by Eileen Wilks
The barge was still anchored. Water lapped gently against its sides as it swayed in the river's current like a man in a hammock on a lazy summer day. Nothing else was summery. The air was cold and misty. It smelled of the river, smoke from the braziers the gnomes had brought out, and the yeasty scent of fresh-baked bread.
Turned out that Third Assistant of the Red Jasper Collar meant baker of the magical sort. "Collar" referred to a ring of red jasper stones used in lieu of an oven. Cynna had just finished eating two thick, warm slices of magically baked bread slathered with some kind of jam or marmalade.
She sipped at her tea, which she hadn't finished. She would, though. It was specifically for pregnant women—supposed to keep her from getting morning sickness, which so far she'd avoided without any tea. But nausea was one of her least favorite things, so she'd rather not take any chances. If she wasn't crazy about the tea's vaguely floral taste, well, it wasn't bad.
Lily would have hated it here. No coffee.
She missed Lily. She missed cars, too, and cell phones and NPR and Pop Tarts. And sunshine. She'd only been here a few days—no, not days. Sleeps. And she missed the sun something fierce.
How many sleeps? Suddenly anxious, as if losing track of that number meant losing something more nebulous and vastly more important, Cynna counted. "Has it been only six days?" she murmured.
"Sounds right." Cullen sat on the cushion next to hers. He was able walk this morning… slowly. "If you're talking about our sojourn here."
"I am." Cynna glanced at him. He'd broken his fast with smoked fish—three large smoked fish. Lupi were big on protein and needed even more when they were healing. "Does it smell good to you here?"
His sideways glance held surprise. He smiled. "It does. I prefer ocean, but the Ka has a rich bouquet. Much more pleasant than concrete and exhaust fumes."
Her eyebrows shot up. "You like Edge."
"In many ways, yes. I'm not crazy about the growing tendency of various groups to try to kill us, but the air is clean, the land and water smell healthy, and there's an abundance of magic."
Daniel Weaver spoke from across the table. "It took me a while to get used to the seasons here, and of course I spent the first year trying frantically to get back, or at least send a message… but your friend is right. There's much to love about Edge."
Daniel Weaver. Her father. Cynna wasn't used to that word having such an immediate and concrete meaning… "Will you stay here?" she asked. "If everything goes well and they get a gate opened to Earth, will you go back, or will you stay here?"
"I'd thought…" He looked down, fiddling with the knife he'd used to spread his jam. "But my Mary is gone where gates can't take me. I've built a life here, and not such a bad life. I'm guessing Chicago is very different from the city I left, eh?"
She nodded. "Computers, cell phones, TiVo… a lot has changed all over. In Chicago—well, Soldier Field looks like the Jetsons landed and smushed a steel top hat on the old building. And Millennium Park—you should see that. It's pretty cool. Everyone likes the Bean. But not everything has changed. There's still a mayor named Daley, and Cubs fans are still hoping."
Daniel let out a quick laugh. "Hoping? You mean in nearly thirty years they haven't managed to—"
"Hey!" Gan cried indignantly, hands on what might have been her hips, though given her lack of a waistline it was hard to say. "Aren't there any fishies left? Did everyone eat all of the fishies?"
"Sit down," Steve Timms said firmly. "You can have what's left of my fish, but next time come when you're called instead of throwing a pillow at me."
Cynna grinned, Steve had come a long way from wanting to shoot everything that wasn't human.
"Peoples." Bilbo tapped on his glass like a dinner speaker getting the attention of club members. "We is finished eating and is needing to talk."
Cynna exchanged a look with Cullen. Bilbo was right. It was time. But the discussion might not go the way the gnome thought it would. She and Cullen had had their own little talk before leaving the cabin. "We'll talk," Cynna said. "I'll start."
Bilbo shot her a frown. "I first. We have sending for tritons to compel barge onward. Soon tritons to be arriving, but—"
"But first I have to decide if I will go onward with the barge."
"Decide?" Bilbo slapped Ms hand on the table. "What is this deciding to make? We is all knowings that must proceed, or all die. My world it is in danger, yes, but you is in this world. All must go onward! Is only way!"
"I don't go on until I have some questions answered," Cynna said calmly. "We'll start with the question of betrayal. There's a leak somewhere, and I'm thinking it has to be someone on this ship."
Instead of anger or denial, she got confusion. The gnomes exchanged puzzled glances. Tash frowned. "You think we are leaking? Not a leak in the barge, but in the passengers?"
The charm and the learn-language spell must not cover every possible usage. "Leaking information. The slugs with assholes on their faces found us within a day of our leaving the City. They came straight for me. They—or whoever sent them—knew too much."
"Is troubling, yes," Bilbo said. "But is many spells could track somethings as big and well known as chancellor's barge."
"Yeah? Well, that makes the decision to travel on this barge pretty odd, doesn't it?" She looked around the table. "Unless you wanted me out here, grabbing the attention of every faction who wants to keep you from finding your missing medallion."
"Is not making sense for us to—"
"It would explain a lot," Cynna said, raising her voice to speak over him. "I keep wondering why you had to import a Finder. Why even the sidhe can't seem to locate it. You don't really expect me to Find it, do you? You just want me out here trying, drawing all the hostile attention."
Bilbo's frown was so fierce she wanted to warn him about his face freezing that way. "Why you is saying sidhe can't find it?"
"Any people who can perform a translocation spell flawlessly on an instant's notice could find a missing object."
"Who? Who is doing… Theera! She is translocating? When!"
The word came out as a demand, not a question. Cynna looked at Cullen. They'd been undecided earlier about whether to reveal Theera's approach to him. He gave the tiniest movement of his head—not a shake, but a negative. "I'm not answering questions now," she said. "You are. Tell me why you're upset about Theera translocating."
Bilbo didn't like it, but after a moment he shrugged. "We is thinking Theera is not knowing when we planning to leave City. If she translocated back to Rohen, is meaning she knows we about to leave and no reason for her staying in City."
"What's Rohen?"
"Theera's liege is being her half sister, she who is called Theil Ná Rohen. Rohen is being Theil's estate, her land, you understanding? All sidhe who is ruling is having tie to land. Theera is no mage—she is not casting translocation spell. Theil is mage, but not of degree to cast such spell, either. But Theil's lord—who is true lord of Faerie, as he is having land in Second Realm—is very skilled mage. He makes charm device, gifts it to Theil for using to return to Rohen. Theil is letting Theera using charm. Only goes one place—Theil's home in Rohen."
Untangling Bilbo's syntax was giving Cynna a headache. "So Theera's sister has this device and loaned it to her. It's the device, not her own ability, that lets her translocate?" When Bilbo nodded she continued, "But it still takes tremendous power. Translocation is like opening a gate within a realm."
"Theil is having much power. She is tied to her land in sidhe way, so has much power to drawing on. Theera not having such power, but her half sister is letting her use device, so is using Theil's power, not own."
Maybe the sidhe here weren't as powerful as she'd feared. Still… "But they—the sidhe—are kick-ass spell-casters. Why can't they find it? Or do you think they already have?"
Glances were exchanged—this time among Bilbo, Tash, and Wen. Tash spoke. "The sidhe do not often act together. There are four major sidhe estate
s in Edge—Rohen, Gabotá, Leerahan, and Fa Nioth. They are sometimes friendly, always rivals. We think it possible that one of the estate lords has the medallion. If so—if it has reached that lord's land—neither the gnomes nor the other sidhe would be able to find it magically."
"And yet I'm supposed to."
Gan snickered. "That's your Gift, right?"
"Why is that funny?"
"It is!" Gan insisted, as if she'd argued with her. "Don't they all think humans are no-sums? Plain old worthless, huh? Now they have to admit they were wrong." She grinned at Bilbo—always an interesting sight, since she'd kept the pointy teeth of her demonhood. "Wrong, wrong, wrong. You were wrong."
There must be some powerful taboo against killing not-quite demons, Cynna reflected. Or Gan would be dead right now, judging by the look on Bilbo's face.
"Why not admit it, councillor?" Daniel Weaver said suddenly. "After years of suppressing us, treating us like the bastard stepchildren you think we should be, you've had to admit a human can do what you can't. What the sidhe can't do." He looked at Cynna. Real anger—old anger—stirred in his eyes and tightened his mouth. "It's the nature of a Gift, sweetheart. It takes an adept to duplicate through a spell what a lupus does naturally—change his form. It takes an adept to duplicate what any of the Blood do naturally through their innate magic."
For a second Cynna was so preoccupied with the casual way he'd called her "sweetheart" that she didn't catch up with his words. "But humans aren't of the Blood."
Gan snorted. "You are so stupid. All of you. At first I thought maybe you knew what you were talking about, but you don't. There's no difference."
Cullen had quit slouching. "Human magic doesn't look the same," he said slowly.
"So? I guess demon magic looks different from lupus magic, too, doesn't it?"
Cullen nodded. His face was closed down, revealing nothing.
"What does 'of the Blood' mean?" Gan said. "Means you have inborn magic. That's what a Gift is. Inborn magic."
Cynna was trying to think of why that was wrong. It had to be wrong, didn't it? Everyone knew humans were not of the Blood. Everyone. Witches, shamans, lupi all agreed on that. Could everyone be wrong about something so basic?
Being of the Blood meant being born with magic, innate magical abilities that you just did, no need for a spell.
Being Gifted meant the same thing.
Cullen leaned forward, quiet and intense. "Most humans can't do magic. Are you claiming that Gifted humans have nonhuman blood?"
"Don't know and don't care." Gan stood up. "I want to go swim."
"Wait until someone can go in with you," Cynna said automatically.
"He could." Gan pointed at Cullen.
"No, he can't. He hasn't finished healing the damage from yesterday."
Gan sighed. "Boats are boring if I can't swim."
"Bored is okay. Bored means no one's trying to kill us today." Of course, the "day" had just begun. Cynna looked at Bilbo. "What will you do if the medallion is on sidhe land? Attack them?"
"No!" Bilbo looked genuinely horrified. "Is no attacking. Is political matter. Sidhe politics very complex, but Harazeed is knowing how to bargain. We is making known who has medallion, and if no true holder yet, others is making sidhe land-liege return to us."
"Others?"
"Other sidhe. Is complex. You is wanting lessons in sidhe politics? Is having year or two for basic lessons in such?"
Sarcasm, used to distract her. "And if there is a true holder?"
"Is no holder yet. We is of Edge. Is knowing if medallion has formed bond with holder."
Bilbo hadn't exactly answered her question. Cynna looked at Cullen. They'd argued over which of them should play leader. He insisted it had to be her—she had the pull because of her Gift. Right now she wished she had a mindspeech Gift. She settled for arching an eyebrow at him.
Cullen shrugged. "Some truth, probably mixed with misdirection and leaving plenty out. Your decision."
Cynna didn't want to make the decisions. She wanted Ruben here. She wanted sunshine, hot chocolate, and a full-size bed—make that a queen-size bed. And for Cullen to be fully healed so they could put it to good use.
She wanted all sorts of thing she didn't have. She settled for taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Okay. For now, I agree to keep up the hunt as soon as the tritons get here. But I want to talk about how we continue. Is it better to get more of the guard here? Should we leave the barge?"
Cullen looked at her, his blue eyes steady. "You're forgeting one question."
Her jaw tightened. She hadn't forgotten. Denial, much as she loved it, went only so far. She gestured at him to get it said. Asked. Whatever.
"Mr. Weaver," Cullen said, "why are you here?"
Her father's eyebrows shot up. "Why, to be with my daughter."
Cullen shook his head. "That might be your reason. But you aren't in charge, are you? Why have the councilors allowed you to come with us? Why do you even know that the medallion is missing? Every other human we've met has been a servant, a laborer, at best a small merchant. None have any authority."
Daniel's face reddened, but it was Bilbo who answered. "Daniel Weaver is bringing inventions to us, innovations from industry of his realm. We is profiting from them, so he is making deal, becomes adviser to chancellor. Cannot hide death of chancellor from his advisers. They notice," he finished with heavy sarcasm, "if they speaking with dead man."
"Bullshit," Cullen said.
Abruptly Daniel shoved to his feet. "They aren't idiots, councilor." He looked at Cullen. "I know about the medallion because I found the chancellor's body, not because they trust me overly much. I'm on this barge because I am Cynna's father—which matters to me in one way and matters to them for quite a different reason. I suspect you've guessed why fatherhood bought me a ticket for this trip."
"You're supposed to persuade her to cooperate," Cullen said coolly. "If that doesn't work, you'll make a dandy hostage."
"No," Bilbo said sharply. "Daniel Weaver, you is telling him—"
"With all due respect, councillor—shut up." Daniel looked at Cynna then. His eyes were hard and strange—not the warm whiskey color she was used to, but a brittle amber. "Don't let them use me against you. Don't let me do it, either." And he stalked off.
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Two Sleeps Later…
Cullen's eyes shifted over those assembled to drive him out. Thirteen. Only thirteen proud I had taken the trouble of coming together to rid themselves of the dangerous contamination in their clan.
Such a small clan, and so proud, so honored by the other clans. Such great du. They couldn't have their honor damaged, could they? If he wouldn't break himself to suit their notion of honor, they'd do it for him.
Thirteen present… but not his father. Surely he'll come. He's late, but he'll be here. Even if he doesn't understand, can't speak for me before the clan the way a father ought to, he didn't mean what he said. He won't leave me to face this alone…
Thirteen men… and one woman. Old, bent, her eyes filmed with cataracts, the Etorri Rhej spoke. "Cullen Seabourne, step forward."
It was happening. It was happening now, and his father wasn't coming. He'd meant it. He'd said Cullen would be dead to him if he refused the Rho's order, and he'd meant it.
Cullen held himself rigid and stared at the old woman, who seemed to think he'd cooperate politely. His throat burned. His eyes burned. "I'm right here and you're only half-blind. Surely you can see me?"
"Step forward," the Rhej repeated.
He shrugged. "No."
The man on his left was built much like him, with elegant hands and a neatly trimmed beard. His voice was much deeper than his appearance suggested, baritone heading for bass. "Don't make this harder on everyone than it has to be, son."
Son? Heat prickled over him like lightning waiting to strike. And he could have struck. He could burn them all—which was why they were so eager to
be rid of him, wasn't it? "You're my Rho," he said to the man who was also his uncle. "For another few minutes, anyway, you're my Rho. You are not my father. I'm told…" He had to stop and swallow, which messed up his delivery. "I have it on good authority that I don't have a father."
"This doesn't have to happen. You can still renounce sorcery, remain—"
"I could renounce the Change, too, no doubt." He'd told them that, over and over. They didn't hear, couldn't understand, that the one was as much part of him as the other. No more essential than breathing, either one of them.
"No." The old woman's voice was sharp. "He cannot. Blame me, Cullen Seabourne, if you must blame. I have Seen that you are not to remain. Your Rho has hoped to change my seeing by persuading you to renounce what cannot be put aside. He meant well, but he offers false hope. You were bom Etorri, but your fate does not lie with."
She'd been right. The old bat had been right. His fate lay with Nokolai, not.
With that thought came the knowledge that he was dreaming—same tired old dream, one his subconscious ought to have grown weary of playing with years ago. But that knowledge was enough to shift the dream, not end it…
He was on the ground now, held down by strong hands on his feet, his knees, his arms. Mist swirled over him and them—they'd lost their faces to that mist, but the Rho's voice was clear and certain: "I call seco on Cullen Seabourne, born."
"Let me go, fool!" cried a woman, unseen in the mist.
Ah, yes—things were happening a bit out of order, but that would be his mother, who'd shown up to berate the Rho, the Rhej, the whole clan, bless her. Not that they had let her attend the seco itself, but she'd tried. Cullen braced himself for the next part—
"Or I'll shoot every sorry-ass one of you."
That was not in the script. Cullen turned his head as the mists cleared, and saw Cynna standing a few feet away with her legs wide, her .357 gripped in one hand and braced by the other in proper FBI shoot-'em-up fashion. She was extremely pissed. "Maybe I'll shoot you all anyway," she growled. "Bunch of damn idiots—let him up this second."
