by Eileen Wilks
There were several entrances. They rode past the biggest one, where a line of people snaked out through two huge, open doors. They continued to the side of the structure, where a long, narrow porch ten feet above the ground gave access to another entrance. Bilbo's carriage had stopped at the foot of those steps. McClosky was getting out. A small group of people were descending the steps—two gnomes and a man. A human man.
Cynna's heart began to pound.
The horses stopped. Someone took her hand. "You okay?" Cullen asked softly.
"I think I'm going to be sick."
"You won't," he told her firmly. "But if you absolutely have to prove me wrong—and I know you like doing that—aim for Bilbo's shoes."
"Good plan."
The man following the two gnomes wore the same kind of long dress Cullen had been given, only his was made of much nicer fabric—something with a sheen. It was a golden brown. Over that he wore a long, sleeveless robe or vest in a plush material the color of dirty snow. No hat. His hair was sandy brown; his complexion, fair; his features, pleasant but unremarkable.
He wasn't fat, wrinkled, or bald. A bit stocky, but otherwise he looked like his picture. Just like his picture.
Cynna didn't see what the others did. She did notice, barely, Cullen's hand at her elbow, supporting her when she climbed out of the carnage, as if she might have forgotten how to do that. She heard voices, but they were a mere buzzing, like insects.
The man moved up to stand in front of her. "Cynna?" His voice wobbled. He looked like he was trying to smile and couldn't quite bring it off. "You're my little Cynna?"
She nodded slowly. Her head might fall off if she weren't careful. "You're Daniel?"
"No!" His voice went loud and gruff, and he grabbed her. "No, not Daniel—I'm Daddy! Or Da, or Father, or Dad…" His arms closed tight around her. "Don't call me Daniel," he said, and there was a hint of tears mixed with the touch of brogue in his voice. "To everyone else I can be Daniel. Not to you. Not to you."
He was her height exactly. Five-ten. He smelled strange—smoky, with some spicy cologne mixed in. He was holding on too tight. She didn't think she could breathe. She pushed away. "Too fast," she said, almost panting, as if he'd sucked up all the air when he grabbed her. "You're going too fast for me. Until a couple days ago I thought you'd run out on us. Now…"
"Of course. Of course." He ran a hand over his head, smoothing back the sandy hair… hair she realized was different from her old photo, because it started farther back on his forehead. "I'm tripping over my own feet, aren't I, now? But you look so much like her… ha." He smiled, and mischief twinkled in eyes the color of whisky—eyes she recognized, having seen them in the mirror all her life.
He put his hands on her shoulders, beaming at her. "Now you're thinking, who is this man? He can't be my dad, who would know his sweet Mary is a small, round woman with dark hair and eyes. But you've her nose, you know, if not her build." He touched the tip of that nose with one finger. "And her generous mouth, as I can see in spite of all that fancy work you've put on your pretty face. And something of her stubborn chin, too, I think. Though I flatter myself it's my eyes you've got, aren't they, now?"
Cynna felt herself nodding. Yes, those were her eyes in his face. Though he saw his eyes in her face, and wasn't that funny? Because they each had their own eyes, after all.
He heaved a great, meaningful, gusty sigh. "We've much to say to each other, but not, I suppose, all at once, or while standing out here in the cold. And my lord councilors wish to meet you."
One of the gnomes—not Bilbo—said something unintelligible, reminding Cynna of her charm. She closed her hand around it, and the whisper told her the gnome wanted Daniel to let their guests come inside and rest before some big meeting, and he could escort his daughter to her chambers.
Daniel glanced down at the gnome, nodded, and said something in the other language that the charm translated as polite agreement, then switched back to English. "Come, come inside. We will talk while we can, before you must… ha! It's hard, but you're here for more than the easing of my heart."
She was here because she'd been kidnapped. Reminded of several things, she took a step back and glanced around. Cullen stood beside her, his face as expressionless as she'd ever seen it. Usually he hid with smiles or words. Ruben was beside him, in a wooden wheelchair she hadn't noticed until that moment. One of the gray-dressed guards stood behind it. He was as large as Tash and the same color, but lacked the tusks.
"We would all appreciate a chance to rest and refresh ourselves before the meeting with your council," Ruben said. "But we will go to our rooms together. You have given us rooms near each other, as I asked?"
"But of course," said Bilbo. "We wishing for you all comforts. We—"
A laugh drifted out from the open door… followed by a woman. "Honored Councilor," she said in clear English in a voice like bells and fog, "their notion of comfort probably doesn't involve being dragged through a gate and thrown down into the snow to provide dinner for the dondredii."
"That," Bilbo said with some dignity, "was not being as we intending to happen."
"But they are here," she said indulgently as she floated down the steps. "Perhaps they will forgive, since your need is so great."
She was slightly less than Cynna's height and much more slender, her bones as delicate as a child's. Her skin was dusky, her eyes dark, her hair pure white. It was short in front and curled wildly around her face, but in back it bubbled below her hips like a frothy waterfall. She wore a long white dress, sleeveless, loose, and gathered at the waist by an embroidered sash the color of the sky at twilight. Her feet were bare, and she wore no underclothes___
which Cynna knew for certain because the dress was transparent.
Her face was exotic and beautiful and shaped like a cat's—wide at the eyes and cheeks, narrowing to a delicate, pointed chin. Her ears were long and pointed.
"I have long wished to meet a lupus," the elf-woman said, and she walked straight up to Cullen, stopping much too close. She put her hands on his chest and tilted her head to one side as she smiled into his eyes. "Hello."
* * *
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cynna's chambers consisted of two rooms. The bedroom was tiny, more like a nest than a room, being mostly bed. A huge, thick mattress overflowing with a whole rainbow's worth of pillows and blankets covered almost all the floor.
The sitting room was bigger, but no less colorful. Ocher walls extruded themselves to form a bench that made a U out of one end of the room. The wall-bench was wide enough for a human tush, but less than a foot above the floor—a good height for a gnome, she supposed. It, too, was crowded with cushions in many colors. There were two straight wooden chairs built for a human-size person—one orange, one purple. No cushions. Both looked uncomfortable.
The whole place was uncomfortable, and it wasn't just the colors.
At the other end of the room was a round table a lot like the one in her hotel room back home, only with shorter legs and painted bright blue. Four fat floor cushions surrounded it. Between the table and one end of the bench was a cupboard painted green and yellow and black.
A short, dark-haired woman stood in front of the cupboard. Her name was Adrienne. She wore a knee-length yellow dress with gray trousers and a long gray vest; her hair was long and braided. She was about fifty years old and she was human—she'd told Cynna that when she announced she was Cynna's maid. She'd shown Cynna how to control the mage lights drifting around the ceiling with a couple words in the Common Tongue, repeated what Cynna had been told about the location of the common rooms, explained that the baths were underground—where she seemed to think she was going to wash Cynna personally.
Not going to happen. But a shampoo would be nice.
At the moment Adrienne was holding up a dress she'd taken from the cupboard. It was long, shiny, and dizzyingly bright—green and pink and gold playing tag all over a lipstick red background.
It made Cy
nna's head hurt. "You've got to be kidding."
"Dalnee horra fall nutty sieve matta play, noresh," the woman said. Or something like that. The charm whispered to Cynna, "This would be appropriate for meeting with the Council, madam."
"Can't you get me some pants? Something… plainer. Like what I'm wearing, only clean."
Adrienne looked pained and launched into a long explanation about colors and caste and stuff. Cynna tried to pay attention, but her mind wasn't cooperating.
He hadn't known. That's what she kept thinking, over and over. He hadn't known.
Daniel Weaver had escorted them to their rooms, chatting amiably all the while about the problems with applying what he knew of science and engineering ("Not much," he'd said cheerfully, "but I was ever a history buff, and the older things work better here.") to innovations useful in Edge. Cynna hadn't really listened. She'd been thinking about that elf-woman and the way she'd put her hands on Cullen. Cynna had wanted to toss that frail, lovely body somewhere. Just pick her up and throw her.
That wasn't the reaction of a friend. Jealousy was stupid and pointless. It hurt. And it wouldn't go away.
Fortunately, the elf-woman had. After planting a kiss on Cullen's mouth, she'd murmured something too low for Cynna to hear and drifted off as absently as she'd arrived without speaking to any of the rest of them.
None of whom seemed to have noticed Cynna's reaction. Please, God, don't let Cullen have noticed. That's what she was thinking when her father followed her into her room. He'd asked about her mother, all excited and happy. Had Mary waited long before remarrying? Did Cynna get along with her stepfather, whoever that might be? Had Mary ever gone back to school the way she wanted to?
He'd been so eager, the questions tumbling out as if pent up all these years. "I'm sorry," he'd said, catching himself with a laugh. "I want to hear about you, too, my beautiful daughter… but Mary? She's well?"
So Cynna had told him. She had to, didn't she? His Mary had been dead for nearly twenty years… even longer in some ways, because Cynna didn't recognize her mom at all in the Mary he spoke of. She didn't tell him that. What good would it do? He didn't need to know the woman whose memory he'd cherished all these years had died as she'd lived. Drunk.
Had she just blurted it out, though? She'd wanted to be gentle. She'd tried, but he'd been so happy, and he'd left with his eyes wet and shocked…
"You will wear this, then, madam?" the charm whispered at Cynna.
She jerked her attention back to the matter at hand. Clothes. Really ugly clothes. "No, I won't." Someone scratched at the door. She turned away in relief. "Come in."
Cullen breezed in. "Ruben wants to… ah, what's that?"
He was looking at the red monstrosity in Adrienne's hand. "The dress they think I should wear. Not going to happen. Ah—Cullen, this is Adrienne. Adrienne, Cullen Seabourne."
He was revved, not relaxed, not wearing the look of a man who's just had a quickie with… Shut up, she told herself fiercely. That kind of thinking would make her crazy. Well, crazier.
Besides, elf-woman had drifted away after greeting Cullen and ignoring the rest of them.
"Hmm." Cullen studied the dress, moving around as if he needed to see it from every angle. "I see," he said, nodding mysteriously, and told Cynna "Go see Ruben. He wants to talk to you. I'll take care of this."
Lily could have helped with a wardrobe problem, but Cullen? Still, just thinking about Lily, picturing her reaction if she'd been told to wear that dress, made Cynna feel better for some reason. "I want pants."
"Trust me." Then he startled her. He brushed a kiss across her cheek. "Go."
The doors were the most ordinary thing about this place, being the right height and nicely rectangular. They didn't lock, though—didn't even latch. Either gnomes had no concept of privacy or they didn't want their guests indulging in it.
The hall was emphatically not normal. The floor tilted. So did the ceiling, which varied from a comfortable ten feet here to maybe six feet at its other end, where three stairs took it around a corner. Which was not a right angle. She took a deep breath, but that didn't help. The air felt oozy, as if the walls were breathing out oily vapors. Cynna gritted her teeth against the sensation.
They had this section of the Chancellery to themselves—eight little suites like Cynna's with a common room at one end of the hall and the bathroom—sans actual bathtubs—at the other. Presumably Steve and Ms. Wright would be moving into two of the suites eventually.
Ruben's door was a few feet down the hall from hers.
She knocked softly—a hard knock would open the door—and spoke her name. He told her to come in.
Ruben's room was laid out like hers, but the walls were purple and the floor was a mosaic of orange and yellow. His table was pale blue and held a bowl of fruit and nuts. His air felt oozy, too.
He was sitting on the wall-bench, propped up by pillows and with his splinted leg stretched out. The wooden wheelchair was an arm's length away. The scruffy look didn't suit Ruben the way it did Cullen, but beneath his whiskers his color looked good. If he was in pain, it didn't show. "You should see this dress they wanted me to wear. Ugliest thing I've ever seen."
"You refused it?"
That wasn't criticism. Ruben had had one of his feelings as they were disembarking from the barge. He wanted them to refuse to wear what they were offered at first. "It wasn't hard. That is one ugly dress." She moved restlessly around the room. "I wish we had windows, don't you?"
"My office in Mr. Hoover's namesake lacks windows. So does yours, as I recall. I'd ask you to sit," he added dryly, "but you might explode if you tried to be still, and then we'd have bits of burst Cynna all over. It wouldn't improve the color scheme… if we can call the random assault of color a scheme."
She managed a grin. "I wouldn't. Gan might."
"Are you all right, Cynna? The meeting wasn't too difficult?"
He'd surprised her, though maybe she should have expected this. Most of the time she was Agent Weaver. Now and then she was Cynna, and then it was okay to tell him things, if she wanted to. Personal things.
She did. "He didn't know about my mother."
"That she was dead, you mean?"
She nodded, though that was only part of what her father hadn't known. Why did it matter so much? Did she think he wouldn't have gotten himself lost if he'd known he was leaving her with a woman who'd die young?
"You told him. That was hard."
"It was like I'd hit him somewhere inside… he didn't stay after that. He said he'd be fine, he'd be all right, only he needed a little time to adjust to the news, but he meant he needed to be alone so he could cry. I took something away from him. Something important."
"Not you. You are not responsible for his pain."
Cynna knew that, but guilt was a familiar pit, one she'd long ago dug deep. One she'd learned to climb back out of. "I guess my mother took it from him. Or God, Or the disease that killed her."
"Did you tell him how she died?"
"He didn't ask. I guess he will, though." She took two quick steps, though there was nowhere to go. "I guess I'll have to tell him."
"Lies can be useful in our profession," Ruben said calmly, "but I think you don't want to use your father. Did you tell him about the baby?"
Cynna's mouth opened. Nothing came out. She felt her cheeks heating and decided she would sit down, after all. One of the hard chairs was right behind her, so she used it. "I guess you heard."
"Tash mentioned it. She assumed I already knew."
No privacy, no privacy at all on that damned barge. "I only just found out myself, and I haven't told anyone. Except Cullen, that is, and he already knew. Everyone here seems to just know somehow. I thought… I should have told you."
"I'm sure you would have. Events have forced us along at a rapid pace. I take it Mr. Seabourne is the father?"
Cynna nodded, miserable. She felt like such an idiot. She wanted to tell him she'd been on the pill, that it hadn'
t happened because she was careless. She couldn't make herself speak.
Ruben waited another beat, giving her a chance to continue, than said crisply, "Tell me about the ugly dress."
He didn't call her Agent Weaver, but she heard the switch clearly—and with great relief, though she'd probably obsess over his reaction later. "They've got all these ideas about how color signifies caste and profession. Adrienne was explaining… ah, she's my maid. A human." She glanced around, then looked a question at him. He answered with a slight shake of his head, so she went on, "This room doesn't work so well for you, does it? Everything's too low. Makes it hard to transfer."
"My man is seeing about obtaining different furnishings as well as more appropriate clothing. I was offered a pale blue gown with an orange and green robe."
She grinned. He'd said "my man" like he'd had a personal manservant all his life. "I'd like to see that."
"You won't."
The door swung open. "It's boring here. Where's Cullen Seabourne? I want to go swimming."
Gan's fashion sense fit right in. She wore an electric blue robe over a snug little sheath striped in yellow and green and purple. No shoes, but she had added socks to the ensemble. "We can't swim now," Cynna said. "We have to meet with the council soon."
"You have to meet the stupid council. I don't."
"I do." Cullen sauntered through the doorway. He was looking very mild and peaceable, except for his eyes. Blue could burn. "I suspect you'd be bored, though, so you're right. No reason for you to go to the meeting. You trust us to make the right decisions, don't you? Or maybe it's the council you trust."
Gan glared at him. "I'm not stupid."
"Then don't say stupid things. Your life may not depend on recovering the medallion, but your testing does."
Emotions did a quick-march all over Gan's ugly, expressive little face. She wanted to argue so badly. She settled for kicking one of the pillows. "I'll go to the stupid meeting, but I don't have to be here." She stomped out the door, leaving it open.
