A slow feral smile began to spread over Aryal’s angular face.
Niniane turned to the harpy and continued, “The crimes have been committed against me, not the Wyr. There have been more than one, and they have occurred within the Dark Fae demesne. There is no doubt in my mind that those involved acted without the official sanction or knowledge of the Wyrkind. It must also be said—those Wyr were not the only offenders. Therefore, it is up to us to dispense justice, and you must accept this.”
The harpy’s smile froze in midformation. She searched Niniane’s expression with a sharp unspoken question. The fullness entered Niniane’s eyes and turned them damp, but her face remained composed. She watched as comprehension came to Aryal. The harpy bowed her head in silent acquiescence.
Niniane said, “We do recognize how important it is for the Wyr to be engaged in this process. They must demonstrate their good intentions to the Dark Fae during this time of transition.”
“Uh,” Aryal said, her voice subdued. “That makes sense.”
Niniane dropped the more formal speech. “And I have had a difficult week. A visit from my good friends is a comfort to me. Please accept my invitation to join us until the coronation. I know Dragos will send a representative anyway, and I would be grateful for the companionship and the chance to say good-bye properly as I return home.”
She looked at Aubrey then, and she couldn’t keep the entreaty out of her eyes. There it all was, said as best as she could manage under the circumstances. It was an assumption of authority, an official declaration of alliance and a statement of loyalty, and a compromise and promise to change, all wrapped together into one package. And it would not be a bad thing at all to show everybody that she had Powerful friends as allies, even if they would not be staying with her for long.
Aubrey studied her then glanced at a sober-looking Aryal. Finally he assessed Carling’s neutral expression. Come on, Niniane urged him. This is a good thing. Accept it and back me up.
Aubrey turned back to her. Please forgive me for asking this, highness, he said silently. Are you willing to share the facts as you have examined them with us at a more private time? I do not mean to question your judgment, only to ask that you help allay my concern for your safety.
She smiled at him, warmed by his care for her dignity in front of the others. She told him, Of course I will.
Aubrey took a deep breath. “We must not forget our own responsibility in all of this,” he said aloud. “I am the one who made the appalling mistake of choosing Geril, who is, after all, the one who caused you the real injury. I cannot apologize enough for that.” He offered her a small grave smile. “And how could you not want your friends at a time like this? It must be difficult to leave behind the home you have known since you were a child. I believe this will be a very good way for you to transition.”
Niniane breathed out a sigh of relief that was shakier than she would have liked. She turned to the harpy. “So will you guys come—if Dragos approves, of course?”
Aryal touched her shoulder with a smile. “Be real, pip-squeak. How often has the Old Man said no to you? We wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
So. Not quite up shit creek, not quite without a paddle—yet.
It was agreed that the sentinels would work with Carling’s entourage to provide security for Niniane as part of the short-term arrangement until the investigation into the attacks was concluded. “We will be visiting together anyway,” Niniane said. “They have guarded me many times over the years and we know each other well.”
Then Niniane nodded to Aubrey, Kellen and Carling as they each bid her goodnight and withdrew. At a gesture from her, Duncan withdrew to stand just inside the patio doors again where he went into a statuelike stillness. When they were all gone, or at least as gone as they were going to get, she sat back in her seat.
Niniane muttered, “So you’ll be around for a couple of weeks now. At least that’s bought me some time.”
Aryal narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about, bought you some time?”
She slumped forward with a groan. She laid her cheek on the table. “Time for the investigation on the attacks, time to find out who I can and can’t trust. At least a little bit. At least for some things.”
Aryal snorted. “That’s easy.”
Niniane smacked the harpy’s knee. “I know I can trust you, goofball,” she said. “I don’t know what I was thinking to let myself get shaken even for a few minutes. I mean, any harpy that will let me gussy her up in pink lipstick and pigtails—”
Aryal smacked her in the back of the head. “Will you shut UP about that. God!”
She gave Aryal an evil grin then sobered. “I’m talking about the people I’m going to be living with for the rest of my life. I have to make Powerful friends fast in the Dark Fae ’hood, or the brutal fact of the matter is, I don’t think I’m going to last very long.”
Aryal laid her head on the table too, facing Niniane, her gaunt features turning serious. “You’re going to be okay,” Aryal promised. Her scowl promised other things as well, like she would rain hell down on anybody that tried to say otherwise. “You’re going to live for a long damn time. We’ll work it out.”
Niniane tried to swallow past a dry throat. Her fingers were cold. She rubbed her hands together. “And since we’re on the subject of finding people to trust, I’ve also got to find somebody to marry.”
Aryal’s head reared up. “What?”
“I’ve made a shopping list for a husband,” she whispered. “He’s got to be Powerful and influential, and someone who wants the throne but can’t get it on his own because he’s got to have a vested interest in keeping me alive.”
The harpy’s stormy eyes widened. “Oh, good God, gak.”
Niniane felt her eyes flood with tears again. This time, no matter how she tried, they spilled over, and then there was no containing the harpy’s panic.
Which was why Niniane was now dancing and trying to pretend she was having a good time.
Because Aryal talked to Duncan who talked to Cameron, who cooked up the idea of a trip out to Big Red’s. Big Red’s was a nearby bar owned by a retired cop and frequented by cops. It was a sturdy place rather than a fancy one, with solid wood furniture and a sizable dance floor and a small kitchen behind the bar that served a limited menu of food, primarily sandwiches and fries. The building was easily defended, and even better, Cameron knew the owner and vouched for his integrity. Niniane, who would have given almost anything to get out of the hotel from hell, jumped at the chance to escape for a few hours. She threw herself into the venture and put on makeup, an outfit, shoes, the whole works.
Besides, she adored music and loved to dance. She did, really. Get her under some stress, and she was bound to turn manic and do something like this anyway. Aryal knew. Niniane had closed down more than a few nightclubs in her time. She would close down Big Red’s too. She would click into her groove any minute now, baby, and shake it out.
But clicking into her groove meant she first had to find it. Her body felt disjointed, graceless. She felt disconnected from the music blaring over the dance-floor speakers. It sounded like a great crash of meaningless noise. The human policewoman, Cameron, dressed casually in jeans, a tank top, and a light summer jacket that hid her gun from casual view, threaded through the other dancers. The floor was packed with a rowdy, good-natured crowd, so Cameron stayed close, while Aryal and Duncan kept watch from one side.
Niniane forced herself to smile, and it felt horrible and fake, a rubbery stretch of tired facial muscles. Nobody else seemed to notice. Cameron smiled back, her cinnamon-sprinkled features lit with pleasure at Niniane’s apparent enjoyment. The whole thing was gruesome, really.