Storm's Heart er-2

by Thea Harrison

  Don’t react. Naida’s reaction was only going to be the first of many. Niniane said, “I hear you have been working hard to get ready for my arrival and our trip to Adriyel. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

  “I am pleased to be of service. I’ve heard how much you used to love horseback riding. I think I’ve found a mare for you that you will enjoy.”

  Niniane laughed, feeling warmed for the first time since their arrival on the property. “How wonderful! I’ve not been riding in years.”

  “I’m sure it will come back to you in no time,” said Naida.

  “Rather like riding a bicycle,” she said.

  Naida’s eyebrows elevated at a slight angle. “That, I wouldn’t know.”

  She opened her mouth. She almost invited Naida for bicycle riding lessons, but there was some quality to the other woman’s composed and sophisticated self-containment that made her hesitate. She said instead, “Bike riding is great fun.” She turned to Aubrey, “Perhaps we can have that chat soon.”

  Aubrey smiled, the fan of crow’s-feet deepening attractively at the corners of his eyes. “I am at your disposal. When would you like to talk?”

  “Why don’t we get together after I’ve greeted everybody?”

  Naida murmured to Aubrey, “I will see to it that refreshments are served in the study.”

  Niniane hesitated again. Why did that seem off to her? Naida was only helping to smooth the way by acting as de facto hostess, but this was not the other woman’s house, nor was she a servant.

  Or perhaps anything would feel odd at this point. How should one welcome a long-lost heir to the Dark Fae throne to one of her own homes after her murderous uncle had just been killed? It was not exactly a social occasion covered by Emily Post. Not that Naida would have read Emily Post any more than she would have ridden a bike. Niniane didn’t have time to examine the situation further, so she shook off her reaction and turned to greet Kellen and Arethusa, who responded with such warmth, it put the smile back on Niniane’s face.

  After greeting Naida and the Dark Fae delegation, they withdrew into the house and she turned her attention to the staff who took care of the property. She started with the steward, Brennan, who was an elderly Dark Fae male with a nervous gaze and restless hands. After greeting him she worked through the house staff and the gardeners. Then she spoke briefly with the captain of the guard, Prydian, who was a close-mouthed man with a shielded gaze who answered her in monosyllables. She also spoke with those guards who were not on active duty watching the gate or other parts of the property.

  She made a point to say something to each member of staff, to ask their names and to make a comment or two about their work or to ask after their personal lives. To a person, they reacted to her attention with astonishment and varying degrees of pleasure. She suspected her uncle Urien had not been big on wasting his charm on anyone he deemed Powerless or without political influence.

  All the while she carried an intense awareness of Tiago taking watch at her back. He moved when she did, a smooth and silent shadow. Then something different happened. His Power tightened around her as palpably as if he had reached out to grasp her shoulder. She paused, and only years of practice helped her keep from frowning at Prydian, the guard captain with whom she had been chatting. Keeping her movement casual, she took a step back toward Tiago, and his Power lightened again and became almost caressing.

  Interesting. She made a point of looking around, as if to admire the front gardens, and she used the opportunity to glance at Tiago. He looked bland and no doubt as discreet as he could, but she noticed that she had come close to stepping out of the “safe zone” area, which would have brought her too close to a potential assailant while at the same time a shade too far from her guard. Tiago had corrected her course without interrupting her telepathically or using a physical gesture. Not long afterward she felt his Power nudge her more to the right, and again when she shifted to comply, the warm sense of his presence lightened as it brushed against her skin.

  He would be forming his own opinions of the people she met, cataloguing reactions with names and faces as he conducted a risk assessment. She would make sure to ask him later what he thought of Brennan’s nervousness and Prydian’s guardedness. She couldn’t dismiss everybody just because they had worked for her uncle. They couldn’t all be enemies. Most of them had probably never even spoken to Urien.

  It was also true, however, that this was property of some import as it was the main gateway from the Dark Fae lands to Chicago. As such, everything here deserved special scrutiny, although not everything had to be acted upon immediately.

  After a half an hour or so, she turned to the house and motioned Brennan to her side. “I’m ready to be shown to the study now,” she said.

  “Of course, your highness!” the steward said. He rubbed his hands together, perpetually washing them. “I will be delighted to show you whatever you like!”

  It was impossible to believe him. Even her rudimentary truthsense snorted in disbelief. Brennan wasn’t delighted about anything at the moment. It was clear he was overcome with anxiety. No doubt he was afraid he was about to lose his job. She tried not to let her repulsion for him show. She wanted to snap at him to stop what he was doing and to slap his hands apart. The poor man looked like Montgomery Burns from The Simpsons. She gestured for him to lead the way.

  As they stepped into the cool, elegant interior of the house, Tiago said suddenly in her head, Be honest. How angry would you be with me if I squashed this bug?

  She glanced over her shoulder in startled glee. That thing he’s doing with his hands is making me crazy. But he must be a very effective steward to have survived under Urien’s rule, and we cannot kill everybody we don’t like.

  What if I don’t kill him? Tiago said, his mental voice thoughtful. I could mash him up a bit around the edges and make him a size smaller.

  She pinched her nose hard until her eyes stung and managed to turn her laugh into a cough. This was what had been missing during their quiet drive from the hotel, all the sentinels talking smack. Even though Rune and Aryal were traveling with them to Adriyel, everyone had been feeling the impending separation.

  She got a blurred impression of the grand staircase, foyer and the halls as they followed Brennan toward the back of the house. Polished wood shone everywhere. Marble floors gleamed. Every time she took a step, she could see the soles of her shoes just before her feet touched the floor.

  An outrageous fortune in rare Dark Fae artwork decorated the foyer and the downstairs halls. The paintings focused on nature scenes from Adriyel. One painting in particular made her catch her breath. It depicted the palace and the spectacular waterfall of the Adriyel River behind it, the scene so unexpectedly familiar, it brought tears to her eyes. The slender flowing pieces of sculpture were all metal. They graced the air by achieving impossible heights and tinkled with a delicate virtuoso of Power that was as refreshing to the mind as the physical shape of the sculpture was to the eyes. Thanks to Urien’s tight control of Adriyel’s crossover passageways, Dark Fae art was difficult to get and fetched high prices at Sotheby’s and other auction houses.

  She wondered what statement Urien had been making with the artwork. Everything about the property was controlled, precise, from the Georgian-style mansion to the manicured grounds. The display of Dark Fae art here, in his property in Chicago, seemed as deliberate in its planning as was the rest of the estate. He would have entertained allies and business associates here. Had he offered them glimpses of Adriyel as an enticement, or had he merely been displaying so much artwork as a statement of his own wealth and Power?

  She sighed. She was being haunted by a dead man. She hated how much time Urien occupied in her thoughts when all she really wanted to do was to jump up and down on his grave and sing “Ding-dong, the witch is dead.” She suspected he would overshadow her thoughts for a long time to come, as she second-guessed the decisions he made and chose which of his laws she would reverse.r />
  The thing was, and she hated to admit this to herself, Urien had been a very intelligent man. She wanted to despise everything he had done, but she wasn’t sure she would be able to. The Dark Fae artwork decorating the front of the house was quite lovely. Now Niniane was no longer sure about many of her opinions. Maybe she needed to employ a count-to-ten policy whenever she encountered something she knew was Urien’s creation. She needed to assess things on their own merit, not just reject them out of hand because her uncle had something to do with them.

  Whatever Urien’s taste in art had been, what Carling had said was still true. To most people, politically and financially the Dark Fae looked like they were in a strong position with regards to the other demesnes. However, those individuals, like Carling, who had an educated sense of the Dark Fae’s real unmet potential, knew better.

  They reached an open paneled doorway, and Brennan stood to one side of it and bowed to her. She thanked him and, without thinking, started to walk into the room first. Tiago’s Power clenched on her even as he grabbed her by the arm. Brennan stared at Tiago, openmouthed.

  Niniane rolled her eyes at the steward’s reaction. She stepped back to let Tiago go in first as she said in his head, Sorry.

  Don’t sweat it, faerie, he said. But just so you know, if the bug expires from shock, I’m not giving him mouth-to-mouth.

  She bit her lips to keep from laughing as he strode into the room, pivoted then invited her in with an outstretched hand. She walked in and stopped dead a few feet inside the door.

  The study was very masculine, with heavy dark leather furniture that looked comfortable rather than stylish, a scatter of bookshelves, a large mahogany desk in one corner and a fireplace. Large windows overlooked the back gardens where the land dipped downward toward a small sunlit lake. A massive seascape painting by the English artist Turner hung over a wide fieldstone fireplace. Urien’s personality seemed stamped in the room, more so than anything she had seen to date. She could see him sitting at his desk and looking out over that fucking immaculate landscape, all the while knowing he was master of all he surveyed. If she were Wyr, she would bet the damn place smelled like him.

  Everything clenched. Gut, fists, face. Count to ten.

  Tiago was beside her in three long, swift strides, his face sharp with concern. He put a bracing hand to her back. Faerie?

  She raised a hand in a just-a-minute gesture as she struggled to unclench. It was just furniture. They were just books.

  It was then she noticed that Aubrey was already in the room. He had risen to his feet at her entrance. Naida was also in the room. A tea service with three cups and plates, along with a tray of delicate pastries were arranged on a table in front of the couch. Aubrey watched her with a concern that seemed almost as sharp as Tiago’s, while Naida looked at them both with a dawning speculation.

  I am all right, she said to Tiago. She squeezed his arm. He nodded, still frowning, and rubbed her shoulders. The place smells like him, doesn’t it?

  There is a single predominant Dark Fae male scent here, he said. It is very likely Urien’s.

  All she could smell was beeswax and lemon polish. She decided that was a good thing. She smiled at him on a surge of tenderness. Really, he was the most scary-looking bastard she knew, and she knew a lot of scary-looking bastards. He was one of the most alpha males in the world. Once he had been a god. He was used to commanding troops of Wyr fighters, experienced in tactical maneuvers and making autonomous decisions. He had given up all of it. Today he had sublimated who he was just to walk in her shadow. She tried to imagine him living that way, year in and year out, as he suppressed everything he was just to be with her.

  Oh God, Rune was right, this wasn’t going to work.

  She looked from Tiago to Aubrey then to Naida’s shuttered expression.

  Too many things were already happening in the room, and nobody had yet said a word. Panic threatened to take her over. She tried to stomp on it. She was too tired, overstimulated, stressed by just being on Urien’s home turf and surrounded by all the evidence of him, and in the last thirty-six hours she had taken a whirlwind sightseeing tour of all the major stopping points on the emotional map.

  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.”