As Phillips started to pass behind him, Fuller stopped him with a whispered, “Where’s Seward?”
“Still working on that third issue,” Phillips whispered back. “I’ve sent someone to remind him of his priorities, sir.” Fuller nodded curtly and pulled his chair out.
He took a more pleasant and conversational tone with me, almost like flipping a switch. “I hope you’ve had a pleasant evening so far, Mr. McClure,” he said.
I choked on the water I was sipping, laughing a bit. “I guess you could say that. It’s been interesting, anyway,” I said, noncommittally.
“So I’ve just been told,” Fuller said to me as Phillips sat between Peter and me. “I apologize for your earlier… difficulties and appreciate your discretion in not bringing down my house because of them.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Fuller,” I said. “I didn’t think it necessary to destroy such a magnificent building just because some officious twit felt the need to test me. Speaking of… Mr. Phillips, where is Mr. Seward? Still having problems, is he?”
“He should be here momentarily,” Phillips answered, avoiding the poke at Seward completely.
“I doubt that,” I said chuckling. Seward was actively trying to overtake the wards along with three other men at the moment. From what I could see, they were a good distance away in the house.
“You’ve been a busy young man the past few months, Mr. McClure,” Fuller said, changing the subject.
“Yes, it has been a busy and difficult few weeks, that’s for sure,” I answered as a small mob of waiters took to the floor carrying wine bottles and an assortment of beverages. “I think we’ll be able to slow down a little after Thursday. We need to slow down anyway.”
“I can’t imagine, truthfully,” he said, picking up the cork from a wine bottle a steward had just placed on his right. He glanced at the bottle being presented to him, then felt and listened to the cork as he squeezed it lightly. He nodded once and the steward poured a small amount in his glass, which he twirled, looking for some quality lost on me. “Did you know what you were getting yourself into, when you took that power away from the elf?”
“No, not at all,” I said. “I was just trying to kill him before he killed me. And there was no question that he had to die that day. He’d already tried to take Ehran and Ethan, probably my Dad, too. Then all of us at Grammand on top of that? The Rat Bastard had to die.”
“Will you be taking over his agreements as well as his kingdom?” Fuller asked, then he sipped the sample of wine. He nodded again, so the steward filled the bulbous glass halfway, stepped to my right and filled mine the same, leaving the bottle sitting on the table between us.
“I didn’t take his kingdom,” I answered, shaking my head. “His kingdom was in the Wyldes of Faery and was destroyed quite thoroughly by the Queens after his demise. And even if I did, I would not take on his obligations.”
“I was told you saved some portion of his Fae when he died,” Fuller explained. “We thought that meant you had a place for them to live.”
“I did take them and I do,” I said smiling at his grasping for understanding. “My realm is not part of Faery.”
“How can that be?” he asked, confused.
“How can I be an elf-king?” I asked, shrugging. “I plugged power into a world and it blossomed. I was in Faery at the time and it was a Fae power—I have no other explanation than that.”
Another flurry of waiters hit the room, this time carrying plates. The smell of food started me salivating. Lunch was a long time ago and on the plane. When our waiter slipped a small plate down in front of me, I was disappointed and hoped this was a starter. I hoped really, really hard. Five slices of medium-rare steak rolled in cracked peppercorns wasn’t going to get me through the night, no matter how good it was.
“That could be very problematic for us,” Fuller said, seemingly to himself, taking a bite and chewing slowly.
“And why is that?” I asked, tossing back the last piece of meat and reaching for the wine, a red. It would need to be a very robust wine to compete with the heavily peppered steak.
“While MacNamara’s main concern was always his fights,” Fuller said cautiously. “He did maintain a few sidelines, some trade, that a number of us availed ourselves to.”
“Then I suggest you find other providers,” I said, probably condescendingly. “I’m in no position to even think about trade right now, even if I had what you’re looking for, and there’s no way I’m continuing with that vile concept of gladiatorial games for entertainment. I participated once only because I was forced to.”
“And by all accounts, you did remarkably well,” Phillips remarked.
“I had a lot of help there, too,” I said, turning to Phillips. “And nearly lost my best friend because of it. The only thing I have to be proud of there, Mr. Phillips, is that Peter left as my brother instead of a corpse.”
“You threw the two first Princesses of Faery out of the Arena. That is quite a display of power, Mr. McClure,” Phillips replied.
“They were set to attack us, Mr. Phillips,” I said. “I was faced with two choices: one, throw them out, or two, let them attack and have Ehran and Ethan kill them. Which of the two do you think was the safest?”
There was a mild shift of attention to Kieran and Ethan as a number of people considered my statement. Could they have killed the Princesses? Surely not. Could they? I heard Harris snicker softly behind me.
“Also, why would I want to ‘display’ power? That’s suggests to me that you believe me to be rather pompous, or maybe you believe me to be a puffer fish, growing bigger than I really am to fake out the competition?” I sat back in my chair with my wineglass, swirling the bowl and watching Phillips panic. Peter peeked around Phillips, grinning at me.
“Seth,” he said, giggling a little, “You’re not just torturing him.”
“Really?” I said and turned back to Mr. Fuller to see in a state of shock, not quite shutting down, but having difficulty picking from many paths. The entire right side of the table continued eating, though Peraza kept track of the conversation when he could. He was getting anxious about it, but Kieran kept him distracted. “You’re right, Peter. Mr. Fuller also seems to be confused about this. I’m not terribly certain as to why, though, when it seems to me that Marshal Harris’ descriptions and suggestions were so on target. ‘Amazingly honest and forthright’, ‘don’t play games,’ and ‘don’t be condescending.’ Simple rules of conduct.
“Perhaps,” I continued, my tone light but still far too heavy with the sarcasm, “I am too young to recognize the complexities involved here? Is it something that requires a middle-aged mind?” Fuller was still lost, but he was able to cut away a large number of limbs from the decision tree of his options. He smiled suddenly, realizing the word game I’d caught him in. His references to my age weren’t impolite per se, but they were jockeying for position on a track that I didn’t even want to be on.
“I believe I see Cliff’s point,” he murmured.
“And you are smiling,” I said.
“But isn’t that exactly what you did?” Phillips persisted. “With that single display, you cowed Faery, both Courts. There were no reprisals.”
“I wouldn’t say that, Mr. Phillips,” I said, turning back. “It would be fairer to say that there have been no reprisals yet. And I seriously doubt that I ‘cowed Faery.’ Certainly defeating one of most powerful had more weight than merely tossing two around a little.”
Another round of servers rushed through the dining room, serving another course for dinner. Good, I was beginning to get a little worried about the food.
“The way Cahill and Harris described your first meeting with the Fae after defeating MacNamara certainly appeared to be a display of power,” Fuller said confidently.
“And it most definitely was, on all three sides,” I agreed. “Cahill did an excellent job there, too. Felix and Enid are quite understandably proud of him for it.” I watched Fuller as he cyc
led through the possibilities of who was manning the Castle’s defenses to come up with an answer.
“But Gordon was…” he whispered.
“With me, yes, I know,” I whispered back. “Young or not, you do what you have to do.” More loudly, I said, “But even then, I didn’t use power so much as attitude. Peter used more power than I did. I mostly just ‘out-snottied’ them.” A small laugh cascaded around the room. “And officially, that never happened and even though the incursion taught us a few things, we have to accept that fact and act accordingly.”
A server slipped in behind me, removing the plate in front of me. Seconds later, another slipped in a salad, thinly sliced Roma tomatoes between equally thin white goat cheese on a bed of torn green leaf lettuce and radicchio with a balsamic vinaigrette dressing. I’d have to remember to ask Peter if these people ate normal food. If not, I’d need to eat before coming out to dinner again. I’d starve otherwise.
“And trust me when I say that you do not want to see the extent of the Queens’ power when they’re angry,” I said, thinking back to watching them stand by that oak tree, impatient but waiting for me to leave the arena. By then lower case letters sufficed. “Their ferocity is not easily forgotten. I do not wish to fight with them.”
“So MacNamara was not their equal?” Fuller asked.
“Hmm, I haven’t considered that question,” I said. “At least in the sense you’re asking it. Ehran, what do you think?” Kieran was a little startled I pulled him into our conversation but he rolled with it admirably.
“There are several differences between them that make defining equality difficult,” Kieran said, sitting back in his chair to see Fuller around the podium on the table. “In the Arena where Seth and he fought and when they fought, it would be safe to say the Rat Bastard and the Queens were fairly equal at that point.”
Fuller looked between us, eyebrows arched high in question as he decided which to ask in what order and calculating how far he could go. He decided to start with Kieran, probably thinking it a safer route. He may have been right.
“What differences? And won’t Seth also suffer from them?” Fuller asked.
“They are in the manner in which Fae magic flows and affects the universe,” Kieran explained, turning in his chair completely. “The Queens are completely vested in their power and with their realm. Likely at a much later date, MacNamara found the fountain in the Wyldes and carved out a kingdom with it. For whatever reason, he chose not to vest himself to it. This caused period problems that required the elf to reset the binding. MacNamara was weakest before the binding took place and strongest just afterward.”
“When had he last bound himself?” he asked.
“At the opening ceremonies of the games the previous week,” Kieran said, a sly grin lit his face. “Recent.”
Fuller turned back to me, still smiling and confident. “So, not to denigrate in any way, but your reputed history doesn’t support the kind of training for the magic you’ve been witnessed wielding personally. You managed to kill a king of the Fae at full power. How?”
“I’m not sure what my reputed history is to you,” I said coyly. “I’ve heard all sorts of odd rumors. Well, odd to me, anyway. As far as I’m concerned, I lived a fairly typical life of a fairly typical lower, upper-class couple. I was privately tutored all my life, well educated, well cared for and loved by my parents. It’s only in the past year that I’ve found there was nothing typical about my parents and upper class as a financial status stopped being meaningful when an entire realm opened up.
“As to how, I had a lot of help, to start with,” I continued, “then I disconnected him from his power source. That took a while. I had to start while I was fighting with him. If it weren’t for my dad, he would have killed me.”
“You… disconnected an elf from his power,” Phillips said. “How did you do that?”
“No, I disconnected the Rat Bastard from the Fountain,” I corrected. “And I did it by repeating the binding, then taking the Fountain myself.”
“Again, how?” Phillips asked, ever persistent.
“I spoke his Name,” I said.
“His True Name?” Fuller asked. I felt like I was at a tennis match.
“Yes. His public name wouldn’t work, and before you ask, he announced his name at the opening ceremonies of his games. I suspect he did this at several and no one noticed.”
“I don’t understand,” Fuller said. He looked the part, too.
“I don’t get why he did it, either,” I said, grinning. “But apparently no one noticed before me, or if they did, they didn’t find it useful. Admittedly, it’s extremely difficult to say.”
“Why was it so difficult?” Fuller asked.
“He was old,” I answered, almost sadly. “His Name changed several times in his lifetime as his achievements grew. The languages of his Name ranged from the third elven tongue through desoan denari elish, several languages of different Fae races—I have no idea of their origins—and into the Common Era. It’s too bad he was such a Rat Bastard. His passing was a great loss of history to the universe.”
“You regret killing him?” Fuller asked.
“I regret every single kill I’ve made save two, Mr. Fuller,” I said. “That would be one of them. No, he had to die.”
“Such cheerful dinner conversation!” Peter said smiling, clapping his hands gleefully and rubbing them together. “Who’s for pie?”
Several laughs throughout the room signaled the rush of servers again. Thankfully, this was the main course because I was starving.
“I see Mr. Seward hasn’t figured out his problem yet,” I said, peering down the table past Peter.
“Yes, so it would appear,” Phillips said. “I don’t suppose you could shed any light on that particular issue?”
“Yes, I could,” I said, meeting Phillips look. “He believes that they are malfunctioning, when in fact they are working quite well.” Turning back to Fuller, “Your wards are wonderfully layered. Is this your father’s work?”
Fuller nodded, smiling appreciatively as he finished his salad hurriedly. “Yes, thank you. Most of it, anyway. Father had a beautifully poetic hand in that area of thaumaturgy. He made it incredibly easy to extrapolate his warding over a larger property.”
“Are you maintaining them or having someone else do it?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, someone else maintains the ward system for me,” Fuller said, sitting back and sipping the last of his wine. “I am more adept in my mother’s line than my father’s.”
“You are holding the wards?” Phillips asked. Apparently the tennis match was renewed as the waiter moved in and removed dishes quickly from in front of me. This quickly changing subject matter could get confusing.
“Yes, I am, Mr. Phillips,” I said, turning back to him and catching an imperious look from Peter. “I also seem to be controlling the dinner conversation completely. Frankly, I’m not that interesting.” A gentle rush of laughter filled the room and a waiter placed a plate in front of me with a huge hunk of roast beef with shredded horseradish and sauce and au jus. Okay, now I had dinner.
“So, Ehran, will Seth not suffer from the same deficiency as the elf?” Fuller asked Kieran as he was presented a second bottle of wine. The first was removed.
“No—oo—oo,” Kieran laughed through the word softly, shaking his head. “For several reasons, that will not work against my little brother. Firstly, he is fully vested in his realm. Secondly, there are very few who know his True Name, fewer who can pronounce it, and fewer still who have the kind of power and knowledge to commit that kind of binding.”
“That is what has us the most confused about his history,” Fuller said, slicing into his steak slowly. “When we looked into your past, and here I mean all four of you, there were a number of inconsistencies that weren’t explained—”
“And likely won’t be,” I interrupted him, making him turn completely to me. “We are a private family, Mr. Fuller, living in a co
untry that protects its citizens’ privacy for that reason. If you have specific areas of interest, we may discuss them without an audience, but understand there will be times when it is none of your business.”
Kieran chuckled and said, “I apologize, Mr. Fuller. Seth comes from my father’s school of diplomacy. Unfortunately, he’s going to need that kind of attitude on Thursday night when he meets with the Emissaries to the Queens of Faery.”
Phillips leaned over slightly and asked, “Would you mind terribly giving them back?”
“Not at all, Mr. Phillips, just not to Seward,” I said, then I lit my mouth on fire with a particularly intense piece of shredded horseradish, spreading it across my tongue with the fats and juices of the roast beef. I savored the flavors for a moment and everyone in the dining room seemed to dig into their dinners then, too.
“I’ll take them,” Phillips said, steeling himself against the onslaught he thought he was about to receive.
“Okay,” I responded and dumped the wards on him. He fought for control of himself as the elegant structures of the controls slid over his perceptions, familiar to him, yet not. It was like driving someone else’s car—the seat needed adjustment and you really didn’t want to listen to talk radio. But to his surprise, he didn’t fight as long as he thought he would.
“You’ve changed them!” he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, trying not to alarm the room. Fuller’s head whipped around, definitely alarmed.
“Only a little,” I whispered defensively. “And they’ll be back when you re-invoke them, though you probably want to cover those holes again, now that you know where they are. I’d hate to think I showed you how I walked all over you and you did nothing about it.”
Sons (Book 2) Page 6