Holly Black - The Wicked King (The Folk of the Air #2) by Holly Black

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright 2019 by Holly Black

Illustrations by Kathleen Jennings

Cover art copyright 2019 by Sean Freeman. Cover design by Karina Granda.

Cover copyright 2019 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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First Edition: January 2019

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Nymphidia by Michael Drayton, first published in 1627

The Fairies by William Allingham, first published in 1850

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Black, Holly, author. | Jennings, Kathleen, illustrator.

Title: The wicked king / Holly Black ; illustrations by Kathleen Jennings.

First edition. | New York ; Boston : Little, Brown and Company, 2019. | Series: [The Folk of the Air ; 2] | Summary: As seneschal to High King Cardan, Jude must fight to keep control of the Faerie throne while her younger brother, Oak, enjoys the childhood she never knew.

Identifiers: LCCN 2017056642| ISBN 9780316310352 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780316310338 (ebook) | ISBN 9780316310345 (library edition ebook)

Subjects: | CYAC: Kings, queens, rulers, etc.Fiction. | Power (Philosophy)Fiction. | Courts and courtiersFiction. | FairiesFiction. | SistersFiction. | Fantasy.

Classification: LCC PZ7.B52878 Wic 2019 | DDC [Fic]dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017056642

ISBNs: 978-0-316-31035-2 (hardcover), 978-0-316-31033-8 (ebook), 978-0-316-45213-7 (intl), 978-0-316-48713-9 (Barnes & Noble)

E3-20181107-JV-NF-ORI

For Kelly Link, one of the merfolk

J ude lifted the heavy practice sword, moving into the first stancereadiness.

Get used to the weight, Madoc had told her. You must be strong enough to strike and strike and strike again without tiring. The first lesson is to make yourself that strong.

It will hurt. Pain makes you strong.

That was the first lesson hed taught her after hed cut down her parents with a sword not unlike the one she held now. Then shed been seven, a baby. Now she was nine and lived in Faerieland, and everything was changed.

She planted her feet in the grass. Wind ruffled her hair as she moved through the stances. One; the sword before her, canted to one side, protecting her body. Two; the pommel high, as though the blade were a horn coming from her head. Three: down to her hip, then in a deceptively casual droop in front of her. Then four: up again, to her shoulder. Each position could move easily into a strike or a defense. Fighting was chess, anticipating the move of ones opponent and countering it before one got hit.

But it was chess played with the whole body. Chess that left her bruised and tired and frustrated with the whole world and with herself, too.

Or maybe it was more like riding a bike. When shed been learning to do that, back in the real world, shed fallen lots of times. Her knees had been scabby enough that Mom thought she might have scars. But Jude had taken off her training wheels herself and disdained riding carefully on the sidewalk, as Taryn did. Jude wanted to ride in the street, fast, like Vivi, and if she got gravel embedded into her skin for it, well, then shed let Dad pick it out with tweezers at night.

Sometimes Jude longed for her bike, but there were none in Faerie. Instead, she had giant toads and thin greenish ponies and wild-eyed horses slim as shadows.

And she had weapons.

And her parents murderer, now her foster father. The High Kings general, Madoc, who wanted to teach her how to ride too fast and how to fight to the death. No matter how hard she swung at him, it just made him laugh. He liked her anger. Fire, he called it.

She liked it when she was angry, too. Angry was better than scared. Better than remembering she was a mortal among monsters. No one was offering her the option of training wheels anymore.

On the other side of the field, Madoc was guiding Taryn through a series of stances. Taryn was learning the sword, too, although she had different problems than Jude. Her stances were more perfect, but she hated sparring. She paired the obvious defenses with the obvious attacks, so it was easy to lure her into a series of moves and then score a hit by breaking the pattern. Each time it happened, Taryn got mad, as though Jude were flubbing the steps of a dance rather than winning.

Come here, Madoc called to Jude across the silvery expanse of grass.

She walked to him, sword slung over her shoulders. The sun was just setting, but faeries are twilight creatures, and their day was not even half done. The sky was streaked with copper and gold. She inhaled a deep breath of pine needles. For a moment, she felt as though she were just a kid learning a new sport.

Come spar, he said when Jude got closer. Both of you girls against this old redcap. Taryn leaned against her sword, the tip of it sinking into the ground. She wasnt supposed to hold it that wayit wasnt good for the bladebut Madoc didnt reprimand her.

Power, he said. Power is the ability to get what you want. Power is the ability to be the one making the decisions. And how do we get power?

Jude stepped beside her twin. It was obvious that Madoc expected a response, but also that he expected the wrong one. We learn how to fight well? she said to say something.

When Madoc smiled at her, she could see the points of his bottom cuspids, longer than the rest of his teeth. He tousled her hair, and she felt the sharp edges of his claw-like nails against her scalp, too light to hurt, but a reminder of what he was nonetheless. We get power by taking it.

He pointed toward a low hill with a thorn tree growing on it. Lets make a game of the next lesson. Thats my hill. Go ahead and take it.

Taryn dutifully trooped toward it, Jude behind her. Madoc kept pace, his smile all teeth.

Now what? Taryn asked, without any particular excitement.

Madoc looked into the distance, as though he was contemplating and discarding various rules. Now hold it against attack.

Wait, what? Jude asked. From you?

Is this a strategy game or a sparring practice? Taryn asked, frowning.

Madoc brought one finger under her chin, raising her head until she was looking into his golden cat eyes. What is sparring but a game of strategy, played at speed? he told her, with a great seriousness. Talk with your sister. When the sun reaches the trunk of that tree, I will come for my hill. Knock me down but once and you both win.