was squinting at her. “I’ve seen you before.”
    â€œI’ve no doubt.” She tilted her head and asked Jack the question with her eyes.
    â€œHe was Seth Lot’s. He escaped. His memory’s shot.” Facing off against Phouka’s immaculate sophistication, Jack, bruised and bleeding, was very human.
    Phouka walked slowly around Moth while he stood as if afraid to move. “He’s not a sluagh . Not a Jack. I smell blood, but . . .” She frowned as she halted before Moth. “Changeling. But he’s been one for a very long time.”
    â€œHe’s from Elizabethan England.”
    â€œOh.” Phouka stepped back. “ Aisling then.”
    Absalom returned with a basket of first-aid supplies and a black bottle of wine. He handed the basket to Finn, who’d remained silent during the preemptive conversation, and said, “Jack’s your knight. You may tend to his wounds.”
    Jack removed his coat and stripped off the torn T-shirt, muscles moving beneath the velvety skin of arms and shoulders. The scars and the tattoo that had marked him as Reiko’s had vanished with his resurrection. As he sat on Phouka’s desk, Finn delicately swabbed the shallow scratches across his chest and didn’t mind the blood—they had fought hard for that . He didn’t even wince. When she placed one hand over his heart— her heart—just to feel its pulse, he said, smiling at her, “Finn, the natives are staring.”
    Phouka, Absalom, and Moth were watching. Moth’s gaze was enigmatic. Absalom,drinking from the bottle of wine, winked at her. Phouka’s eyes were pure silver.
    Phouka graciously turned to Moth. “So, no memory? That’s troubling, especially since you were in the house of the Wolf.”
    Moth hunched miserably in his chair. “Why can’t I recall? I don’t have a reflection. Sometimes I bleed. Sometimes I don’t.”
    â€œWhat a quandary.” Absalom leaned forward. “Lot’s last mortal queen was plucked from sixteenth-century Norway. That daffodil-haired boy he had as his assassin was from Renaissance Venice.”
    Moth continued, “I remember bits and pieces of my life—but the memories of Lot’s house are jumbled. You . . . do I know you?”
    â€œI doubt it, aisling .” Absalom drank from the bottle again; he