Jack shook the king’s hand. “Why are you back?” George VI smiled sadly. “I loved Noah. Why else?”
Skelton looked about. “Is she here? Is she upstairs somewhere, cavorting with Weyland?”
The Lord of the Faerie took Skelton’s elbow, guiding him through double doors to their right, ignoring his question.
“We need your aid, Jack,” the Lord of the Faerie said. “Desperately.”
“We have a problem,” the king said, falling into step besides Skelton.
“And, naturally,” said Stella, now a step behind the men, her high heels striking sharply against the hard floor, “it involves Noah. When haven’t the entire world’s problems involved her?”
Skelton glanced over his shoulder at her. Stella sounded exasperated, but nothing more. Apparently her ancient hatred of Cornelia had vanished.
“Jack.” The Lord of the Faerie drew him to a halt inside the double doors. “How much loyalty do you owe the Troy Game?”
Skelton looked at the Faerie Lord carefully. “What do you need me to say, Coel?”
“Would you put Noah before the Game?”
Skelton lowered his eyes. “Does she remain corrupted?”
“You have never truly loved her, have you?” said George VI, softly.
Skelton made a sound of exasperation. He would have said something, but just then came a soft cry. A wail, as if a young girl cried gently.
He looked into the drawing room of the house, where the Lord of the Faerie had led him.
There was a huge stone fireplace in the far wall, a fire within, burning brightly.
And before it, sitting on the carpet with her legs neatly tucked underneath her, was a girl of some sixteen or seventeen years.
Some part of Skelton’s brain registered that she was lovely, and that she reminded him of Cornelia when first he’d seen her, but his eyes were drawn immediately to her hands and wrists.
They were held out before her as if tied, and to Skelton’s startled gaze it appeared as if they had been bound with red-hot wire.
“This is Grace,” said the Lord of the Faerie quietly, “and we love her dearly, even though she is our doom.”