Storm's Heart

by Thea Harrison

  She would much rather have gone on a sightseeing tour of Europe. How convenient, her bags were already packed. Maybe running away would solve all her problems. Okay, so that seemed like a long shot, but she could be willing to give it a try.

  Tiago turned her toward him and gripped her shoulders. His Power had never left her once since they had arrived, and now it enfolded her, an inexhaustible wellspring of strength and warmth. He said in a calm, quiet voice, “Take your time.”

  She nodded and looking up, met his gaze.

  Steady. Adamant. Bedrock.

  She flashed back in memory to the last private conversation she’d had with Dragos. They had been in his office. The French doors and blinds had been open to a scorching morning sun. The room had been filled with hot yellow sunshine and sharp gusts of air.

  They sat as they had so many times over the last two hundred years. The black-haired dragon had lounged back in his chair, his eyes more golden than the sun, booted heels propped on his desk. She perched on the desk beside his feet, cross-legged with her shoes kicked off.

  “They may give you the throne, but you will have to take the power,” Dragos said.

  “That sounds a lot easier said than done,” she muttered as she scratched at the tip of one ear. “Any advice?”

  Dragos shrugged. “Assume you will make enemies. Work to make allies. Don’t expect to make friends. Friends are a gift that happens over time. You have a lot of good things going for you. You’re diplomatic, you’re smart and you think fast, you see consequences and nuances, and you know how to cheat. But you have one great flaw when it comes to taking the throne.”

  She scowled. The gods only knew what would come out of Dragos’s mouth next. She couldn’t shapeshift, her swordplay was laughable, she had no fangs or claws with which to defend herself. It could be anything. “What is that?”

  The dragon said, “You want to be liked.”

  Whatever else he had done or failed to do, Urien had never made that mistake.

  She lifted up her chin, grateful more than she could say for the silent supportive oasis Tiago had given her. He gave her that subtle smile again, squeezed her shoulders and stepped back.

  She should have a new personal slogan. WWDD—What Would Dragos Do? She turned back to Aubrey and Naida. Naida, who had apparently decided to join them uninvited for their private chat.

  She said to Naida, “Thank you for requesting the refreshments for us. Please shut the doors on your way out.”

  Okay, she wasn’t so sure Dragos would have said “please” and “thank you.” He had only just started experimenting with trying out those three new words on his inner circle. But the message was still sent and received. Naida bowed her head and walked out. Tiago watched the Dark Fae woman leave, his expression impassive.

  Niniane expelled a pent-up breath. She walked to an armchair and sat. Her legs felt rubbery again. Tiago moved in silence to take a position behind her chair.

  Aubrey said, “Naida means well.”

  Niniane looked up. The Dark Fae male was watching her, his face troubled. She made a gesture of negation, waving away what had happened. She said, “Would you both please have a seat?”

  Aubrey’s gaze went to Tiago in quick surprise, but the Chancellor moved to sit at the end of the couch closest to her on her left. Tiago chose the armchair to her right.

  Niniane tilted up one shoe to look at it. She said to the shoe in a flat voice, “I was in the palace when my family was killed. Tiago already knows. Taking this journey is bringing up a lot of old bad stuff, Aubrey. I get close to something of Urien’s, like when I walked in this room, and I want to set it on fire.”

  Aubrey’s brows pulled together. “I had no idea.”

  She said to her shoe, “Of course you didn’t. How could you? You didn’t even know I was alive until recently.”

  “Do you know how famous you are to the Dark Fae?” he said. That caused her to raise her gaze to his. The older male regarded her with a bittersweet expression. “You had simply vanished. There was no body, no evidence of your death. It was assumed you must be dead, but the question always remained, a rumor that you were alive and in hiding somewhere, and that one day you would return to rule. At first it was a comfortable whisper, one of those ghost tales told around a campfire, but over the last couple of decades the rumor grew to have quite a bite.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Aubrey said, “Urien, and those who supported him, were reacting to many things when they overthrew your father. One of those things was the British losing the American War of Independence. I agreed with your father. When change comes, you must change to meet it. But his opponents claimed they were protecting the Dark Fae’s status quo against being overrun by what they saw was a barbaric horde of heathens. They were really protecting the Dark Fae’s Powerful elite, protecting themselves, but over time it came at the expense of the more ordinary of us, who might otherwise have thrived with all the advent of fresh opportunity that came along with those barbarian hordes.”

  Aubrey had never been ordinary in his long life, but she chose not to remark upon that. Instead she said, “Why, you sound almost democratic.”

  He laughed. “Perhaps I wouldn’t go quite that far, unless it’s possible to be a democratic-minded supporter of a benevolent, open-minded ruler?” He sobered as he continued, “At any rate, opportunities became rare, and they went to Urien’s circle of friends and supporters, which grew fewer over time as our economy slowed. In the meantime, many of the ordinary ones suffered, and people began to speak of your legend with quite a dangerous sense of longing. It used to drive Urien into a rage. Of course now we know he knew the truth about you.”

  She gave him a grim look. “Indeed he did.”

  “I hated him,” Aubrey said. He shook his head. “We’re all adjusting to his death, I think, because it still feels dangerous to admit that. Your father had been a good friend of mine, and I, like so many others, had been half in love with your mother.”

  She smiled. “Really? I guess she might have been beautiful. I don’t know, I don’t remember that very well. What I remember is she was so funny and loving, and lively, and she made the room light up whenever she came into it.”

  “Yes,” Aubrey said. “She was all of that. She would be so proud of you.”

  Niniane’s eyebrows shot up. She was so shocked at his words, tears sprang to her eyes. “My goodness,” she said. She laughed a little and wiped her nose. “Do you really think so?”

  “I do,” Aubrey said. “Not only did you survive against all the odds and turn into a beautiful woman, but you also learned skills and made connections, and you became someone she would have been thrilled to see take the throne.”

  “I don’t know about that, but it means a lot to me that you said it.”

  She caught sight of Tiago out of the corner of her eye. He was smiling at her.

  She said to him, “Thank you.”

  “For what?” said Tiago. He sprawled in his chair, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his elbows rested on the chair’s arms, his fingers steepled.

  “You’ve been nothing but supportive today in all the right ways,” she said.

  “It’s a complicated day,” he said. “I’m trying to help.” His words were neutral, but his Power stroked her cheek with a smoky tenderness.

  “That means a lot to me,” she said. She straightened her aching back and turned her attention to Aubrey, who had followed their exchange with close attention. She told Aubrey, “I have an agenda for this talk. First, I promised I would tell you why I know Dragos and the Wyr were not behind the second attack. Second, you need to know—Tiago is coming with me to Adriyel to stay.”

  The Chancellor’s expression flared. “That’s unacceptable.”

  “Is it now?” Tiago said. He tilted his head and regarded the Dark Fae male with a lazy predatory gaze. “Tough shit.”

  Tiago made an interesting discovery that day, as he gu
arded Niniane through two very different groups of people. She sure did an awful lot of talking. She spoke to every last person—yeah, there’s no way that would always be possible—but somehow none of what she said ended up being blah-fucking-blah. She spoke to people with real warmth about matters that directly affected them, and they responded to her.

  To him there was always something interesting to what she did, whether it was what she actually said, or how she wrinkled her nose and widened her eyes when she was feeling mischievous, or whenever she might get a particularly evil glint in her eyes. Sometimes he just watched her cute little ass as she walked, and he lost himself in remembrance of what had happened, in fantasy for the lovemaking to come.

  He came to realize that all of her shoes were fuck-me shoes. Those little pretty froufrou strappy things she slipped on her feet could be categorized as weapons of mass destruction, because they obliterated the male mind. They elongated and defined those delicate, slender legs of hers. He would swear they caused her to walk in such a way that her hips swayed with a sexy little wriggle that had every male focusing on her like they were German pointers and she was the game they had just flushed out of the foliage.

  She would be good on the throne, he decided with a sense of pride. She needed seasoning and confidence, and she had wavered once or twice at certain junctures, but all the raw materials were there, along with the not-inconsiderable added bonus that people fell in love with her wherever she went.

  So he was content to stroll behind the little faerie and learn more about her. He catalogued potential threats, memorized faces, and noticed weaknesses in the layout of the property, such as the places where he would launch an attack or how he might break into the house. There wasn’t a lot on that end; the place was well constructed and defended. But there were a few things he would change.

  He also made a note of personalities and problems. He had been used to command for a very long time. Most people had tells, a twitch or nervous habit, or a manner of speaking, or a scent they gave off. Scents were interesting tags or identifiers, because they were an involuntary response to stimuli. It was an extremely rare entity that had no tells whatsoever. Often Carling or Dragos could manage it. Certainly the Elven High Lord could pull it off, but the Elven Lord’s consort was more intriguing to Tiago, for she could pull it off with much more frequency than anybody else he had met.

  Take the bug, for instance. He was pretty sure that nervous little man had a drug addiction of some sort. He had a scent that was too chemical but with no underlying layers to indicate he was taking something for an illness. Tiago was pretty laissezfaire about drug addictions—whatever a person chose to do was their own business—except when it came to people in positions of some importance or authority. An addiction meant impaired judgment and a weakness to exploit. Someone could be bribed or blackmailed, or hell, they might just fuck up. The bug smelled of fear. He was afraid he was going to get caught and removed from his position. He was right.

  Another person of interest to Tiago was the guard captain, whose attitude toward Niniane held a veiled antagonism. Tiago had roused to urge her silently to step back toward him, while he assessed the man. Tiago continued to watch the captain without seeming to for several minutes after Niniane had moved away, watching the man’s expressions and how he interacted with the people around him. If he were to make a guess, it looked like the captain had a problem with women in authority. It didn’t appear that his veiled antagonism was directed at Niniane in particular. It was nothing personal—and the man was going to have to go, just as fast as Tiago could have a word with Arethusa to make it happen.

  Naida, now. There was an interesting chick. Tiago was entertained by how a tea service and a tray of munchies could turn into some kind of subtle push for power or position. The kind of maneuvering for position he was used to tended to involve heavy artillery, a fight to get to high ground and his troops laying down covering fire. He watched and waited as his faerie assessed the situation, mulled it over and then sent the other woman away. Naida’s posture and expression had been quite correct and compliant, but she couldn’t hide her flare of scent aggression that filled the air as she walked out of the room. Naida couldn’t be fired like the other two, but he thought he could learn a lot by keeping an eye on her.

  The Chancellor was a different matter altogether. His face, scent and posture spoke of alarm, not aggression. Tiago took a plate, filled it and handed it to Niniane, who accepted it after a hesitation and a flare of surprise in her gorgeous eyes. He took another plate—there were three, he noticed, which was perfect, although not exactly what Naida had originally intended—and he piled that one higher then relaxed back in his chair and watched the Chancellor with cold killer’s eyes. Tiago decided he enjoyed armchair warfare. It was so comfortable, and there were pastries.

  Aubrey’s face tightened as he suppressed some kind of strong emotion. It was a complicated scent Tiago couldn’t yet decipher. The Chancellor turned to Niniane. “I apologize for my outburst, your highness,” he said. “You said you had an agenda.”

  The guy was smooth, Tiago would grant him that. Maybe it was sincere and maybe it wasn’t. Time would tell.

  He could almost see his faerie give a mental oh-screw-it shrug. She slipped off her shoes, tucked her feet underneath her and selected one of the pastries Tiago had given her. The one she selected had chocolate in it, and the box of chocolates he had given her had already disappeared. He made a mental note.

  Niniane took a bite of the pastry and set it on her plate, her face thoughtful. Tiago shifted his plate to cover the growing bulge in his crotch as he watched her lick powdered sugar off her fingers. Thinking and licking just became his two new favorite things to watch her do. What was going on behind that sweet pixie face of hers? Was she thinking through A and B to reach C or D, or was she jumping out of the logical alphabet again? He couldn’t wait to see her when she was really conniving.

  When she spoke next, it was to tell the Chancellor about her line of thinking about the Wyr, seasoned as it was by the intimacy of long familiarity, along with the conversation she’d had with Aryal. “So you see, it is nonsensical to believe the Wyr were behind the attack,” she said.

  “I see,” Aubrey said. “Thank you for taking the time to explain it to me. When you explain everything that way, it does seem obvious that Dragos and the Wyr government were not involved, except in an accidental way as Tiago defended you.”

  Tiago enjoyed his snack while he watched and listened. Aubrey mentioned nothing of Arethusa’s conversation with Tiago and Rune at the morgue. Arethusa must have decided to play her cards very close to her chest. Interesting. Apparently Arethusa didn’t trust anybody at the moment. Given her familiarity with the other Dark Fae, what did that say about her, or them? Tiago let the puzzle pieces in his head connect, break apart and re-form into different scenarios.

  “Now to move on to your second point,” said Aubrey. The male looked at Tiago directly. “Please understand, this is not meant to be personal in any way. I have great admiration for everything you’ve accomplished. But no one will accept one of Dragos’s sentinels, let alone his warlord, on permanent deployment in the Dark Fae demesne. It would be considered an act of aggression and cause for war. The Dark Fae are unsettled enough by Urien’s death. While he had grown unpopular, he also ruled with a strong hand that gave many a sense of security they no longer have at the moment.”

  “That’s why I quit,” said Tiago. He popped another pastry into his mouth.

  The other male sat forward, his gaze sharp. “Excuse me?”

  “I said I quit,” Tiago told him. “I am an independent agent. I no longer work for Dragos in any capacity.”

  Aubrey’s astonished gaze shot to Niniane, who nodded. She said, “He’s coming with me.”

  “I see,” said Aubrey, but Tiago was sure he didn’t yet. The man might be smart and well-placed in the Dark Fae government, but he was not as quick on the uptake on a few things like his wife was.
His wife had taken one look at Tiago and Niniane and had gotten it. “Your highness, even if people believed that Tiago really has quit, they’re not—”

  “Aubrey,” Niniane interrupted. Her voice, like her face, was calm, her eyes clear. “I’m not asking for permission or what people’s opinion will be on this issue. Either Tiago is coming with me, or I’m not going. The last thing on my agenda for this talk is to see if we can come to an understanding with you on this. I want you to back me up. I want you to be my supporter. I want to talk to you, confide in you, and ask your opinions about things. I have to start developing relationships with someone, and to start trusting somewhere. Frankly, if we can’t get you to accept this, I don’t see any reason in crossing over. We might as well stay here and the Dark Fae can find some other person to try to put on the throne. You’re some second or third cousin by marriage. Maybe that would be you.”

  “Please.” Aubrey put up both hands, his face and scent flaring with deeper alarm. “Don’t say another word like that. My family connection is distant, and in any case, you are the real heir.”

  “Then back me up,” Niniane said. “If you support this, other people may grumble at first, and they may not like it, but eventually they will accept it. Tiago is my—”

  “Chief of security,” Tiago said.

  She turned to him, surprised. “Is that what you are?”

  Now that he had verbalized it, he tested it out in his head. There was no point in freaking out the faeries any further with talk of Wyr mating. What happened between him and Niniane was none of their business, and Niniane needed him to protect her, which was going to be a much more sophisticated and complex job than simply watching her back as her bodyguard. He said, “Yes.”

  She regarded him, her expression concerned. “That will be a difficult position to be in as a foreigner.”

  “I like a challenge,” he told her. “And it’s where I need to be, and it’s where you need me to be.” He added telepathically, And I’ll be hellacious good at it.