Storm's Heart

by Thea Harrison

  “Perhaps you would enjoy your next visit with a sunnier attitude if it were accomplished after supper,” he suggested.

  “Oh shut up,” she said.

  “My case in point.” He raised his eyebrows and looked bland when she glowered at him. “I’m just sayin’.”

  The evening still showed hints of the day’s golden sunlight, but shadows were deepening across the clearing and glowing lanterns had begun to appear in strategic places as she and Rune approached the Nightkind encampment. Rhoswen, Duncan, the other male Vampyre and their human companions (attendants? servants? food supply?) were gathered around a communal campfire. The group looked relaxed. The humans had made short work of their portion of the supper supplied by the Chicago kitchen staff. Perhaps their air of relaxation was an illusion, but Niniane envied them their ease in each other’s company.

  She was amused to see that the humans were not prompt in rising to their feet at her appearance. They only did so after Rhoswen gave them a glare. She would miss modern Americans’ casual ease of manner.

  She said to Rhoswen, “I was hoping to have a word with Carling.”

  After a brief pause, the blond Vampyre said, “Certainly. The Councillor is down at the river. She invites you to join her.”

  “Thank you.”

  Niniane went in the direction Rhoswen indicated. She followed a short trail through bushes to arrive at the river’s edge, while Rune kept pace at her back. As the evening sky darkened, the brightest stars began to shine. The river rippled silver in the fading light, and the fiery foliage colors on both banks turned muted. At first she looked along the near bank for Carling. It was only when Niniane saw pale material draped on a nearby bush that she thought to look out over the river. She found Carling’s sleek dark head cutting through the water.

  “Oh my God,” she said. She shuddered. The water had to be so frigid it was bone numbing. Anybody who fell into it would run the risk of hypothermia in minutes if they were, well, alive. “You don’t feel the cold?”

  Rune looked amused as he parked himself by leaning against a nearby birch tree with his arms crossed. Carling’s husky chuckle sounded over the water. The Vampyre swam against the current. Her lazy-looking breaststroke made it look effortless.

  “I feel it,” said Carling. She ducked her head under the water and came up to the surface again. “It just doesn’t affect me like it does you.”

  “Is it the same as sunlight?”

  “That is a different matter,” said the Vampyre.

  “How so?” Niniane had been dying to ask ever since she had seen Carling step into the sunshine at the hotel.

  “I cloak myself with Power so that I can walk in sunlight. Otherwise I would have to cloak myself with clothing and sunscreen, like the other Vampyres do, or the sun would burn me to ash just as it would them. I can step through sunlight and can look upon it, but I can no longer feel it on my skin and survive.”

  “That must be exhausting.”

  “I would not want to travel for weeks in the daylight without respite, but this short trip is fine.”

  Carling swam toward the shore and walked out of the water. Niniane lost her breath. The Vampyre’s sleek, wet, nude body glinted with the silver edge of the fading light. Her full breasts, slim waist and strong shapely legs were perfectly formed and sinuously graceful, but there any pretence to perfection ended, for she was tiger-striped from shoulder to thigh, her body covered with dozens of long white lash scars. Someone had beaten her badly when she had been human, beaten her so badly she must have been near death.

  Niniane clenched her teeth and grew teary. Carling gave her a brief disinterested glance as she stepped to shore. Then the Vampyre’s attention moved to Rune and paused for what could have passed for a heartbeat.

  Niniane turned to Rune too.

  He stared at Carling. His handsome face was carved into stark lines, the bones standing out. The lines of his body thrummed with tension, the muscles cut with rigidity. His golden lion’s eyes blazed.

  Carling turned from the sentinel. She plucked her clean caftan from the bush and shrugged it on, her movements languid and unhurried. Her expression remained bored, and her face and body gleamed with radiance.

  “Perhaps we should talk in my tent,” Carling said.

  Niniane followed Carling back to the campsite. The Vampyre stepped inside her tent, which was a large, modern nylon affair with zipped-up windows. Niniane paused at the entrance. She said to Rune, “Please wait here. I know Tiago wanted me to stay with one of you at all times, but I’m only going to be on the other side of this canvas.”

  Rune nodded without speaking.

  She hesitated. She didn’t know what she was tempted to ask him, maybe just if he was all right, but his expression was tight, closed-in, and his body language warned her away. She sighed. Sometimes Wyr were inexplicable.

  She stepped in the tent. Inside it was decorated with the damask silk hangings and the mahogany inlaid trunk from the hotel. There were no chairs, just a scattering of pillows on a rug. Carling poured two glasses of red wine. Her dark wet hair lay sleek against her head. She turned and offered a glass to Niniane, who took it. Then Carling sank down to sit cross-legged on a floor pillow. Niniane tried not to show her struggle as she eased her aching body down onto another pillow.

  Carling sipped wine. “What do you need?”

  “Some advice, if you can give it.” Niniane rubbed her eyes. There was no point in beating around the bush. She asked the Vampyre, “Do you know if any of the Dark Fae in this group tried to kill me?”

  “No,” said Carling. “I do not.”

  Niniane struggled to verbalize her next question. It was surprisingly hard to ask. “How do they—feel to you?”

  Carling shrugged. “They feel like people.”

  “I mean emotionally. Could you tell if one of them was feeling violent?”

  Carling’s eyebrows raised. “Certainly. I can also tell when they are feeling sad or angry, and when they feel dislike or joy. None of these emotions have anything to do with whether or not they have committed, or have conspired to commit murder.”

  Niniane ground her teeth and growled. “This is so frustrating. I just spent time with each one—well, except for Arethusa, who’s been busy this evening. I enjoyed each one’s company. They all acted like they liked me.”

  “No doubt they do like you, and why wouldn’t they? You are an engaging person.” Carling smiled. “But I have killed someone I liked before. I have killed someone and felt regret. I have also sensed violent emotions from you, but you have not erupted into violent action. Emotions are like colors, Niniane. Thoughts and actions provide structure and purpose to a person. It is only when you put them all together that they begin to form a real picture. The Dark Fae are a complex people, with many years of memory and motivation to influence their actions and ambitions.”

  “Okay,” Niniane said. She swallowed wine. “I guess I was looking for a shortcut, and there isn’t one.”

  “I’m sorry, no there isn’t.” Carling paused then said, “But now that we have a chance to talk, I would offer you a word of advice about something else.”

  “By all means.” Niniane drank more wine. “Please do.”

  “I suggest you go carefully with Tiago. All of the Dark Fae are feeling threatened and aggressive about him, except perhaps for Aubrey, whose reaction has been surprisingly low-key.”

  Niniane asked, “How has Aubrey reacted?”

  “I would say he’s concerned, maybe even troubled, but I have not picked up feelings of aggression from him.”

  Did that mean Aubrey was taking Tiago’s presence well, or did that mean he wasn’t too threatened by Tiago’s presence since he planned on killing her anyway? Argh. This kind of thing was going to drive her around the bend. She tossed back the last of her wine.

  Carling continued. “I think there is only so far you can take your relationship with Tiago and hope to hold the throne in peace. No Dark Fae will ever tolerate
a Wyr as ruler. In fact, I will take that statement further. No other Elder demesne will tolerate it. Power among the United States Elder Races is carefully balanced. The Wyr cannot be seen as taking more than their allotted share.”

  “Tiago and I have discussed that,” Niniane said. “He has no interest in the throne.”

  “I am not talking about just Tiago,” Carling said. “I am talking about any potential heir.”

  Niniane went still. Even her mind stopped working. She said past a sudden rasp in her throat, “You mean any children I might have?”

  “Let me be blunt,” Carling said. “You cannot take the throne, have children with Tiago and hope to avoid war, either civil war with the Dark Fae, or war with the other demesnes.”

  The restrictive band around her chest was back. She moved carefully to set her wineglass aside and forced herself to take slow deep breaths.

  “I take it you have not considered these consequences.” Carling’s voice was gentle.

  “I’ve been busy,” Niniane said.

  “You could consider a marriage of state,” Carling said. “Have an heir and perhaps a spare, and maintain a private agreement with—”

  “No,” said Niniane. Everything in her reacted violently to the thought, and that was without taking into consideration how Tiago would react. He would never allow it. He would kill anyone she might try to marry. “That is not going to happen.”

  Carling was silent for a moment. Then she rose to her feet and went to collect the half-empty bottle of wine. She poured more for Niniane and then herself.

  “Perhaps you can take your cues from history,” Carling said. “Consider the English. Edward VIII abdicated because his government would never accept Wallis Simpson. To them, marriage meant she would ascend to the throne. Do you think the Dark Fae would accept a marriage between you and Tiago, and trust that he would not also share the throne?”

  Niniane drank her wine and stared into space. “No,” she said.

  “Then there is Elizabeth I,” Carling said. “I liked Elizabeth. She was a clever woman. She used the possibility of making a marriage by alliance as a diplomatic ploy, but of course she never followed through. If she had lovers, she was so discreet it could never be proven. And no matter how much her parliament pressured her to do so, she never named an heir, so she avoided making her throne vulnerable to a coup.”

  At that last, Niniane’s gaze snapped to Carling’s face. The Vampyre’s expression was serene, Madonna-like. She grumbled, “Conversations with you never go as I expect.”

  She finished the bottle of wine with Carling then said goodnight and stepped outside. Rune fell into step beside her, and they walked back to her camp. Tiago sat with Cameron and Aryal at the campfire, eating supper. Niniane drank in the sight of Tiago. He sat with his elbows on his knees as he inspected the contents of an open cooler between his feet. He was not participating in Cameron and Aryal’s conversation, but he was listening. He looked burnished. Vitality poured off him, yet he appeared more relaxed and at ease than she could ever remember him looking in New York. Adriyel seemed to suit him.

  Then he looked up, caught sight of her, and his relaxation vaporized. He rose to his feet, and his face assumed a hatchetedged aggression. He said in her head, What’s wrong?

  She looked at him, affectionate exasperation breaking through her tiredness. How did you know?

  Your scent. In two quick strides he was in front of her. He cupped her elbows as he looked down at her in concern. Tell me what’s happened.

  Her eyes grew damp. She put a hand to his chest and stroked him. I promise I will tell you all about it very soon, but I am not ready right now. I have to think about some things before I know how to talk about it.

  Okay, he said. “Why don’t you sit and have supper? I heard you haven’t eaten yet.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she said. “I’m going to turn in.”

  His expression darkened. “Faerie.”

  She closed her eyes. Don’t push me right now, Tiago.

  He put his forehead to hers. I can’t make it better if you don’t talk to me.

  Maybe you can’t make this better. Sometimes things just hurt, she said. His hands tightened, and she opened her eyes to be jolted by his fierce stare. She steeled herself and said, I will talk to you soon. Right now I am going to bed. I need to have some time to myself to think, so . . . I need to go to bed alone, please.

  His lips parted to reveal clenched teeth, and his Power pressed down on her. She knew it had to go against all of his instincts, but after a moment he eased back. His hold on her elbows loosened. I will be in telepathic range, he said. You are to call me if you have the slightest need, do you hear?

  Telepathic range. That meant he would stay within ten or fifteen feet of her. She relaxed and nodded. I love you.

  We will have that talk, Niniane, he said.

  Soon, I promise.

  He let her go and stepped back. The others had fallen silent, appearing to concentrate on their own thoughts as they ate. She nodded to them and stepped inside her tent. It was warm from the brazier where the fire had died down to glowing red coals.

  She went straight to her bed, stripped down to her T-shirt and crawled shivering onto the pallet. There she curled into a ball as she waited for the bed to warm. Tiago would have had it warm in seconds. He would have warmed her heart too, in almost every way except for the one that was hurting now.

  Nature seemed to compensate for those who were long-lived, and children were correspondingly rare and precious. Added to that, she had never dared to consider having children when her life had been under such constant threat. The possibility of having a child was always a part of some vague, undefined “sometime” in the future.

  She had not considered that she might never be able to have children.

  She ran through everything Carling had said again. Niniane could not fault the Vampyre’s logic in the slightest.

  The bed warmed but she remained curled in a tight ball. She fell asleep, huddled around that cold internal place.

  A shout splintered the cool silence in her head. She bolted into a sitting position as someone shouted again. Heavy footsteps ran past outside.

  She shrank back as Tiago tore past the wall hanging, his sword drawn. His face was savage in the shadowed tent. He said, “Get dressed.”

  Her heart hammered. “What’s happened?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She leaped out of bed and slipped on jeans, boots and a sweater. Then she grabbed her stiletto sheaths and jammed them in the pocket of her jeans. As soon as she stood, he took her by the arm and marched outside with her. Cameron stood in front of the tent with a short sword drawn as well. The rest of the camp churned with chaos.

  Tiago put an arm around Niniane’s shoulders and clamped her to his side. She put her arms around his waist. Aryal pushed past several frightened attendants who were milling about. The harpy snapped at them, “Get the hell out of the way. Go back to your campsites and stay there until you’re told to do otherwise.”

  They took one look at the harpy’s expression and scattered.

  Aryal strode toward Tiago, Cameron and Niniane, her raptor’s eyes blistering with adrenaline and anger. The harpy looked ready, even eager, for a fight.

  “What?” Tiago barked.

  Aryal came to a halt in front of the other three.

  She said, “Arethusa’s dead.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Tiago’s skin was a thin layer containing an inferno of violence. It boiled in the air around him. Cameron gave him a sidelong look and took two steps away. Aryal too kept her distance. Only Niniane moved closer. She leaned against him as if his supercharged aura comforted her.

  “What happened?” Niniane asked.

  Aryal shook her head, her face grim. “At first glance, it looks like she slipped on some wet rocks down by the riverside, hit her head and fell into the water. One of her troops went looking for her and found her body fifty yards downstream.”


  Niniane’s gaze flashed up to meet Tiago’s. She asked him, What do you think?

  He shook his head slightly. Arethusa moved like a panther. There is no way in hell she slipped, hit her head and drowned by accident. I don’t believe it.

  What do you think we should we do?

  He wanted to snatch Niniane up, take to the air and keep flying until he knew he had her in a safe place. He wanted to rampage through the camp and not stop until he found the murderer. His hand clenched on his sword hilt until it shook. He took a slow, careful breath. Rune and Aryal should investigate, he said. We need to know as soon as we can if they can clear Arethusa’s troops, so we know if we can rely on them.

  Her gaze searched his face. Then she nodded. Her expression turned calm, and she gave him a squeeze around the waist and stepped away. In a voice pitched to carry some distance, she said to Aryal, “Please do whatever is necessary to verify the details surrounding the Commander’s death.”

  “Right,” Aryal said. She pivoted and stalked away.

  Niniane looked up at Tiago again. His mouth tightened at the dark circles shadowing the delicate skin under her eyes. She hadn’t rested well before he had awakened her because of whatever the hell was bothering her that he didn’t know about yet, and of course now was not the damn time to ask her about it.

  “Would you please follow me?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he said. Anywhere.

  She paused. A hint of a smile crept into her tired eyes. She said in his head, Would you please put away your sword first?

  He looked down at his hand, saw his white-knuckled grip and set his teeth. He growled, I’d rather not.

  You are the real weapon, she said. Believe me, nobody doubts it.

  “Fine,” he snapped out loud. He reached over his head and slammed the sword into the scabbard strapped to his back. He surveyed the area. The campfire in front of Niniane’s tent was quite public, but he wasn’t about to take a chance with anything. He turned to Cameron. “Guard the tent.”

  “Of course,” said the human, her face cop-calm and eyes alert.