Worlds Without End s-18

by Caroline Spector

  "And you wonder why I've never been much for society," I said. "This all seems like such a waste of time to me. I don't have the stomach for it."

  Caimbeul reached out and placed his hand lightly on the small of my back. I was wearing a gown cut very low in the back. The contact of his hand against my naked flesh made me shiver.

  "I think we'd best make ourselves known," Caim- beui said. "I wouldn't want to get caught lurking here in the shadows."

  We moved forward then, stepping into the golden wash provided by the floating wisps of light. Caimbeui guided us from one group to the next with the practiced grace and smoothness I'd forgotten he possessed. After- all, he'd spent time both in Alachia's court as well as the courts of the Northern Kingdoms, while I had made myself an outcast from society many times over.

  With each group, we moved closer and closer to Lugh Surehand. It was a ballet of conversation, compliments, and jockeying for position. I was so caught up in admiring Caimbeui's easy skills as a courtier that I forgot for a moment to pay attention to who was moving toward us.

  "Aina," came a deep voice to my left. "It has been far too long. How are you, my dear?"

  I found myself being kissed on both cheeks by a tallish man dressed in an exquisitely cut suit of black worsted wool. His long, steel-colored hair hung unbound down to the middle of his back, and he had almond-shaped, preternaturally golden eyes.

  "Oh come now, Aina. Don't you recognize me?"

  I blinked, taken aback by the unexpected inti- macy. Then I looked more closely at him. "Lofwyr," I said. "I didn't expect to see you in such a place. Nor in this guise."

  The dragon laughed. "When in Rome and all that," he said. "But what about you? Sheep's cloth- ing? Or is it a new designer? As I recall, you were more fond of Chanel than anything else. But this doesn't look like anything I've seen lately."

  I smoothed a hand over the gray velvet of my dress, a nervous gesture that I caught and made my- self stop.

  "I had no idea you were so interested in fashion," I said. "A new hobby, or are you just bored?"

  "Nothing is boring for long here," he said. "And now you have appeared after such a long time. Have you come to be reunited with your people?"

  I gave him an incredulous look. "I believe my po- sition on 'my people' was made long ago, Lofwyr. And you'd best not forget it. It makes my task here all the more difficult."

  "So, you have come to play Cassandra," Lofwyr said. "You'd do well to remember what happened to her."

  I took a drink of my champagne to keep from frowning at him. At least it was Krystal and not a bad vintage. The privileges of power. Caimbeui had listened to pur conversation without saying any- thing. I glanced at him to judge his mood, but he was looking past Lofwyr. I turned, following his gaze, and'saw that a young man was staring at us.

  I froze, for a moment thinking that I was seeing Aithne Oakforest, but this elf was too young to be Aithne. On second glance I saw the differences be- tween them. The slightly petulant mouth. The spoiled expression on his face. The bored gaze. He had some of his father's coloring and bone structure, but the hair was too light and the eyes darker. Still, there was no doubt in my mind that this was Glasgian, Aithne's oldest son. Or at least the oldest surviving one.

  The thought of Aithne's son pushed the breath from me. That I could still feel the pain of this mo- ment, even after all this time, astounded me. And I knew that my hopes for Aithne's forgiveness were in vain.

  I felt Caimbeul's hand on my elbow and heard his voice in my ear as though it were coming from a long way off, like an old-fashioned radio broadcast. "I know seeing him is a bit of a shock, Aina," Caimbeui said. "But don't let it throw you. He isn't Aithne, and he's not the ghost of Hebhel come back to haunt you. Remember what's important now."

  I turned toward Caimbeui, pulling my gaze from Glasgian. "I'm sorry," I said. My voice was reedy and thin in my ears. "He gave me such a start."

  "Are you all right, Aina?" asked Lofwyr. "You look positively green. Maybe you should sit down."

  "No," I said, more firmly this time. "I just felt a little strange for a moment there."

  Lofwyr glanced over his shoulder at Glasgian. "Ah, he does look quite like his father, doesn't he? No wonder it gave you a start. There's no love lost between you and Aithne. Is there?

  "I've always wondered about that. It seemed so strange…"

  "Perhaps some other time," said Caimbeui as he led me away from the dragon.

  He steered me about the perimeter of the party, keeping up a steady flow of nods and polite remarks as we strolled.

  "Surehand is just ahead," he said. "Do you think you're up to meeting with him?"

  I nodded. "Of course," I said. "It was just a mo- mentary lapse."

  Tilting my glass then, I drank the rest of the champagne with one large gulp. A waiter passed close by and I grabbed another glass from him. How I wished it were something stronger.

  "You don't suppose Surehand has a supply of Taengele lying about, do you?" I asked.

  Caimbeui gave a little frown. I returned it and he knew better than to go over that old ground with me. Oh, I knew that particular demon was never far away, but I didn't succumb to it anymore.

  "I'm certain there is little that Lugh denies him- self," Caimbeui said. "But we haven't time to indulge that particular vice of yours right now."

  I downed the second glass and got a small headache from the bubbles.

  "Very well," I said, giving him a grand wave of my hand. "Lead on, MacDuff."

  He rolled his eyes, but said nothing as he took my hand and led me to the small circle where Lugh Surehand stood.

  "May I present Aina Sluage, Lugh," said Caim- beui.

  I extended my hand and Lugh Surehand brought it UP to his Ups and kissed it. He was much taller than I. with a slender build. His hair was dark red, almost 189

  the color of newly turned maple leaves in fall. His eyes were green as summer grass.

  I thought he might have looked quite at home in Elizabethan times with his goatee and the rakish scar, he sported on his neck. I knew from Caimbeui that it was an old injury, one that ran across and down his neck and across his shoulder.

  There was an aura of command about him, though I thought he might have toned it down somewhat to accommodate the temperaments of the other Elders. I suspected that Aithne, Ehran, and the others would never tolerate the idea that they were being led by anyone.

  "Ah, so you are Aina," he said. "I have heard so many things about you. How is that we have not met over the years?"

  I smiled very slowly at him. "My misfortune, no doubt," I said. "I have always been cursed with bad luck."

  "No, madam, the ill fortune was mine," he mur- mured. He had not yet released my hand.

  So that was how it was to be. All so very polite and civilized, until, of course, the knives came out.

  "Would you like a tour of the grounds?" Surehand asked.

  "Delighted," I said. "I understand they are most impressive."

  I let him pull me to his side and tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow. "I am curious," he said as he led me away from the small circle of people and down toward his great house. "I understand you knew Goya. I have always been a great admirer of his work. Tell me, was he mad there at the end?"

  I glanced over my shoulder at Caimbeui, but he was already engaged in conversation with a pretty young woman to whom we'd just been introduced, the Countess Teargan. She was Surehand's constant companion, and even Caimbeui was unable to ascer- tain the nature of their relationship.

  "I suppose all humans go mad upon realizing that they will die soon," I said. "Isn't that their great misfortune?"

  Surehand glanced at me, his face shrewd for a moment before the pleasant mask slipped back into place.

  "I don't believe you find it to be," he said. "I've always found that peculiar about you. You seem to despise your immortal state."

  "Despise is a bit strong," I said lightly. "I find the proposition a bit strange. I
t occurs to me that we few have had so much time, yet we have not done any great good with it. And often we have done such harm in the name of ourselves."

  "Perhaps we are beyond such notions as good or bad," he said. We were crossing the broad expanse of green lawn. Lawn that should have been brown this time of year.

  "But isn't that the very problem?" I asked. "So you concern yourself with loftier matters than

  ours-is that it?" he asked. I could hear the edge in his voice. "No," I said. "I

  only know that my choices are those I can live with day to day."

  We reached the foot of the wide steps leading up to a terrace outside the house. In the dim light, it looked gray-white and unreal. As though it were some creation conjured up to amaze.

  "Yet you come here to ask for my help," he said as he led me up the steps. It was getting colder, and I shivered. He pulled off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It smelled of orris root, tobacco, and musk.

  "Yes," I said. "I have news that I believe must be told not only to the Elders, but to the world at large."

  Pushing open the wide glass doors, Surehand ges- tured for me to enter the house. Inside it was dark and shadowy. I banged my knee on something and gave a little yelp. Instantly, the room was bathed in golden light.

  "It's that damn ottoman," he said. "I keep telling the maids not to leave it here, but they never listen. Are you all right?"

  I flopped down on the ottoman and pulled my skirt up to look at the damage. It was minor, but I could tell there would be a bruise the next day.

  "It's nothing," I said as I smoothed my skirt back down. "Is it safe to talk here?"

  "Yes," he replied. "The house and grounds are swept on a regular basis for any sort of bugging- magical or otherwise. I'm curious, though. You are here with Harlequin. Surely you know he is at odds with Ehran."

  "I know," I said. "But his relationship with you is still intact. And I have much more severe problems among the Elders of this Tir myself. Aithne and Alachia, for example. From whom I suspect you have received much of your information about me."

  He dropped into a chair opposite me and looked me over.

  "You are both not at all what they described and quite like their descriptions," he said after a mo- ment. "But I'm not so foolish as to acquire all my information from only two sources-and those with grudges, no less."

  "And what have you found?" I asked. My ego speaking, no doubt.

  Surehand settled into his chair, then propped his feet next to me on the ottoman.

  "You have stayed out of political dealings for most of this cycle. You disapprove of the way we've been handling matters thus far; According to Aithne, who rarely allows any mention of your name, you are worse than any nightmare."

  That stung, coming from someone else. So he hated me enough still to try and sabotage me at every turn. Well, perhaps it was no more than I de- served.

  "Ah," I said. "Aithne always did have a way with words."

  , Lugh Surehand laughed. It was deep and rusty, as though he didn't use it often.

  "Alachia underestimates you," he said. "She said you had little wit."

  I shrugged. "Alachia underestimates anyone who doesn't automatically worship her-or those who cannot be led around by portions of their anatomy."

  "I know little of the animosity between the three of you. Aithne refuses to speak of it, and Alachia holds it out like a trinket, then snatches it away when one gets too close."

  I smoothed the velvet of my gown across my knees. In the warm light it took on a deep silver cast. Anything to distract me from memories of the past.

  "Do you know the story of Scheherazade?" I asked.

  For a moment, Surehand looked startled, but I knew he would quickly replace that with his usual bland expression. I wasn't disappointed. And it oc- curred to me that for all his show of calmness and balance, he was really quite formidable. After all, he had managed to remain High Prince since the found- ing of Tir Taimgire. With all the political intrigue so rife among the Elders, he should have been ousted long ago. But here he was in complete control of the Tir.

  "She was married to a sultan. He killed every other wife he took after only one night with her," began Surehand. "On the first night of Scheherazade's marriage to him, she refused to lay with him, in- sisting instead that she would tell him a story. Each night continued after the first the same way. She kept him spellbound with her wit and stories. It con- tinued thus for a thousand nights.

  "At the end of the thousand nights, the sultan had fallen in love with Scheherazade and couldn't bring himself to kill her. Thus was she spared."

  I clapped my hands softly together. "Bravo," I said. "Nicely told. You will go far should you ever become the wife of a sultan."

  "Am I to take it that you have no desire to be- come my Scheherazade?"

  "I think now would not be the time for those sto- ries. I would not cloud the danger of the present with tales from the past." "And if I were to insist?" I shut my eyes. "Then I would oblige," I said. "Then this must be a very serious matter indeed," he said.

  I opened my eyes. He was looking at me with an unreadable expression. I knew then that I would never willingly make an enemy of him. To do so would be far too dangerous, even for me. "I would not come here otherwise," I said. "Very well," he said. "What is it you wish?" "For you to call an emergency meeting of the High Council."

  She's in a dark house. At first, she thinks it is Lugh Surehand's mansion, but then she realises this is no place she's been before.

  Outside, she hears the roar of helicopters. Bril- liant lights come streaming around the edges of the drawn shades. Then the door bursts open and shadow figures are coming inside. They hold weap- ons and they are grabbing. Grabbing the other peo- ple who are here. There are screams and she starts to run. Run away from the faceless things breaking into her dream.

  22

  "It went well then?" asked Caimbeul.

  We were in the back of the limo again. I still had Surehand's jacket around my shoulders. I'd forgotten to take it off as he led me back to the party.

  "He agreed to call a meeting of the High Coun- cil," I replied. "It went much better than I expected. But I suspect he'll want something in return."

  "And what might that be?"

  "I have no idea," I said. "But I think he might be more dangerous than both Aithne and Alachia."

  "Lugh Surehand?" Caimbeul was incredulous.

  "He's good enough at compromise and juggling the players, but a threat? Please."

  Ignoring his arrogance, I stared out the tinted win- dows. The rain-slick streets flashed by. On a corner I saw a pair of trolls dressed in the height of fashion. I wondered briefly what they were doing here in this neighborhood, then let them fade from my mind.

  "You're a fool if you underestimate him, Caim- beul. He has neither Aithne's temper nor Alachia's ego. How has he managed to stay in power all this time? That isn't the feat of someone who should be taken lightly.

  "Didn't I read something about an assassination attempt, not too long ago? Despite that, he's still in power. More the wonder if one of us was behind it."

  "You sound impressed," he said. "I can't remember the last time anyone impressed you."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You sound like a school girl."

  "Don't be asinine," I said. I was getting impatient. "You haven't been listening. Yes, I find him interest- ing, but not in the way you seem to think. He's a force to be reckoned with and not just some puppet put in place by Aithne, Ehran, and Laverty."

  Caimbeul made a smug little noise. I turned toward him.

  "What was that?" I asked.

  "Nothing," he said.

  "Why are you making such an issue out of this?"

  "You're the one who won't let it drop."

  I gave an exasperated sigh and turned away from him. Sometimes there was no knowing what was in Caimbeul's head.

  The main room of the penthouse was dark when we entered.
Some pale light filtered in through the terrace windows. The light from the hallway made a wide triangular shape on the floor and cast our shad- ows long in it.

  I banged my injured knee on something and let out a curse. Enough of this, I thought, and caused a light to appear. The room leapt into view, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the light.

  There, sitting on the couch, was Aithne's son, Glasgian Oakforest.

  "Ah, perhaps the very last person I might have expected," said Caimbeul. His voice was pleasant, but I knew from his far too casual stance that he was very angry.

  Glasgian stretched and made himself more com- fortable. A trick he'd learned from his father.

  "My business doesn't concern you. Harlequin," he said. He had a spoiled rich-kid way of speaking. I didn't know who I was more disappointed in-him or Aithne.

  "I beg to differ," said Harlequin. "It most cer- tainly is my business when I find an intruder in my hotel room. Besides, aren't you worried about what Daddy would say?"

  Glasgian blanched and clenched his fists. That was his father's temper showing. "I've reached my majority, Harlequin. I don't answer to my fa… Aithne anymore."

  "Stop it, Caimbeul," I said. "Just let him state his business, then he'll be on his way."

  "I don't want to talk with him around," said Glasgian.

  "Why should I talk to you alone?" I asked.

  "Because of who my father is."

  "All the more reason not to trust you."

  Glasgian began to look a little desperate. What a baby he was, trying so hard to play in a game he didn't even begin to understand.

  "Very well," I said. "Caimbeul, I'll deal with him."

  "But…"

  "What can he do?" I asked in Theran. "He's a child."

  "What better way to get your guard down?"

  "Aithne would not sacrifice his son. Not to me."

  Caimbeul shrugged, then gave Glasgian one last hard look before casually moving off toward his bedroom.

  I slipped off my high-heeled shoes, giving a little sigh as I did so. Murderous things, high heels. Im- practical too. Who could run or defend herself in them? I stayed away from them as much as possible.