by Jayne Faith
True to his word, Oliver held a velvet bag that contained his bottle of Gnomish whiskey. I knew what the bag held because I’d found his stash back when I was still living at home. The bottle was nearly full back then, as my father rarely drank, and I’d slugged down about an ounce just to try it. It’d slid like smooth fire over my throat, but even as a dumb teenager, I realized it was good stuff. I’d never touched the bottle again, though, for fear he’d notice some was missing.
“I’ll grab some glasses,” I said, resigned to playing host.
I went back into the kitchenette and opened cupboards until I found neat rows of water glasses, wine goblets, champagne flutes, narrow highballs, and shorter lowballs. I grabbed three of the latter. I also grabbed the electric kettle, a box of herbal tea, and a mug for Nicole, and put everything on a tray.
In the living room, Oliver poured three shots. He, Maxen, and I each took a glass, raised them, and then knocked back the amber liquid. I cleared my throat and licked my lips. It was even better than I remembered.
Nicole busied herself making tea.
Oliver leaned back in his chair and crossed one ankle over the other knee.
The warmth of the Gnomish whiskey spread through me, loosening the ache in my chest by a fraction.
“What’s the news from the Summerlands?” I asked Maxen, breaking the silence. The day had been so intensely personal, I needed to focus elsewhere, beyond the fortress.
He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “It’s not good. Finvarra’s nowhere to be found, but it hasn’t affected the Unseelie assault. They’ve come up with some new weapon that seems to be slowly weakening Melusine’s shield around the Summerlands castle.”
I blew out a loud, irritated breath. “If only we could have caught the bastard when he was here in the fortress.”
“Oberon thinks Finvarra is still helping to direct things from wherever he is. Periclase is the face of it, but Finvarra is probably still heavily involved in the decisions.”
Nicole made a small hum of agreement and took a sip from her steaming mug. She was sitting on the sofa next to Maxen, nestled into the corner with pillows around her, shoes off and legs curled up.
I tilted my head and slanted a look at a corner of the ceiling.
“What are you thinking?” Maxen asked.
“We need to take Finvarra out before the Tuatha decide to show up.” I was stating the obvious, but I also had the seed of an idea.
“Yeah? How?” he said.
“Do you remember Eunice?”
He gave me a blank look.
“The, uh, naked lady who came through the doorway with us to the Summerlands after we surprised Finvarra.”
“Ah, yes. Of course.”
“She’s here in the fortress,” I said. “Apparently they were keeping her under house arrest in the Summerlands, and she begged me to come back here, so I had Amalie set her up.”
Maxen’s dark blond brows rose slowly.
“We should talk to her. She spent several months as one of Finvarra’s companions, going back to when he was hiding out with the—”
“The Undine.” Maxen finished my sentence. He straightened. “Do you think Finvarra’s gone back there? He and Queen Doineanne seemed to have an arrangement.”
A crawling sensation worked up the center of my back at the sound of the Undine queen’s name. She’d held me and Jasper captive for a short time, and she’d had obvious designs on Jasper, boldly propositioning him. Beyond that affront, she was cold, wild, and rather creepy with her too-round fishlike eyes.
I lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “Maybe. Or Periclase might be hiding him. Good old blood dad was doing his damnedest to ingratiate himself to Finvarra last time I had the displeasure of being in their presence.” I squinted at Maxen. “Don’t we have spies or something?”
He snorted a laugh. “We have contacts and allies, but Carraig aren’t exactly built to be spies.”
He had a point. As a race, we weren’t known for grace and subtlety. Stone bloods preferred sword fights to intrigue and sneaking around.
“The woman, Eunice. You think she might legitimately be able to help?” Oliver asked, circling us back.
I shrugged. “She seems to think she has some useful knowledge about Finvarra, and she’s very eager to help.”
“Let’s get her in here, then.”
My brows rose a fraction, and I flicked a glance at Maxen.
I stood and went to one of the house phones and dialed the reception desk in my office, where I knew one of the three pages Amalie had assigned to me was on duty.
“Hello, Jaci,” I said when a female voice answered. “I need a guest brought to my quarters.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
I gave her Eunice’s details. It was late enough that the woman might have retired to bed, but I was willing to take the chance. Things were worse in the Summerlands, and we needed to take down Finvarra.
Eunice arrived fifteen minutes later, and if she’d been sleeping, she did a good job of looking alert and put-together. She was an attractive woman, probably a bit older than I’d initially pegged her—maybe fifteen years my senior.
She looked around, her eyes snagging on my father. Her lips parted, and her cheeks pinked subtly. Oliver’s expression didn’t budge.
“Your Majesty.” Eunice dropped into a deep curtsy.
“Apologies for the late hour,” I said. “Please take a seat, Eunice.”
She went to the chair opposite Oliver’s and perched on the edge with her knees pressed tightly together, her hands folded in her lap. She peered at me expectantly.
“We’d like to know anything useful you can tell us about Finvarra. Anything that might help us discover where he is now.”
Her eyelashes fluttered. “Oh, yes, of course. I’m happy to help, Your Highness. Ah, let’s see. Well. He has a deep affinity for squid from the Kelpie realm. He adores linen sheets produced by the Sylphs, can barely sleep without them, the baby. Oh! And he favors Elvish wines. The dark, meaty reds, you know, the ones that pair well with—”
“But do you know where he is?” Oliver cut in impatiently. “His alliances. Friends. People who might be willing to hide him.”
I shot him a hard look and gave a slight shake of my head.
“I believe I see where you’re going, Eunice,” I said gently. I was trying to think of what Maxen would do to try to draw out information he needed. “Whatever ruler has taken him in would consider it an honor to have the Unseelie High King as a guest and would want to please him. If we can discover where some of Finvarra’s favorite things are being delivered, it could lead us to him.”
She nodded vigorously. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“And what of his potential allies?” I asked. “Did you ever overhear him speak of realms where he might feel safe?”
“You already know he’s spent time with the Undine,” she said.
“Yes, you’d mentioned you first met Finvarra when he was in Doineanne’s realm.”
She nestled further into the plush cushion, and her expression became shrewd. “Well, he’s not there now.”
I tilted my head. “Oh? Why not?”
A conspiratorial grin tugged at the corners of her lips. “He and the Undine queen had a falling out.”
“Really,” I drawled. Seeing she enjoyed gossiping, I leaned in and smiled encouragingly. “What happened?”
She looked down at the floor, a smirk still playing across her face. “She propositioned him. He refused her. That made Queen Doineanne positively livid.” Her gaze lifted to me, and she covered her mouth with one hand, giggling behind it.
Oliver let out a noisy, annoyed exhalation through his nose. My father abhorred this type of chatter and rumormongering, but even he had to see that it was useful information. Fortunately, Eunice didn’t seem to notice his disapproval.
“So Doineanne kicked him out?” I pressed.
“Pretty much, yes. And that’s when we all move
d to the Duergar realm at the invitation of King Periclase, your esteemed birth father.” Her eyes sharpened on me.
I snorted. “Periclase is a horrible man. No need to speak of him with any deference in my presence.”
Her lips formed a surprised little O. “I can’t say I disagree with you there,” she whispered and then looked around with paranoia, as if someone would jump out of the walls and punish her for not protesting my criticism of the Duergar king.
I imagined Eunice had spent most of her life as a companion to powerful men, or at least men who had more power than she did, and it was clear from my interactions with her that she wasn’t the type to use her sexuality to try to gain control. She’d taken a different approach. For someone like Eunice, a harmonious and subservient demeanor was a matter of survival. I liked the thought of her coming to a point in her life where she could speak more freely.
“Do you think Periclase might be aiding Finvarra?” I asked. “Maybe that’s where he returned.”
She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be my first guess. I imagine King Periclase would have offered, but I think the High King Finvarra would instead go some place a bit less obvious.”
I nearly told her to stop calling Finvarra “King”—the title was self-proclaimed, as the man didn’t even have a defined realm of his own—but held back. She couldn’t help her habits of etiquette.
“One of the less civilized Unseelie kingdoms, perhaps?” Maxen suggested.
“That’s my assumption, my lord,” she said. Her brows drew together, and she tapped a finger against the corner of her mouth for a moment. “Not the Ogres. Not the Boggart realm. I’m sure he mentioned not being on good terms with either. I’d say Daoine Sidhe or possibly the Salamander kingdom.”
I turned to Maxen. “I thought there was bad blood between Finvarra and his former tribe?”
Finvarra was Daoine, though he’d broken from the kingdom generations ago, abandoning his homeland to seek greater power.
I’d expected Maxen to be the most knowledgeable on Faerie history, but Eunice answered instead. “You’re right. There was. But while King Finvarra was supposed to be banished from Faerie, he mended fences with his people. All in secret, of course, as King Oberon never would have allowed it.”
I drew a slow breath and gave Eunice a nod. “You’ve been extremely helpful. That’s all for tonight. Please let me know if you think of anything else that might aid us.”
She gave me a pleased smile, peeked at Oliver, and then curtsied.
Once she’d departed, my father harrumphed and shifted around irritably in his chair.
I gave him an amused look. “She liked you. You could have been a little nicer to help grease the wheels.”
He grunted and reached for the bottle of Gnomish single-malt and splashed a bit into his glass.
Nicole stifled a yawn against the back of her hand. “I think I need to turn in,” she said. “I just can’t seem to stay awake into the night these days.”
Maxen turned to her, a soft smile on his face. “Let’s get you home.” To me, he said, “I’ll see what I can do with Eunice’s information.”
I had a feeling he would be up late making inquiries.
Oliver also stood. “I should be off as well.” He left the Gnomish whiskey on the table.
I rose and saw them out. I would speak to Maxen soon, to inform him of my decision to appoint him as the acting leader of the realm, a sort of prime minister to my crown, but I needed to quickly get some things in place first.
I stayed up late, scouring the archives and by-laws of the kingdom for information about establishing a new position in the realm. It was very late by the time I found what I needed, but I wrote up a document that I believed would suffice as a royal decree. It was designed to give essentially all decision-making power to Maxen and written as an order from his monarch, which he couldn’t refuse. I felt a tiny stab of guilt at laying all of that on him, but it was the right thing to do. He would accept the responsibility, and it would ease tension in the fortress. I’d tried to do it Oberon’s way, but it was obvious how disastrous his decision to put me on the throne had turned out to be.
I sent the documents off to Amalie for processing and then collapsed onto my bed.
I awoke to the ringing of my house phone.
“Your Highness, one Jasper Glasgow has arrived outside the fortress seeking audience with you,” came Jaci’s voice. “He says it’s urgent.”
My heart bumped at Jasper’s name. “Please admit him to the fortress and send him directly to my quarters.”
I straightened the creased clothes I’d slept in and quickly twisted my hair up into a loose bun.
My stomach tightened with the uncertainty of whether Jasper was bringing good news or bad. The way things were going in Faerie lately, I wasn’t optimistic.
Chapter 16
WHEN I WENT to answer the door, I froze in surprise at who stood on the other side. Oliver bustled past me with a paper plate of freshly-baked pastries.
I closed the door and turned to follow his progress as he made his way through the front room.
“Got coffee on?” he asked over his shoulder. The smell of dough and frosting wafted past, and my mouth watered a little.
“Uh . . .” I trailed after him to the kitchenette. “What are you doing?”
He lifted the plate and then plopped it down on the counter. “I brought breakfast.”
I cast a glance toward the front door. Jasper was going to arrive any second.
“I’m really okay,” I said. “There’s no need to check on me.”
“It’s just breakfast, Petra,” he said with a gruff little growl to his voice that told me he was still worried about how I was handling the execution. He plugged in the coffee pot and began rummaging around in cupboards for grounds.
The doorbell chimed.
“That Maxen?” Oliver asked, setting a couple of mugs next to the pastries.
“No,” I muttered and went to answer the bell.
Jasper stood there with a gleam in his eye and a little grin on his face. His smile broadened as he stepped inside and kicked the door closed with his heel, his golden eyes doing a slow burn as they roved over me. With a rough-edged gesture, he snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me into him.
“Greetings, Your Highness,” he whispered against my neck.
A wave of delicious heat stoked low in my middle, but thinking of Oliver only a couple of rooms away, I tried to disentangle from Jasper’s embrace.
The sound of a throat clearing behind me told me I was too slow.
I stepped away from Jasper and straightened my shirt.
My father strode forward and stopped next to me, his face stony as he sized up Jasper.
“Jasper, this is my father, Oliver Maguire,” I said quickly, trying to assume control of the awkwardness that was growing by the second. “Oliver, meet Jasper Glasgow.”
Jasper stepped forward and extended his hand. “Well met. I’m glad to see you escaped the Duergar realm unharmed.”
After a moment’s hesitation—that split second somehow saying everything about Oliver’s lack of approval—my father grasped Jasper’s hand. The muscles in Oliver’s arm bulged as he squeezed, likely much more firmly than was necessary.
Jasper’s jaw tightened momentarily. But he managed a brief, genuine smile. Oliver nodded, apparently seeing something that satisfied him the tiniest bit. Enough for that moment, anyway.
“My page said your visit was urgent,” I said to Jasper, speaking more formally to him than I had in a long time. Maybe ever.
I tried not to fidget as I felt Oliver observing us. I hadn’t really mentioned to my father how . . . involved I’d become with Jasper Glasgow. Not that Oliver would have expected such a disclosure. He and I had never engaged in talk of our romantic involvements, and that’d been fine by me, especially considering my suspicion that he’d been involved with Marisol at some point—maybe multiple times—in the past. I’d lived most of my ad
ult life outside Faerie, which gave me the freedom to date without worrying about my father’s judgment. So this—having the man in my life in the same room with my serious-as-a-funeral father—was an entirely new experience. I wasn’t loving it so far.
Jasper nodded and kept steady eye contact with me. “Aye. To cut to the heart of it, I took your advice and paid the Ghillie Dubh a visit.” A grimace of annoyance flashed briefly over his handsome features. “Morven refused to deal with me. He asked for you.”
“Maybe he just misses my sunny disposition,” I joked. No one laughed. “Did he give any hint that he knew where the Chalice of Dagda was?”
“He did.” The boisterousness of Jasper’s greeting had faded, and his golden eyes had grown strained. “And I asked him if he knew Finvarra’s whereabouts, and he swore he didn’t.”
“We’re trying to develop a lead on that front,” I said. “I’m hopeful Maxen will come up with something soon. But we need to jump on that information about the Chalice. I’ll change, and we can go to the Aberdeen.”
I turned to head to my bedroom, but Oliver caught my arm.
“You can’t just waltz into the Duergar realm,” he said. “Not now. It’s too dangerous.”
I peered up into my father’s eyes. He looked every bit as worried as Jasper, but for slightly different reasons.
“I’ll go in directly through the doorway in Morven’s pub,” I said. “And I’ll keep a low profile. He’d never rat me out.”
Oliver shook his head. “If Periclase catches wind you’re in his realm, there’s a good chance you won’t make it back out.”
Inside I was bristling, but I forced my expression and voice to soften. “I know it’s a risk, but we desperately need help. Finvarra still has the Stone of Fal. We’ve got to have something to counter it.”
“No, you don’t,” Oliver argued, his face hardening even more. “Finvarra will likely wait until most of Faerie has gathered in one place to face the Tuatha, and then he’ll use the Stone. But we don’t know when that will be. The gods may wait a hundred years to attack.”
