Divine Misdemeanors

Chapter 37-39

Chapter Thirty-seven
I was dressed for dinner, which had become a semi-formal occasion, which meant I was a little overdressed for the police forensics lab, magical division. Jeremy had phoned before we could actually eat because he'd been called by one of the police wizards to come and give an opinion on Gilda's confiscated wand. The one that had made a policeman fall down and not wake up for hours.
Jeremy wanted some of us to look at it, because he thought it was sidhe workmanship. He'd offered for me to stay home and eat because he really needed some of the older sidhe guards, Rhys had gone early to commune with his new sithen, and Galen was, like me, too young to know much about our older enchanted sidhe items. But the three of us were the only ones with private-detective licenses. The others could only come as bodyguards. The reporters going through the window had been on all the news and YouTube, so the police believed that I wouldn't go out without a shitload of guards. So I was "protected" and Jeremy got the sidhe he wanted to look at the wand. The only downside was I had to eat something quickly in the car, and the yellow high heels dyed to match the yellow, belted dress, complete with crinoline to make the skirt sit right, were the wrong shoes for standing on the concrete floors.
The wand was in a Plexiglas rectangle. There were symbols literally pressed into the case. It was a portable anti-magic field so that if something was found the police could put it inside the case and negate it until forensics could figure out a more permanent solution.
We all stood around staring down at the wand, and by all I meant the two police wizards, Wilson and Carmichael, plus Jeremy, Frost, Doyle, Barinthus (who had shown up just as we were leaving), Sholto, Rhys, and me. Rhys had cut his sithen exploration short to solve crime.
The wand was still two feet long but now it was only two feet of pale white and honey-colored wood, clean and free of all the sparkle that Gilda was so fond of, and that I remembered clearly. "It doesn't look like the same wand," I said.
"You mean the star tip and the flashy outer covering?" Carmichael asked. She shook her head, sending her brown ponytail bobbing over her lab coat. "Some of the stones had metaphysical properties that helped amp up the magic, but it was all just to make it pretty and to hide this."
I stared at the long, smoothly polished wood. "Why hide it?"
"Don't look at it with just your eyes, Merry," Barinthus said. He towered over all of us in his long cream trench coat. He was actually wearing a suit under the coat, though he'd left the tie off. It was the most clothes I'd seen him in since he got to California. He'd put his hair back in a ponytail, but even contained, the hair still moved a little too much for ordinary hair, as if even standing here in this very modern building with all the latest, greatest scientific equipment around us there was still some invisible current of water playing with his hair. He wasn't doing it on purpose; it was just his hair this close to the ocean, apparently.
I didn't like that - it sounded like an order - but I did it, because he was right. Most humans have to work at seeing magic, doing magic. I was part human, but in one way I was all fey. I had to shield every day, every minute, to not see magic. I had shielded heavily when I entered this area of the forensics labs because it was the room where they kept the really powerful magical items that they didn't know what to do with, or were in the process of de-magicking, or figuring out a way to destroy that wouldn't blow up other things. Some magic items once made are difficult to destroy safely.
I had upped my shields because I didn't want to have to wade through all the magic in the room. The anti-magic boxes kept the things from working, but didn't keep the wizards from being able to study them. It was a very nice bit of magical engineering. I took a deep breath, let it out, and dropped my shields just a little bit.
I tried to concentrate on just the wand, but of course there were other things in the room, and not all of them reacted to just vision. Something in the room called out, "Free me of this prison and I will grant you a wish." Something else smelled like chocolate, no, hard cherry candy, no, it was like the scent of everything sweet and good, and with the scent there was a desire to find it and pick it up so I could have all that goodness.
I shook my head and concentrated on the wand. The pale wood was covered in magical symbols. They crawled over the wood, glowing yellow and white, and here and there a spark of orange/red flame, but it wasn't fire exactly, it was as if the magic were sparking. I'd never seen that before.
"It's almost like the magic has a short in it," I said.
"That's what I said," Carmichael said.
Wilson said, "I thought it might be extra power like little pieces of magical battery meant to up the spell." He was tall, taller than all the men except for Barinthus, with short pale hair that was going from gray to white. Wilson was barely thirty. His hair had gone gray after he'd detonated a major holy relic meant to bring about the end of the world. Anything meant to bring about the end of the world that might actually do it was always destroyed. The problem was that destroying something that powerful wasn't always the safest occupation. Wilson was on the magical equivalent of the bomb squad. He was one of a handful of human wizards across the country certified for high-holy-relic disposal. Some of the other magic bomb techs thought Wilsonhad literally had a decade of his life span blown away with his old hair color.
He pushed his wire-framed glasses more firmly up his nose. He still looked like a really tall bookish computer nerd, and he was except that he was a bookish magic nerd, and according to the other magic techs either the bravest of them or one crazy motherfucker. I was quoting. The fact that only Wilson and Carmichael were still working on it and that it was in this room meant that the wand had done something unpleasant.
"Did the policeman who Gilda hit with this wand die or something?" I asked.
"No," Carmichael said.
"No. What have you heard?" Wilson asked.
She frowned at him.
"What?" he asked.
I said, "This room is only for things that scare the police. Major relics, things designed to do bad things that you haven't figured out how to de-magick or destroy yet. What did Gilda's wand do to earn a place here?"
The two wizards looked at each other.
"Whatever you hold back," Jeremy said, "may be the key to deciphering this wand's power."
"Tell us what you see first," Wilson said.
"I've told you what I think," Jeremy said.
"You said this might be sidhe workmanship. I want to know what some sidhe think of it." Wilson looked from one to another of us; his face was very serious now. He was studying us the way he'd study anything magical that interested him. Wilson had the unsettling tendency to see the fey as another type of magical thing sometimes, as if he'd study us to see what we'd do.
The men looked at me. I shrugged and said, "Magical symbols in white and yellow are crawling over the wood with those odd sparks of orangey red. The symbols aren't static but seem to be still moving. That's unusual. Magical symbols glow sometimes to the inner eye, but they aren't this ... fresh, like the paint hasn't dried."
The men with me nodded. "That's why I thought it might be a sidhe creation," Jeremy said.
"I don't follow," I said.
"The last time I saw magic that stayed that fresh, it was an enchanted item made by one of your people's great wizards. They hide the core of the magic behind metalwork, or living greenery that is kept fresh by the magic, but it's all pretend, Merry. It's just meant to hide the core."
"I understand what you're saying, but why does that make it sidhe workmanship?"
"Your people are the only ones I've ever seen who could keep magic interlaid over something this fresh and vital."
"We've never seen anything able to do this," Wilson said.
"What makes it sidhe?" I asked.
"It isn't," Barinthus said.
We looked at him.
Jeremy looked a little uncomfortable, but he looked at the tall man and asked, "Why isn't it sidhe magic?"
Barinthus managed to look as disdainful as I'd ever seen him. He didn't get along with Jeremy. I'd thought it was personal at first, but realized it was some prejudice Barinthus had against Jeremy being a Trow. It was like a racial thing for Barinthus, as if a Trow wasn't worthy enough to be the boss of us.
"I doubt I could explain it in a way you would understand," Barinthus said.
Jeremy's face darkened.
I turned to Wilson and Carmichael, smiling, and said, "Could you excuse us for a minute? I'm sorry, but if you could just step over there somewhere."
They looked at each other, then at Jeremy's angry face and Barinthus's haughty figure, and they went to stand away from us. No one wants to be standing right next to the seven-foot-tall man when he starts a fight.
I turned back to the seven-foot-tall man. "Enough," I said, and I poked a finger into his chest, hard enough to move him a little. "Jeremy is my boss. He pays us most of the money that clothes and feeds all of us, including you, Barinthus."
He looked down at me, and two feet is enough distance to make haughty work really well, but I'd had all I was taking from this ex-sea god.
"You aren't bringing in any money. You don't contribute a damned thing to the upkeep of the fey here in L.A., so before you go all high and mighty on us, I'd think about this. Jeremy is more valuable to me and to the rest of us than you are."
That got through the haughtiness, and I saw uncertainty on his face. He hid it, but it was in there. "You didn't say that you needed me to contribute in that way."
"We may be getting Maeve Reed's houses for free, but we can't keep letting her feed the army of us. When she comes back from Europe she may want her house back, all her houses back. What then?"
He frowned.
"Yeah, that's right. We are more than a hundred people, counting the Red Caps, and they're camping out on her estate because the houses already won't hold everyone. You don't get it. We have what amounts to a faerie court, but we don't have a royal treasury, or magic to clothe and feed us. We don't have a faerie mound to house us all that will just grow bigger as we need it."
"Your wild magic created a new piece of faerie inside the gates of Maeve's land," he said.
"Yes, and Taranis used that piece of faerie to kidnap me, so we can't use it to house anyone until we can guarantee that our enemies can't use it to attack us."
"Rhys has a sithen now. More will come."
"And until we know that our enemies can't use that new piece of faerie to attack us, too, we can't move many people in there."
"It's an apartment building, Barinthus, not a traditional sithen," Rhys said.
"An apartment building?"
Rhys nodded. "It magically appeared on a street and moved two buildings so that it could appear in the middle of them, but it looks like a rundown apartment building. It's definitely a sithen, but it's like the old ones. I open a door one time and the next time there's a different room behind the door. It's wild magic, Barinthus. We can't move people in there until I know what it does, and what plans it has."
"It is that powerful?" he said.
Rhys nodded. "It feels it, yes."
"More sithens will come," Barinthus said.
"Maybe, but until they do, we need money. We need as many people as possible bringing in money. That includes you."
"You didn't tell me that you wanted me to take the bodyguarding jobs he offered."
"Don't call him 'he'; his name is Jeremy. Jeremy Grey, and he's been making a living out here among the humans for decades, and those skills are a hell of a lot more useful to me now than your ability to make the ocean come up and smash into a house. Which was childish, by the way."
"The people in question don't need bodyguards. They simply want me to stand around and be stared at."
"No, they want you to stand around and be handsome and attract attention to them and their lives."
"I am not a freak to be paraded for cameras."
"No one remembers that story from the fifties, Barinthus," Rhys said.
One reporter had called Barinthus the Fish Man because of the collapsible webbing between his fingers. That reporter had died in a boating accident. Eyewitnesses said that the water just came up and slapped the boat.
Barinthus turned away from us, his hands going into his coat pockets. Doyle said, "Frost and I have both guarded humans who didn't need guarding. We have stood and let them admire us and pay money for it."
"You did one job and then you refused after that," Frost said to Barinthus. "What happened to make you say no after that?"
"I told Merry it was beneath me to pretend to guard someone when I should be guarding her."
"Did the client try to seduce you?" Frost asked.
Barinthus shook his head; his hair moved more than it should have, like the ocean on a windy day. "Seduction is not crude enough for what the woman did."
"She touched you," Frost said, and just the way he said it made me look at him.
"You say that like it's happened to you, too."
"They invite us to the parties to do more than guard them, Merry, you know that."
"I know they want media attention but none of you told me that the clients had gotten that out of hand."
"We're supposed to be protecting you, Meredith," Doyle said, "not the other way around."
"Is that why you and Frost are back to guarding mostly just me?"
"See," Barinthus said, "you've distanced yourself from it, too."
"But we help Meredith with her investigations. We didn't just stop doing the parties and then hide away by the sea," Doyle said.
"Part of the problem is that you haven't picked a partner," Rhys said.
"I don't know what you mean by that."
"I work with Galen, and we watch each other's backs, and make sure that the only hands that touch us are the ones we want touching each other. A partner isn't just to watch your back in a battle, Barinthus."
That arrogance that Frost hid behind was back on Barinthus's face, but I realized that for him it wasn't just a version of a blank face.
"Do you honestly believe that no one among the men is worthy to partner with you?" I asked.
He just looked at me, which was answer enough, I supposed. He looked at Doyle. "Once I would have been happy to work with Darkness."
"But not now that I've partnered with Frost," he said.
"You have chosen your friends."
I wondered for a moment if Barinthus had a crush on Doyle, or did his words mean only what he said. The fact that I'd never realized he was more than my father's friend had made me question a lot of things.
"It's okay," Rhys said. "You and I have never gotten along."
"It doesn't matter," I said. "Old news. If you want to stay here, then you need to contribute in a real way, Barinthus. You're going to start by explaining to Jeremy and the nice police wizards why that isn't sidhe magic." I gave as good eye contact as I could with a two-foot height difference. I guess with the three-inch heels it was a little less, but it was still a neck-craning moment. It's always hard to look tough when you're looking that far up at someone.
His hair flared out around him for all the world as if it were underwater, though I knew it would be dry to the touch. It was a new show of growing power, but I'd already noticed that it seemed to be an emotional reaction for him.
"Is that a no, or a yes?" I asked.
"I will try to explain," he said at last.
"Fine, good, let's get this done so we can go home."
"Are you tired?" Frost asked.
"Yes."
Barinthus said, "I am a fool. You may not look it yet, but you are with child. I should be taking care of you. Instead I am making things harder for you."
I nodded. "That's about what I was thinking." I led the way back to the police and Jeremy. We all gathered around the wand again. Barinthus didn't apologize, but he did explain.
"If it was truly sidhe workmanship it would not have the power flares. If I understand what electrical shorts are, then that's accurate. The flaring points mark weak spots in the magic, as if the person who enchanted it didn't have enough power to make the magic smoothly. The flaring points are also as Wizard Wilson says, moments when the power grows stronger. I believe one of those power flares is what harmed the policeman who was originally hurt."
"So if you had made it, or another sidhe, then the magical marks would be smooth and the power would be even," Wilson said.
Barinthus nodded.
"Not to be rude," Carmichael said, "but aren't the sidhe less powerful than they once were magically?"
There was that uncomfortable moment when someone says something that everyone knows, but no one is supposed to talk about. It was Rhys who said, "That would be true."
"Sorry, but if that's true, then why couldn't this be a sidhe with less control of his, or her, magic? Maybe it's the best the wizard could do?"
Barinthus shook his head. "No."
"Her logic is sound," Doyle said.
"You see the symbols; you know what they are for, Darkness. We are forbidden such magic, and have been for centuries."
"These symbols are old enough that I'm not familiar with all of them," I said.
"The wand is designed to harvest magic," Rhys said.
I frowned at him. "You mean to make your own magic grow more powerful?"
"Nope."
I frowned harder.
"It's designed to steal other people's power," Doyle said.
"But you can't do that," I said. "Not that we're not allowed to do it, but it's not possible to steal someone's personal magic. It's intrinsic to them, like their intelligence, or their personality."
"Yes and no," he said.
I was beginning to be tired, really tired. I hadn't had any real pregnancy symptoms, but suddenly I was tired, achingly so. "Can I have a chair?" I asked.
Wilson said, "I'm sorry, Merry, I mean, of course." He went and got a chair.
"You look pale," Carmichael said. She started to touch my face like you'd check a child for fever, then stopped herself in mid-motion.
Rhys did it for her. "You feel cool and clammy. That can't be good."
"I'm just tired."
"We need to get Merry home," Rhys said.
Frost knelt by me, with me sitting he was about eye level with me. He put his hand against my face. "Explain to them, Doyle, and then we can get her home."
"This wand is designed to take magic from others. Merry is right, the magic cannot be stolen permanently from someone, but the wand is like a battery. It absorbs magic from different people and gives the wand's owner more power, but she would have to feed the wand new power almost constantly. The spell is clever, and harkens back to the older days of our own magic, but it has the marks of something other than sidhe. Our magic, but not."
"I know what it reminds me of," Rhys said. "Humans. Humans who were my followers, but who could do some of our magic. They were good, but it never translated exactly."
"The marks aren't carved on the wood, or painted," Carmichael said.
"If it was sidhe magic, then we could trace the symbols on the wood with our finger and our will, but for most humans they needed something more real. Like the fact that our followers saw the marks of power on us and thought they were tattoos, so they painted themselves with woad for protection in battle."
"But that didn't work," Carmichael said.
"It worked when we had power," Rhys said, "and then when we lost enough power it was worse than useless to the people whom we were supposed to protect." Rhys looked so unhappy. I had heard both him and Doyle tell stories of what had happened to their followers when they had lost so much power they could no longer protect them with magic.
"Is there a human who could trace those symbols?" I asked. Sitting down had helped.
"With nothing but will and word, I doubt it."
"What else could he or she have used?" Carmichael asked.
"Body fluid," Jeremy said.
We all looked at him. "Remember, I learned wizardry back when the sidhe were still in power. When the rest of us could find a piece of your enchantments, we copied it using body fluid."
"There's nothing visible on the wood. Most body fluids would leave something visible behind," Carmichael said.
"Saliva wouldn't," Wilson said.
"Spit works," Jeremy said. "People always talk about blood or semen, but spit is good, and it's just as much a part of a person."
"We haven't swabbed the wood directly because we weren't sure how the spells would react to it," Wilson said.
"Whoever made it has left you DNA," I said. I was feeling much better. I stood up, and threw up all over the forensic lab floor.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Once I threw up I was fine. I was apologetic about throwing up in the lab, but luckily the floor wasn't actual evidence. Carmichael gave me a breath mint and we left. Rhys drove us home, and made arrangements to pick up the other car tomorrow. I was the only other person who could drive, and none of the men seemed to want me to do that. I guess I couldn't blame them.
I leaned back in the passenger seat and said, "I thought I was supposed to get morning sickness, not evening sickness."
"It differs from woman to woman," Doyle said from the backseat.
"You knew someone who got evening sickness?" I asked.
"Yes" was all he said.
I turned in the seat and he was Darkness in the dark car, but the streetlights shone as Rhys drove. Frost was beside him, helping make the contrast even greater. Barinthus was on the far side and managed to make it clear that he didn't want to be that near Frost.
"Who was she?" I asked.
"My wife," he said, and looked out the window, not at me.
"You were married?"
"Yes."
"And you had a child?"
"Yes."
"What happened to them?"
"They died."
I didn't know what to say to that. I had learned that Doyle had been married, had had a child, and had lost them both, and I hadn't known any of that minutes before. I turned around in the seat and let the silence fill the car.
"Does it bother you?" Doyle asked quietly.
"I think so, but ... How many of you have had wives and children before this?"
"All of us except for Frost, I think," Rhys said.
"I had both," Frost said.
"Rose," I said.
He nodded. "Yes."
"I didn't know you had a child with her, though. What happened?"
"She died."
"They all died," Doyle said.
Barinthus spoke from the dimness of the backseat. "There are moments, Meredith, when being immortal and ageless is not a blessing."
I thought about that. "As far as we know, I'm aging just a little less than humanly normal. I'm not immortal or ageless."
"You were not immortal as a child," Barinthus said, "but then you didn't have hands of power as a child."
"Are you all going to be sitting in some rocket-powered car a century from now telling our children about me?"
No one said anything, but Rhys took one hand off the wheel and laid it over mine. I guess there really wasn't anything to say, or nothing comforting. I clung to Rhys's hand, and he held it all the way home. Sometimes comfort isn't about words.
Chapter Thirty-nine
I took off the high heels as soon as we were through the door. Then it was like a comedy routine, with all the men trying to help me up the stairs. Julian and Galen stepped out of the living room into the foyer. Galen was all concern when he heard that I'd been sick, but both he and Julian had trouble not laughing when they heard that I'd thrown up in the forensics lab.
I frowned at them both but I hugged Julian, because I knew that him being here meant that his dinner with Adam hadn't gone well. "Sorry I wasn't here to cuddle during movies tonight."
Julian laid a brotherly kiss on my cheek. "You were off crime-fighting. I forgive you." He made a joke of it and his smile was genuine, but his brown eyes held a sad shadow.
I stepped back from him and Galen picked me up.
"I can walk," I said.
"Yes, but now they'll stop arguing and follow us while you get ready for bed. I have more news. And so does Julian."
Galen had already started for the stairs, and with a call to Julian he used the speed his long legs could give him. Julian had to hurry to catch up.
Rhys actually caught up with us on the stairs before anyone else did. He explained as he ran to keep up, "Doyle and Frost are talking to Barinthus. We've never been friends, so I thought I'd come help tuck you in." He grinned and gave a lascivious eyebrow waggle.
It made me smile, which was why he'd done it. "What's happened now?" I asked.
Galen kissed my cheek as he got to the top of the stairs. "It's not bad news, Merry, but you could probably do without it."
"Just tell me," I said.
"Julian," Galen said.
"Jordan came out of the meds saying one sentence over and over again: 'Thumbelina wants to be big.' He just kept repeating it, but when he was completely out from under the meds he didn't remember saying it, or what it meant."
"Did you tell Lucy?"
He nodded. "But it could be nonsense. You know that."
"It could be, but the murderer has been copying children's books. Maybe this is the next book," I said.
Rhys opened the bedroom door and Galen carried me in. The bed was already turned down, with a silk robe laid out for me.
I leaned my head into the bend of Galen's neck, letting the warmth and scent of his skin soothe me. I whispered, "I had to stand up to Barinthus. I told him Jeremy was more useful to me than he was."
"Sorry I missed it," Galen whispered.
Rhys said, "She really let him have it."
"Did you hear what they said?" Julian asked.
Rhys nodded. He looked at the other man. "Just like Galen and I heard your conversation with Merry on the sidewalk, so I know that you being here is a bad sign for your dinner with Adam."
"Damn, how good is your hearing?" Julian asked.
Galen set me on the bed. Then he knelt in front of me. "Mistral is talking with Queen Niceven in the mirror in the main room. She's insisting that you feed Royal tonight or the alliance is over between you and her."
I looked at him. "One feeding and she'd cancel the alliance," I said.
He nodded. "We've been talking to her for most of the time you've been gone."
"What's happening at the court to make her want to be rid of us so badly?"
Galen glanced back at Julian, who took the hint and said, "I think you need to handle things here and sleep tonight, Merry. Thanks for the offer of a cuddle, but you have other things you need to do more than me."
"We'll cuddle you," Rhys said.
Julian looked at him, frowning.
Rhys grinned. "I told you, Galen and I heard what you told Merry. If you're that desperate for some touch, Galen and I can do it."
Julian looked from one to the other of the men. "Thanks, but I'm not sure what's being offered."
"We'll put you in the middle," Galen said.
"Strictly as friends," Rhys said.
Julian looked at me then, and his expression was pained. I laughed. "You'll get your cuddle, but you will be stuck between two of the prettiest men around and no sex."
He opened his mouth, closed it, and finally said, "I want the touch, but I'm not sure if I should be insulted or complimented."
Rhys and Galen both laughed. "It's a compliment," Rhys said, "and we can send you back home with your virtue intact."
"Won't you be sleeping with Merry tonight?" Julian asked.
"Not tonight. Mistral hasn't seen her in two days, almost three, so we'll step aside for him. Not sure who the other man will be, but we've bunked with her recently, and I think tonight won't be about sex."
"I feel strangely fine now," I said.
Rhys gave me a look. "I still wouldn't push it. This is the first morning sickness you've had, so I'd take it easy."
"I didn't know you could get morning sickness in the evening," Galen said.
"Apparently you can," I said, and didn't elaborate on the conversation in the car. I reached up under my skirt for the tops of my thigh-highs. I wanted them off and then I'd brush my teeth. Strangely, I really wanted to brush my teeth soon. The breath mints that Carmichael had given me only went so far.
Mistral came through the door cursing under his breath. His hair was a uniform gray like rain clouds, but unlike Wilson's, his had always been that color. His eyes were the shade of sickly yellow-green that the sky turns just before the heavens open up and the tornado eats the world. It was the color his eyes went when he was very worried, or very mad. Once long ago when Mistral's eyes had been that color the sky had mirrored them, so that his anger or anxiety had changed the weather. Now he was simply more than six feet of muscled warrior. He was the most masculinely handsome of my men. He was very handsome, but you would never look at his face and think pretty, or beautiful. He was entirely too male-looking for that. He was also the only one with shoulders broader than either Doyle or Frost. Barinthus had him on sheer physical size, but there was always something about Mistral, Lord of Storms, that made him big. He was a big man who took up a lot of space. Now he was a big, angry man. The only thing I caught completely in the rush of very old Gallic was the name Niceven, and a few choice curses.
Galen said, "I take it Niceven wouldn't change her mind."
"She wants out of this alliance for a reason." He made a visible effort to master his temper and came to me. "I have failed you, Merry. You have to feed that creature of hers tonight."
"Let me try to talk to her," Rhys said.
"You think you can do what I could not?"
"I can tell her that Merry got sick tonight. Niceven's had children. Maybe she'll cut Merry some slack for that."
Mistral sat down on the bed beside me, face all concern. "Are you well?"
"I seem to be now. I guess I couldn't get by without a little morning sickness."
He hugged me very gently, as if afraid I'd break. Mistral liked his sex pretty rough, so to feel him hold me like I was made of eggshells made me smile. I hugged him back a little more firmly. "Let me brush my teeth and then we'll see how I feel." And that's what we did. I took the robe that had been laid on the bed into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and took off the hose, and my dress. I came back out with the robe belted in place and the room empty except for Rhys. He was sitting on the side of the bed looking less than pleased.
"How do you feel?"
"Fine," I said.
He gave me a look.
"Really, I'm fine; whatever caused me to be sick seems to have passed."
"I'll have the cooks make a list of the food you ate tonight. Some women just can't eat certain foods while pregnant."
"Could your wife?" I asked.
He shook his head, smiling a little, and stood up. "No, I won't talk about that. What I will talk about is that Royal is outside. He seems genuinely embarrassed that his queen is insisting on this, even knowing you were ill earlier this evening, but he's worried that she'll call him home if he refuses to be a good little surrogate for her."
I came to him, putting my arms around his waist. He returned the favor, and with him only six inches taller than me the eye contact was comfortable. "Kitto made mention that Kurag is wanting out of our alliance, and Kitto is being careful not to give him any excuse for it. Is there something happening at the Unseelie Court that I should know about?"
"You didn't want to rule the Unseelie Court, so it's not your problem."
"That would be a yes. Something is happening."
"Not that you need to know about, though."
I studied his face, trying to read something behind the smiling pleasantness of it. "Why are the goblins and the demi-fey both wanting to sever ties with me?"
"When they thought you were going to be queen they wanted to align themselves with you, but now they want to be able to align with whoever wins the race."
"The Unseelie Court still has a queen," I said.
"Who seems to have been driven mad by the death of her son."
I hugged him, putting my face against his chest. "Cel was going to kill me. I had no choice."
He rested his head against my hair. "He would have killed us all, Merry, and she would have let him. The fact that you had enough power to do it is amazing and wonderful, and let's face it, she wasn't the most stable cookie in the box to begin with."
"I didn't mean to leave our court in such disarray. I just wanted us safe."
"No one blames you, Merry."
"Barinthus does, and if he does so do others."
He kissed my cheek and held me close, and again that was answer enough. I could have asked questions about how bad it was, and what we could do, but the only thing we could do was to go back and take the throne, but we'd rejected the crowns of faerie once. I hadn't found that you got second chances at such offers. Even with the crowns on our heads, the chances that Doyle and I could hold the throne against all the factions that Andais had allowed to rise in her court was slim. I wanted to stay safe and have our babies. They and the men I loved meant more to me than crowns and even the Unseelie. So I let him hold me and I didn't press for details because I was certain they would all be bad ones.