Storm's Heart
Page 20
“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 f**king 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 determined 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.
Oh, Tiago.
She started to look around for her cell phone before she remembered it was still in her evening bag in the suite two floors down. Using the phone by the bed, she asked the hotel switchboard to dial the suite. She listened to it ring. Disappointment bowed her shoulders as no one picked up. When the voicemail system clicked on, she said, “Tiago, it’s me. I’m sorry I sent you away like that. It—the whole thing—just came as such a shock, that’s all. Please call me back if you get this, okay?”
She hung up slowly. He might have already gone back to the suite to collect his things and leave. It certainly wouldn’t have taken him long to get his things. He traveled light. She picked up the phone again and dialed the front desk. When a pleasantvoiced woman answered, she said, “Hello, this is Niniane Lorelle.”
“Your highness! Good afternoon, what can I do for you?”
“I’m trying to get a hold of sentinel Black Eagle and he isn’t picking up in the downstairs suite,” she said. “Have you, by any chance, seen him recently?”
“Yes, he left about fifteen minutes ago,” said the woman.
This time the disappointment was crushing. She covered her eyes. “I see.”
“Would you like to leave him a message?”
Would he even come back to the hotel or was he already on his way back to New York? “Yes,” she said, her voice leaden. “If you see him, please tell him I need to speak with him. It’s very important.”
After the woman promised to do so, Niniane hung up. And why wouldn’t he return to New York? He had seen her to safety, just as he had promised. After everything he had done for her, she had pretty much kicked him in the teeth.
She couldn’t think and didn’t want to feel, so she curled up on the bed again and closed her eyes instead. She must have slept because the next thing she heard was a soft knock. Rhoswen’s pure voice asked if Niniane would like a supper tray brought to her.
“No,” she said.
She closed her eyes again. She heard quiet, grotesque footsteps echoing in the shadowed, silent palace halls. She stumbled in the pools of blood from her brothers’ small bodies. Blood had a raw-meaty smell and a consistency that was impossible to mistake, a slippery stickiness that coated her hands and knees as she fell. She scrambled to her feet and ran from a chill Power that hunted for her. It tightened the air like an invisible boa constrictor as she hid in the dark and smothered in her own panic.
The bedroom was fully dark when she next awakened. Disoriented, she fumbled to turn on a light and dig for her wristwatch. She hadn’t worn her watch to dinner because it hadn’t gone with her pretty red halter dress.
9:30 P.M. Gah. Sleeping through the day was a stupid thing to do. Now she would be up all night. She sat up and stared at the floor, feeling thick and slow, like molasses moved in her veins or she was only half alive because a vital artery had been cut and she had been bleeding out while she slept.
She looked at the silent bedside phone, and her eyes filled with tears.
Oh no. No, she didn’t. She swore under her breath and pushed off the bed, grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge and left the bedroom. There had to be something in that damn library that she could lose herself in. If she could not find a book, then she could by god find something to drink. Or maybe both.
When she opened the door, two Vampyres stood in the shadowed hall, the male that Tiago had thrown into the stairwell and Rhoswen. With her sensitive Fae hearing, she could hear people moving quietly about in other rooms in the penthouse. It sounded for the most part like people were spending the evening in their rooms. She imagined a quiet night was a welcome respite to everyone after the drama of the last couple of days.
“Do you require anything?” Rhoswen asked. “Perhaps some sustenance?”
Niniane shook her head. “I’m going to the library.”
The blonde Vampyre inclined her head. Niniane walked to the library, which was dimly lit by a small table lamp and the jeweled glow of moonlight shining through the stained-glass window.
At first she thought she was alone in the room. Then she saw the still, silent figure in the armchair. She paused and almost left again, because she wasn’t sure she could handle more of Carling that day. But something about that entirely still figure drew her forward.
Carling still wore the Egyptian-cotton caftan from earlier. She had removed the stilettos from her hair. The slender knives lay on the side table by the armchair.
“Carling?” Niniane said.
The Vampyre showed no response. Niniane took a step toward Carling then another, watching the incredible perfection of that profile against the jeweled backdrop of sapphire, ruby, gold and emerald in the stained-glass window behind her. Carling’s stillness was complete. Those long, dark eyes were fixed and blank, her lush lips slightly parted.
Ice slithered down Niniane’s spine. All Vampyres could be eerie in their stillness, since they did not need to breathe. Rhoswen and the male Vampyre had been unmoving when Niniane had walked out of her room, but still they had retained a quality of alertness. She could sense they were aware of her.
Carling seemed to be in a different condition altogether. She looked like she was a mannequin or like she was some kind of Stepford Vampyre waiting for someone to flip a switch and turn her on.
Stepford Vampyre. Ew, actually.
Niniane cleared her throat and said in a louder voice, “Carling?”
“Macbeth was on to something,” said Carling.
Niniane almost leaped out of her skin then felt like a fool. Carling had spoken in a quiet, absentminded voice and had made no sudden moves. Get a grip already, doofus.
She asked, “What do you mean?”
“In his soliloquy. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow really does creep in its petty pace from day to day,” said Carling. “What will the last syllable of recorded time be, and who will be the one to write it? No matter how long we live, we still wonder when our world will end and how.”
Niniane’s unease increased. Carling had appeared to respond to her name, but she still seemed absent, her expression unchanging. She referenced Macbeth as if she were responding to the conversation that had occurred between Niniane and Rhoswen in the hall, but that had happened hours ago. Something was wrong, perhaps badly so. Niniane’s stomach clenched.
She said in a quiet neutral voice, “Would you like for me to get Rhoswen for you?”
“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 f**king 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 determined 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.
Oh, Tiago.
She started to look around for her cell phone before she remembered it was still in her evening bag in the suite two floors down. Using the phone by the bed, she asked the hotel switchboard to dial the suite. She listened to it ring. Disappointment bowed her shoulders as no one picked up. When the voicemail system clicked on, she said, “Tiago, it’s me. I’m sorry I sent you away like that. It—the whole thing—just came as such a shock, that’s all. Please call me back if you get this, okay?”
She hung up slowly. He might have already gone back to the suite to collect his things and leave. It certainly wouldn’t have taken him long to get his things. He traveled light. She picked up the phone again and dialed the front desk. When a pleasantvoiced woman answered, she said, “Hello, this is Niniane Lorelle.”
“Your highness! Good afternoon, what can I do for you?”
“I’m trying to get a hold of sentinel Black Eagle and he isn’t picking up in the downstairs suite,” she said. “Have you, by any chance, seen him recently?”
“Yes, he left about fifteen minutes ago,” said the woman.
This time the disappointment was crushing. She covered her eyes. “I see.”
“Would you like to leave him a message?”
Would he even come back to the hotel or was he already on his way back to New York? “Yes,” she said, her voice leaden. “If you see him, please tell him I need to speak with him. It’s very important.”
After the woman promised to do so, Niniane hung up. And why wouldn’t he return to New York? He had seen her to safety, just as he had promised. After everything he had done for her, she had pretty much kicked him in the teeth.
She couldn’t think and didn’t want to feel, so she curled up on the bed again and closed her eyes instead. She must have slept because the next thing she heard was a soft knock. Rhoswen’s pure voice asked if Niniane would like a supper tray brought to her.
“No,” she said.
She closed her eyes again. She heard quiet, grotesque footsteps echoing in the shadowed, silent palace halls. She stumbled in the pools of blood from her brothers’ small bodies. Blood had a raw-meaty smell and a consistency that was impossible to mistake, a slippery stickiness that coated her hands and knees as she fell. She scrambled to her feet and ran from a chill Power that hunted for her. It tightened the air like an invisible boa constrictor as she hid in the dark and smothered in her own panic.
The bedroom was fully dark when she next awakened. Disoriented, she fumbled to turn on a light and dig for her wristwatch. She hadn’t worn her watch to dinner because it hadn’t gone with her pretty red halter dress.
9:30 P.M. Gah. Sleeping through the day was a stupid thing to do. Now she would be up all night. She sat up and stared at the floor, feeling thick and slow, like molasses moved in her veins or she was only half alive because a vital artery had been cut and she had been bleeding out while she slept.
She looked at the silent bedside phone, and her eyes filled with tears.
Oh no. No, she didn’t. She swore under her breath and pushed off the bed, grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge and left the bedroom. There had to be something in that damn library that she could lose herself in. If she could not find a book, then she could by god find something to drink. Or maybe both.
When she opened the door, two Vampyres stood in the shadowed hall, the male that Tiago had thrown into the stairwell and Rhoswen. With her sensitive Fae hearing, she could hear people moving quietly about in other rooms in the penthouse. It sounded for the most part like people were spending the evening in their rooms. She imagined a quiet night was a welcome respite to everyone after the drama of the last couple of days.
“Do you require anything?” Rhoswen asked. “Perhaps some sustenance?”
Niniane shook her head. “I’m going to the library.”
The blonde Vampyre inclined her head. Niniane walked to the library, which was dimly lit by a small table lamp and the jeweled glow of moonlight shining through the stained-glass window.
At first she thought she was alone in the room. Then she saw the still, silent figure in the armchair. She paused and almost left again, because she wasn’t sure she could handle more of Carling that day. But something about that entirely still figure drew her forward.
Carling still wore the Egyptian-cotton caftan from earlier. She had removed the stilettos from her hair. The slender knives lay on the side table by the armchair.
“Carling?” Niniane said.
The Vampyre showed no response. Niniane took a step toward Carling then another, watching the incredible perfection of that profile against the jeweled backdrop of sapphire, ruby, gold and emerald in the stained-glass window behind her. Carling’s stillness was complete. Those long, dark eyes were fixed and blank, her lush lips slightly parted.
Ice slithered down Niniane’s spine. All Vampyres could be eerie in their stillness, since they did not need to breathe. Rhoswen and the male Vampyre had been unmoving when Niniane had walked out of her room, but still they had retained a quality of alertness. She could sense they were aware of her.
Carling seemed to be in a different condition altogether. She looked like she was a mannequin or like she was some kind of Stepford Vampyre waiting for someone to flip a switch and turn her on.
Stepford Vampyre. Ew, actually.
Niniane cleared her throat and said in a louder voice, “Carling?”
“Macbeth was on to something,” said Carling.
Niniane almost leaped out of her skin then felt like a fool. Carling had spoken in a quiet, absentminded voice and had made no sudden moves. Get a grip already, doofus.
She asked, “What do you mean?”
“In his soliloquy. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow really does creep in its petty pace from day to day,” said Carling. “What will the last syllable of recorded time be, and who will be the one to write it? No matter how long we live, we still wonder when our world will end and how.”
Niniane’s unease increased. Carling had appeared to respond to her name, but she still seemed absent, her expression unchanging. She referenced Macbeth as if she were responding to the conversation that had occurred between Niniane and Rhoswen in the hall, but that had happened hours ago. Something was wrong, perhaps badly so. Niniane’s stomach clenched.
She said in a quiet neutral voice, “Would you like for me to get Rhoswen for you?”
