The Councillor said, “This is where you may ask whether I am a good witch or a bad witch.”
Niniane looked up, into that gorgeous, ancient smiling gaze. She said as steadily as she could, “I’m not sure I would want to hear your reply.”
Carling said, “It is a wise little heir. I heard you had been injured. I can smell the blood from your wound, and a Demonkind prince is not the most beneficent of taxis. Sit.”
Carling’s hand on Niniane’s shoulder compelled her toward an armchair and supported her as her shaky legs threatened to give out. Grateful to ease into the support of the chair, she sank down, although she was far from relaxing.
Carling flowed into a nearby armchair. By the simple act of sitting she turned it into a throne. Niniane watched her sidelong, envious of the other woman’s imperial grace even as she kept her wary dial turned on high, the needle squarely pointed to emergency red. She had interacted in a cordial fashion with the Councillor several times over the years but always in a public, formal setting. Although not Wyr, Carling was every inch a predator, and Niniane would do well to remember it.
Strictly speaking, Carling was no longer Queen of the Nightkind. In an unprecedented move, she had formally abdicated when she became Councillor of the Elder tribunal. Carling had taken advantage of a legal loophole that had existed when the U.S. Elder tribunal had been created in the 1790s, which had barred any Elder ruler from holding office but had neglected to forbid such a position from former rulers. At Carling’s abdication, her progeny Julian Regillus had become Nightkind King. While the legal loophole had since been closed, it was long accepted that Regillus acted upon his progenitor’s orders and that Carling remained the de facto ruler of the Nightkind while also holding the power of her seat on the Elder tribunal.
Niniane became aware that they were not alone in the room when Carling gestured and an attendant, a blonde, pale, pretty woman with downcast eyes, left silently. Niniane looked around. She noted the similarities this hotel suite shared with the one she and Tiago occupied. She also noted the changes that had been made in furniture and decor, such as the exquisite damask silk draped over the coffee table and the antique inlaidmahogany chest that had been set against one wall. The television console and hotel paintings had been removed, making the room feel larger, more spacious and alien.
She kept her breathing unhurried and her hands folded together in her lap as she absorbed the silent message written in the space all around her, that she was now within Vampyre territory.
She said, “Having a Demonkind prince indebted to one must be quite a rarity. It seems an extravagant use of a Powerful favor to use him just to transport me up a single flight of hotel stairs.”
“Your Wyr was being obstructive and disrespectful,” said Carling. The Vampyre’s expression turned into an exquisite ice sculpture. “He needed to be taught a lesson.”
Niniane’s hands tightened on each other as she fought an upsurge in anger. Her Wyr. It was almost as if Carling had called Tiago “her pet.” A part of her noted Carling’s subtle, inexplicable smile. Curious. She wondered what that smile meant, even as she said with a careful lack of emphasis, “I would like to believe that no one intends disrespect, Councillor.”
Niniane paused to let the multiple meanings of her statement settle into the silence of the room. The Vampyre sat across from her, exhibiting a patience that was as inhuman as the rest of her. Carling’s inexplicable smile widened as she said, “I am sure Dragos will miss having you as one of his diplomatic resources, although it must be said—you are not Dark Fae Queen yet.”
What did Carling mean by that? It was clearly a warning of some kind. Niniane couldn’t tell if the warning was a friendly one or not. Her tension increased. If she didn’t understand, then it was best to ignore it for the moment, at least in conversation. She said in apparent agreement, “There have already been a number of challenges, and I’m sure there are more to come. I am grateful that the warlord sentinel Tiago came to my aid when he did. You may not yet have heard that he was in time to stop another assassination attempt.”
Carling’s graceful eyelids lowered. For a moment the Vampyre maintained a perfect stillness, an incomparably beautiful woman set against a backdrop of ancient silk and mahogany. The tableau was so vivid and anachronistic that Niniane felt a ripple of disorientation, as if she stared upon a painting crafted by one of the European Old Masters or as if time itself had opened up to give her a glimpse into the distant past. Then the hotel air-conditioning came on. The cold air curled against her bare ankles like an invisible snake and dispelled the illusion.
Carling asked, “Another assassination attempt. When was this?”
Niniane could tell nothing from the Councillor’s face. For all she knew, Carling had already heard of the second attempt and merely wanted her to tell the story. She shifted in an attempt to become more comfortable, her wound and fatigued muscles aching, the return of stress making her head pound. “It happened early yesterday morning when I was returning to the hotel. It was another triad. None of them survived for questioning. I didn’t recognize them, although that doesn’t mean anything. I wasn’t close enough to get a good look.”
“Curious, when the Dark Fae need you so badly,” said Carling.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
The Vampyre lifted an elegant shoulder. “Ultimately the Dark Fae did not fare well under Urien’s rule. Elder historians will eventually concur on that point, although his isolationist policy did allow him a great deal of control over trade and business agreements. I’m sure his personal fortune has become quite extensive.”
“I’ll bet it has,” Niniane said between her teeth.
Carling continued, “But Urien closed off Dark Fae society at a critical juncture in this country’s development. With the Dark Fae talent for metallurgy, they could have become a much more powerful and prosperous demesne than they are. I believe certain intelligent people among the Dark Fae will have realized this by now.”
Old fury surged at Carling’s words. Niniane pressed her lips together to keep it contained. She had raged at just such a fact many a time throughout the Industrial Revolution. “Despite the political rhetoric he spouted, Urien never did act in the Dark Fae’s best interests,” she growled. “He only acted in his own.”
“Indeed,” Carling said. “Urien was a metallurgist of some significant talent himself, and a Powerful sorcerer. I suspect you will find that while his fortune increased, the rest of Dark Fae society has grown stagnant economically and politically. As a people their numbers are too small for them to have thrived under such a separation from general trade and interaction with other societies, which is why they need you so badly. As heir, you will satisfy traditionalists like Justice Trevenan. You also have important ties with all the other Elder demesnes, which will appeal to the progressive-minded like Chancellor Riordan, and you have an unprecedented popularity with the general American population. You are a unique gift to the Dark Fae.”
She snorted, and it caused her side to twinge. “All of that sounds good in theory, Carling, but I have to tell you, right now I’m not feeling the love.”
The blonde Vampyre attendant entered the room again, carrying a tray. She set a wineglass filled with some kind of dark liquid on the table near Niniane’s chair and set a sealed bottle of chilled water beside it. Carefully skirting the line of sunshine on the carpet, the attendant set another wineglass near Carling’s chair, bowed her head to her mistress and backed out of the room.
Niniane’s brows contracted. She lifted her glass to sniff gingerly at the contents. Power was steeped into the rich, dark red liquid, which emitted a gentle radiance against her hand. Herbs floated on the surface. She smelled cinnamon and cloves.