She looked at her feet. “Are you considering leaving?”
He sighed, letting his gaze drift upward. “No. Not yet. Brinen has been advocating I take the crown for decades. I think he sees it as his role at this point. I wonder, though, if he truly believes I am putting Draigen in danger?”
Given the conversation, her first impulse was to say yes, but as she thought about it, Brinen’s words didn’t ring forcefully true. Her truth sensing often failed when someone spoke in hypothetical tones. Speakers didn’t necessarily need to believe in their fears when they were merely articulating them. “Terryn, honestly, I think you’re asking me to answer the question for you. To me, any high-profile figure is in danger by default. That’s how I look at the world because of my job. That doesn’t mean Draigen is in danger. I assume it’s a possibility, and maybe so does Brinen. The only real answer is what you think because only you can decide what you will do.”
He closed his eyes. “You’re right, of course. I think what Brinen means is that one way or another, I may have no choice but to return to Ireland.”
His words hung in the air. She didn’t want to see him leave, as much for herself as him, but she knew that decision could cost him far more than her. “What about Cress?”
“I will take her with me,” he said.
Despite the conviction in his voice, Laura sensed pain. Laura tried to imagine which choice she would make. Cress would not survive long among the Inverni if attitudes like Aran’s were any indication. If Terryn’s own family did not accept her, Laura didn’t believe anyone else would. Yet, if he left her behind, Cress would go mad with grief.
She didn’t see a solution.
CHAPTER 25
THE ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT on Draigen dominated the conversation at the Guild staff’s weekly meeting the following morning. Guildhouses focused on local issues, but a few—as those in Washington, Berlin, and Paris—had become key strategic locations to further the political agenda of High Queen Maeve. Her opposition to the Elvenking in Germany required constant attention—and constant reinforcement of alliances. A change in leadership of a major fairy clan caused more than one department to consider the political ramifications for the Seelie Court.
Laura shifted her folders on the table for the third or fourth time. Guildhouse staff meetings were like corporate meetings everywhere. Sometimes interesting, most times too long. Rhys ran an efficient meeting. He enjoyed being the center of attention, but he wasn’t a rambler. Despite that, the conversation had leaned on speculation more than anything else, and Laura wanted the meeting to end.
The assassination attempt had thrown the building into a high security alert, which restricted access to most outsiders. Laura counted herself lucky that she didn’t have outside clients who needed to allow extra time for clearance—if lucky meant her workload was limited to her public-relations duties in the building and her InterSec mission. Rhys was firing off press releases on a near-hourly basis addressing rumors of anti-Inverni bias at the Guild, failures in security that had almost killed Draigen, demands for more investigations into the terrorist attack at the National Archives, to say nothing of the seemingly random attacks against the fey around the city. Saffin helped Laura manage the changing priorities and ran interference as necessary. The weekly meeting was the last place Laura wanted to be.
Rhys made some final remarks about heightened security and his desire to protect the building staff. Laura wasn’t offended by the undercurrent of falsity that ran through his words. She knew he cared about the people who worked in the Guild, but he brought it up in the meeting to give the staff the impression he was actively working on their protection rather than relying on others to handle the nuts and bolts of the details. People in Rhys’s position dictated policy. They didn’t implement. She jotted down some notes. Some of what Rhys said could be used in more public announcements, too.
Rhys closed his loose-leaf notebook and adjourned the meeting. From her seat at the side of the room, Laura rose to let people pass. She adjusted the stack of folders in her arms when Rhys called her name. “A moment, if you please.”
She shifted past the exiting staff and sat next to him. While the room emptied, he checked his PDA. When the last person out of the room closed the door, Rhys placed the PDA on the table. “I need an internal memo, something nuanced but pointed.”
His manner intrigued her, cautious yet bemused. She lifted her pen, waiting for him to continue. “I’ve purged the leanansidhe from my Guildhouse.”
Anger surged through Laura. “What do you mean ‘purged’?”
Rhys arched an eyebrow. “Is that essence light I see in your eyes?”
She inhaled sharply, surprised that her emotion had broken through her normal control. She tamped down the essence, drawing it into the core of her being, and relaxed her grip on the chair. “I’m sorry, Guildmaster. The term took me off guard.”
Rhys’s face relaxed. “Ah, that. It was an ill-chosen word. For a moment, I thought you were going to raise an objection and defend the creature again.”
Laura dropped her eyes, not wanting to challenge him. Rhys rarely misspoke. After World War II, solitaries who collaborated with the Elvenking were interned in camps across Europe. Those who escaped found refuge in the U.S. They called it the Purge, and the rise of solitaries as a protected class in the U.S. began. “What’s happened?”
“I’ve barred it from the building. An investigation into its presence will be commencing shortly. I want a notice sent to all staff that this is an isolated instance until we can clarify the situation.”
“Where is she?” Laura asked.
“Who?”
She glanced at him sharply. “Cress. The leanansidhe.”
Rhys pursed his lips. “It apparently lives with Terryn macCullen of all people. I want that mentioned. They’ve agreed that the leanansidhe will submit to Guild authorities and remain under guard in the apartment until the legalities are straightened out.”
Kill two birds with one memo, she thought. Demonize Cress and smear an Inverni.
“This isn’t Faerie, Orrin,” she said.
At the use of his personal name, he cocked his head. “Do you have something to say, Laura?”
She hesitated. It was hard to know when to be frank with him and when to tread carefully. “I don’t know the full politics of the Inverni and Danann clan disputes, but I do know American attitudes. What plays well at the Seelie Court may backfire here. We need to maintain the Americans as our allies against the Elvenking.”
“Donor Elfenkonig has voiced his support of the Inverni cause. That is enough for our American friends to support us,” he replied.
“Support” was too strong a word. Laura had seen the news dispatches. The Elvenking had criticized the Treaty clause as archaic—ironic considering his preferences for old ways. He had not explicitly denounced the Seelie Court. “You know that’s posturing on his part, Orrin. I’m concerned about the solitaries as well. They will watch and worry about what Maeve does to a major segment of the fey population. Cress may be a leanansidhe, but the solitaries will view her as one of their own even if they fear her kind.”
Rhys folded his hands across his chest and leaned back in thought. By the sudden agitation in his wings, she knew she had made a sharp point. “I will bear that in mind. Thank you, Laura. Word will spread quickly about this. I would like a draft memo within the hour.”
“What about Resha?” she asked.
“What about him?”
“It might play better coming from him.”
Rhys chuckled. “I like that. He won’t, but I do. I’ll make the call personally.”
She hated herself for offering the idea. Putting Resha in a propaganda position against his own people felt worse, but she did hope it would help. He might find a way to present the news without its sounding like Cress was targeted first, investigated second. Solitaries were used to that order of events, and it didn’t sit well with them. “Is there anything else?”