Storm's Heart er-2

by Thea Harrison

  The fake silly Niniane smiled. “Hi, Rhoswen,” she said. “Are all of you except Cowan settling in all right downstairs?”

  For a brief moment the Vampyre looked disconcerted. It was a good strategy to keep Vampyres off balance whenever possible. “Thank you, your highness,” said Rhoswen. She had a lovely speaking voice, a low, pure contralto. “We are doing well. We regret any distress Cowan’s actions may have caused earlier.”

  Niniane lifted one shoulder. “Well, he did lose his head over it.”

  “As he should have,” said Rhoswen.

  Just as Carling had stopped the scene earlier from escalating to further violence, she could have stopped Cowan with one Power-filled command, but no Vampyre master would tolerate anything but complete obedience from her children. The stance was a harsh but necessary one. A Vampyre who lost control in public was a menace to everyone.

  Rhoswen’s brief disconcertment had smoothed away as if it had never existed. The Vampyre said, “Chancellor Riordan, Justice Trevenan, Commander Shiron and Councillor Severan are all awaiting you in the library.”

  Ooh, that sounded like a game of Clue. Somebody was going to get bashed in the head with a lead pipe or a candlestick. Not that the real Niniane would notice something like that. The real Niniane already had a clue; she wouldn’t play a game of Clue.

  She said, “Lead on, Macduff.”

  Rhoswen inclined her head and turned to lead the way. “I was in theatre before my transformation,” said the blonde, as her heels tapped on the hard wood floor. “Did you know, the real phrase is not ‘Lead on, Macduff’ but actually ‘Lay on, Macduff, and damned be him that first cries, Hold, enough!’?”

  Sometimes Vampyres got pedantic when they got older, which was a function of how their once human brains coped with their unnatural age. And the real Niniane would never stoop to squabbling with an attendant.

  The fake silly Niniane told Rhoswen, “Yes, but I was not quoting the play. I was quoting the quote. Nobody says ‘Lay on, Macduff’ when they invite somebody to go ahead of them. That would sound stupid. Everybody says ‘Lead on, Macduff.’”

  She grinned over her shoulder at Tiago, who strolled behind them. He wore his harsh assassin’s face, but his dark gaze contained a fugitive twinkle.

  They came to the library’s double doors, which had been propped open. The library was a spacious room with quality neutral-toned overstuffed furniture arranged around an Oriental rug, bookshelves stocked with a collection of hardcover classics and current New York Times bestselling paperbacks and a fireplace at one end.

  The room’s real claim to fame was the sumptuous original Tiffany stained-glass opalescent window that dominated one wall. The window depicted a sunlit pond in a forest populated with brilliant fantastic fish and birds that had never been seen on this side of Earth. Art scholars argued that Louis Comfort must have traveled to an Other land and seen the wildlife at some point in his life to have created such beautiful detailed representations, but the argument was not substantiated as the strange species were not documented in any of the Elder records about Other lands.

  Niniane sighed as she thought of Scott Hughes’s white, horrorstricken face from earlier when he had looked at the damaged floor downstairs. The Tiffany window sparkled with a strong anti-breakage spell, but such spells had a limited veracity. If a force greater than the strength of the spell hit the window, both window and spell would still shatter. At least a couple of the people in this room had that kind of Power. Poor Scott probably wouldn’t be resting easily until the Dark Fae concluded their hotel stay.

  Perhaps she should nudge that conclusion along. Urien had built a sprawling mansion on a gated, extensive tract of land that covered eighty acres in one of the most expensive urban areas in the country. The grounds encompassed the main crossover point for the Dark Fae’s Other land. Originally she had been uneasy about going straight to the mansion from New York. She had wanted to take a more cautious route, to meet and talk with the Dark Fae delegation on more neutral ground, from which she might have some hope of escape if needed. The mansion on its gated property had seemed as if it could be too easily turned into a prison.

  As it turned out, her impulse to caution had had some validity.

  The four occupants in the room turned at her arrival. As one, their attention went to the silent menace that stalked behind her, and their faces grew cold and still. All, that is, except for the tall black-haired Dark Fae male with high cheekbones and crow’s-feet at his eyes that deepened when he smiled at her. Aubrey Riordan, Chancellor of the Dark Fae government, strode toward her with his hands outstretched. She put her hands out as he reached her, and he brought them up to kiss them.

  Aubrey said, “I cannot tell you how angry and distressed I was to hear of the attack made on you by Geril and his partners, or how relieved and glad I am that you are back to us safe and well.”

  Niniane searched the older Dark Fae male’s face as he spoke. According to her truthsense, every word he spoke was sincere. But she, and even Dragos, had believed that Geril and the others had spoken the truth too. As Dragos’s mate Pia in New York had argued just a week ago, there were ways to get around truthsense if someone had a talent with words and misdirection. That had been how Pia had survived a potentially deadly encounter with Urien when he had kidnapped her. But Aubrey’s eyes were kind, and Niniane so badly wanted to believe him. She squeezed his fingers before she let him go.

  Carling moved with silent ghostly grace to sink into an armchair. The Vampyre was still barefoot, but she had changed out of the black Chanel suit. She now wore a loose plain caftan of undyed Egyptian cotton. Somehow she made the simple garment look like haute couture. She had pinned up her long, shining dark hair with two slender stilettos. The knives and the caftan appeared to be the only things she wore. The Vampyre watched the scene with interest, but unless there was a gross violation of demesne law or someone’s life was threatened, as Councillor from the Elder tribunal, she would do nothing to interfere.

  Commander Arethusa stood ramrod-straight behind one couch. The powerfully built Dark Fae woman glared at Tiago. “The Wyr is not allowed here,” Arethusa gritted. “He must leave. Now.”

  Without warning Niniane’s temper leaped from the cool green side of her shit-o-meter into the red zone. Her fists clenched. It was actually a good thing she didn’t have either a lead pipe or a candlestick.

  “Hey, you know what, Arethusa?” she said. “I am going to be your sovereign. You can’t speak to me like that. EVER. I don’t care how valid you think your point is or how strongly you may feel about it. Let’s pause there for a minute. While we’re on the subject of what you can’t do, you can’t EVER treat me again like I am a pawn to be maneuvered. If any of you EVER again deny me any necessity, like, oh, say, my clothes or toiletries or a goddamn blanket, just to set yourself up for some kind of legal precedent, I don’t care how many years of service you have given to the Dark Fae or what you think may be owed to you. I will have you strung up on the nearest tree, and you should count yourself lucky that that’s all I will do, because I know my uncle would have gutted you for such an offense. You may be too old for me to teach you any real decency. But that does not mean I will allow you to treat me with anything but the utmost care and respect. Are we quite clear?”

  Though her attention was focused on the Dark Fae Commander, she happened to catch a glimpse of Carling out of the corner of her eye. Was that a glimmer of approval in the old Vampyre’s gaze?

  Arethusa’s expression underwent a change so rapid Niniane would have sworn her look of shocked contrition was sincere. “Your highness,” said the Commander. “My most profound apologies. I did not mean any lack of respect to you—my comment was meant to be directed at him.”

  “It is my decision to have Tiago here,” she said. “He volunteered to come to Chicago and to help and protect me. He hasn’t hesitated to provide generously for my every need without being asked, without trying to maneuver for political gain and w
ithout asking for repayment. In fact, every item of clothing I have on right now is because of him. It is certainly not because of any of you. So what you say to him, you are saying to me.”

  It was clear the Dark Fae Commander didn’t care to hear that, for her face tightened and she shot another glare at Tiago, but she remained silent. It was Justice Kellen who cleared his throat and spoke for the first time. The aged Dark Fae male was one of the finest legal minds of any Elder demesne, the elegant bones of his face covered in a fine tracery of wrinkles, his long white hair pulled back in a queue. Niniane remembered him from when she was a child, but then she remembered all of them, just as she remembered her uncle Urien’s cool, clever charm that had, to the happy undiscriminating child she had been, seemed so affectionate.

  “Our decision to refuse to cooperate with sentinel Black Eagle was not well done of us,” Kellen said to her in his gentle, cultured voice. “And for that, your highness, I do most sincerely apologize. The only thing I will say in our defense is we did not conceive of the possibility that your needs would go unmet.”

  Okay, so that stopped her shit-o-meter from boiling over. Kellen had always been a superb diplomat, and his nonaggressive approach was famous for cooling hotter heads than hers. She bit her lip and after a moment managed to give him a curt nod.

  The Justice said, “We also have had deep misgivings at the Wyrkind’s participation in recent events. As Commander Shiron has indicated, we feel it is imperative to distance ourselves immediately from any further involvement with them.”

  If that didn’t sound like an opening to a litany of complaints, she didn’t know what did. Niniane sighed as she walked over to sit in an armchair opposite Carling. She gestured for the others to be seated as well, and they arranged themselves in a rough circle, with Kellen and Arethusa on a couch and Aubrey in the last chair.

  Tiago moved silently to take a standing position behind her. As she glanced at him, she saw the massive muscles of his biceps and chest bulge as he crossed his arms. She remembered his favorite position leaning against the wall during conferences with Dragos and the other sentinels in Cuelebre Tower, and a wave of homesickness washed over her. She shoved it aside. She had no time to indulge in memories or maudlin feelings.

  As far as the general public was concerned, Urien had died in a riding accident, but there were a few individuals throughout the Elder Races who had enough Power to scry for the truth. The governing bodies of the different demesnes knew very well that Dragos had really killed the Dark Fae King.

  “If you are referring to how Urien was killed, he had just kidnapped and attacked Dragos’s pregnant mate,” she said point-blank. “He got what he deserved, and everybody in this room knows it. And that’s without even discussing any of his older crimes, which include slaughtering my family and his King.”

  “Regardless of Urien’s crimes and how anyone may feel about his death, the fact remains that the Lord of the Wyr killed the Dark Fae King,” said Kellen. “And regicide is a very serious matter. But that event is not to which I refer, at least not on its own.” The Justice’s gaze shifted to Tiago. “We must wonder at the deep game the Wyr are playing, and why after sheltering you for so many years they would make an attempt on your life.”

  “What are you talking about?” she said. Even as she spoke the words, Tiago shifted with a sudden muttered curse.

  Tiago’s broad hand came down hard on her shoulder. He said, quiet and urgent, “Niniane, I need to talk to you for a moment.”

  She glanced at him with a puzzled, impatient frown. He wanted to talk to her now, of all times? She shook her head at him then said to Kellen and the others, “You’ve mixed something up badly. There’ve been two Dark Fae attempts, but there’s been no Wyr attempt on my life. That’s ridiculous.”

  Arethusa took a deep quick breath. Kellen and Aubrey gave her a keen, searching look. Carling regarded Tiago with her eyes narrowed and eyebrows raised, her strong, lovely mouth pursed.

  Tiago’s hand tightened on her to the point of bruising. He said in her head, I need to talk to you right now.

  Aubrey spoke. “Your highness, please forgive me for contradicting you. The first attempt on your life was made by Dark Fae individuals, for which we cannot express enough our chagrin and outrage—”

  NINIANE, Tiago thundered telepathically. She gave her head a quick shake, as if to dislodge his mental shout along with the other formless roar that had begun to fill her mind like white noise.

  Despite the cacophony between her ears, she could hear Aubrey perfectly as he continued. “But preliminary police reports on the second attempt are quite unequivocal. It was made by three individuals who were disguised to look like a Dark Fae triad, but they were, in fact, Wyr.”

  Were, in fact.

  The white noise took over her mind. She couldn’t think, couldn’t hear any more. Several people in the room were talking at once.

  Were. In fact.

  Wyr.

  She turned to Tiago with a look of such utter incomprehension, his expression turned savage and he started swearing.

  She did not even bother to ask him. His reaction was all she needed to know for sure. Aubrey spoke the truth. The Wyr had tried to kill her. A jagged landscape opened up inside her. It cut at her vital organs and made it difficult to breathe. Her longtime friends? The people she had hugged with such love when she said good-bye, who even now she missed so much, the people who were—

  Her adopted family?

  Well, didn’t that sound a little too familiar.

  Tiago knelt in front of her. His mental voice was sharp and urgent. Goddammit, don’t look at me like that. I was going to tell you but you were hurt. Then we ran out of time and I forgot, that’s all, I just fucking forgot. Niniane—

  He reached for her hands. She cringed away from him. He froze and looked as if she had knifed him.

  “Thank you for everything you have done on our behalf,” said the future Queen of the Dark Fae in a still, cold voice. Her face was polite and as blank as a doll’s. “We will see that you are fully compensated for all of your expenditures. You will leave us now.”

  For one pulsating moment she was sure he would refuse. Absolute anarchy flashed across his face, and she knew in that moment he was capable of doing anything at all. She huddled back in her seat, unblinking.

  She did not know what checked him. Something changed in his expression, an awful pained sadness. Then a barrier slammed into place, like a granite slab covering an open wound in the earth. He stood quietly and left.

  She talked with Carling and the Dark Fae delegation for another hour. The group laid plans. Since Dark Fae had been involved in one assassination attempt, Carling and her Vampyres would provide security for Niniane while both attacks were under investigation. Then assuming it could be established for a certainty that none of the senior officials in the room had been involved, Carling and her Vampyres would phase out on security and Arethusa and her forces would take over.

  In the morning the party would leave the hotel. They would move into the mansion where Aubrey’s wife, Naida, was preparing for their crossover journey. From there they would finalize preparations for crossing over to the Other land. Once they crossed, it would take several days of travel by horseback to reach the palace at Adriyel. Niniane’s coronation would be held a few days later.

  She agreed to everything they requested.

  After the meeting, Niniane went to her room in the penthouse. There wasn’t any reason not to. She had left the bedroom in a mess after showering and getting ready for dinner with her new cousin and his attendants. Geril had flirted with her on the flight out from New York, which she had not exactly welcomed. They had gone out to eat at a Greek restaurant, and he had persisted over saganaki and stuffed grape leaves until she was forced to politely but firmly shut him down.

  A second cousin flirting with the heir to the throne. I mean, come on. She hadn’t considered it exactly subtle, but she had slogged through the rest of the meal de
termined to keep an open mind and try to find something likeable about the man.

  Yeah, well.

  Her bedroom was the largest and most sumptuous of the six in the penthouse, and it was now immaculate. She lay down on the bed. When she closed her eyes, she saw Tiago’s tight, angry face, the sadness in his eyes as he looked at her, the muscle jumping in his jaw.

  They were in fact Wyr who had attacked her?

  Now, just wait a minute.

  Now that she was no longer dealing with the Dark Fae delegation, the cacophony in her head had a chance to subside. The quiet opened up the way for all the memories she shared with the sentinels to come rushing back to the surface.

  The hours upon hours they had spent drilling her on self-defense techniques, repeating each thing until she had mastered it. Despite her lack of aptitude, they wouldn’t quit and they wouldn’t let her quit when she got discouraged.

  The outlandish rambling faerie-to-harpy heart-to-hearts she had shared with Aryal over the years.

  The times when the gryphons had teased and flirted with her as they patiently put up with “babysitting duty,” when they had been pulled from their regular responsibilities to act as her bodyguard.

  The gargoyle Grym’s quiet, undemanding companionship as he provided guard duty on her walks through neighborhoods during the holiday season, and the Christmas presents of handcarved wooden puzzles he had created just for her.

  Dragos’s loyal support of her sometimes controversial choices on how to handle knotty PR issues, and his smiles of fierce satisfaction when she was proven right.

  Tiago’s protectiveness, the gentleness with which he handled her, the way he had removed the stitches from her side and then pressed his lips to the scar.

  She pushed upright as a rock-solid certainty settled back into its rightful place. The people who had attacked her and Tiago might have been Wyr, but Dragos and his sentinels had nothing to do with it. Of course they hadn’t.