Mortal Ties

by Eileen Wilks

Her stomach hurt. That was nerves…oh, use the right word. That was fear, and to be expected, maybe, but she didn’t like feeling this way.

  Her hostess and captor was already seated at the table. She wore a yellow tunic that looked like silk and would probably hit her knees when she stood. It was belted at her waist with a narrow leather band that held a sheath. The hilt of a knife protruded from that sheath. Her legs and feet were bare.

  At the table, Lily pulled out a chair at the place that was obviously meant for her. The elf who’d walked behind her went to stand behind the halfling woman. He had long hair the color of a Creamsicle and wore jeans and a T-shirt, which looked strange as hell on an elf. He was armed with a SIG Sauer, not a knife. He held the weapon in his hand, not pointing it at Lily, but ready to.

  A drift of white mist hovered over the table. Lily’s gaze flicked up to it once, then away. It was surprisingly reassuring to know Drummond was here. He couldn’t do anything, but he was here, and on her side.

  She believed that, she realized with a small jolt. Her gut did, anyway. Seeing his ghostly self nearby settled her stomach.

  “You may call me Alycithin,” the halfling said politely. She pronounced it much as Sean had, accent on the second syllable, only with more lilt. “I’m unsure of your preferences, and we have no servitors here, so I must ask you to serve yourself.” Her eyes were a bright, clear green. Like a cat’s.

  “I’m used to serving myself.” The table was set with plates for her and the halfling. Cloth napkins, but no silverware, Lily noted. No fork or butter knife to stab her hostess with. The food was all finger food—bacon, fruit someone had cut and arranged attractively on a platter, and a second platter with slices of bread. No butter, but it smelled good, like it wasn’t long out of the oven.

  There were also pitchers of water and what looked like orange juice with glasses for both. Also a delicate china cup and saucer at each place. And a teapot. No coffee. Lily grieved briefly, then took a slice of bacon and some strawberries. “Does your culture encourage or allow business to be discussed during a meal?”

  “It is thoughtful of you to ask. Normally we do not, but it is possible to make an exception to usual practice, if we both wish this.”

  “I wish it.” Tea was not, in Lily’s opinion, a substitute for coffee, but it was better than nothing. “Do you think the tea has finished steeping?”

  “I believe so.” Alycithin poured herself some water, smiled, and drank deeply before setting her glass down. Letting Lily know it wasn’t drugged—though a substance that affected Lily might not do a thing to one of the sidhe. “Would you care for some water?”

  “Thank you, yes.” No point in continuing to refuse to drink. If they wanted to drug her again, they would.

  The halfling poured for her. Lily drank thirstily, then poured herself a cup of tea. She was doing her best to channel Grandmother. Grandmother absolutely killed at the polite game when she wanted to—which, admittedly, wasn’t often, but she’d had three centuries to practice. Lily took a sip of tea. Not up to Grandmother’s standards, but it wasn’t bad. “Very nice. May I pour a cup for you?”

  “That would be kind.”

  Lily did so in the manner Grandmother had taught her. “Are we agreed that we can skip to some of the business we need to discuss?”

  “It is always a shame to curtail the more pleasant aspects of conversation, but you have a saying—‘needs must when the devil drives.’ I agree to this.”

  “I have two points of immediate concern. The first is the other two hostages. Sean Friar believes you are going to free him, unharmed.”

  “I have given him my word that I will do so, or, if I should die, my people are in turn bound to see it done.”

  “I hope you will forgive a question asked out of ignorance. Under what circumstances would you consider breaking your word?”

  “None.”

  Lily lifted her eyebrows. “None whatsoever? Not to save your life, your world, a roomful of tiny babies?”

  “I suppose if I were tortured long and artfully enough that my mind broke, the creature who remained might do any number of things I would not.” She picked up her cup and sipped. “A piquant aroma. Short of a death, which destroys the person if not the body, I honor my word.”

  “I’m happy to hear that. Did you give your word about Adam King, also?”

  “Adam King is held by Benessarai, not me, but he will act according to the code. What was your other concern?”

  “I must ask you to return my ring.”

  “Oh, surely not.” The halfling smiled at her over the rim of her teacup. “That is, surely you don’t expect me to hand you a totem containing…but your language doesn’t have a word for this. We call it arguai.”

  “Grandmother is often vexed by the limitations of English.” Lily set her cup down in the precise manner she would have used had this been a proper tea ceremony. “I called it my ring. This was misleading. The band itself is mine, but the charm on it was entrusted to me by my clan. My honor—the lupi would say du—is involved.”

  “I can assure you the ring is safe. It will not, however, be returned to you. Do try the berries. We don’t have their like in our realm, and I am quite infatuated with them.”

  Lily had learned what she needed to. The toltoi did possess some kind of power, one the elves recognized. One they thought she could use. She ate some strawberries, commented on their sweetness, and asked if Alycithin planned to include strawberries in whatever trade deal she was negotiating.

  “Perhaps, though I am not sure the plants would thrive in our climate. We are very interested in obtaining a good supply of duct tape. A remarkable substance, and one that will not be affected by the higher levels of magic in my realm the way your technology would be.”

  Duct tape? Really? Lily dragged her thoughts back on target. “Excuse me for saying this, but you seem to be going about your negotiations rather awkwardly. Sean told me that your people consider hostage-taking an integral part of doing business. You’ve been here long enough to know that we don’t do things that way. In fact, part of my job is to arrest people who do things that way.”

  That amused her. “And how long have I been here?”

  “A lot longer than two weeks, obviously. Are you able to shift between realms without a gate the way some sidhe do?”

  “You will find that my people take a long view. In the short term, your people will not appreciate some of our practices. In the long term, you will discover the value of doing business our way. Already your corporations are gratifyingly eager to import some of our wares.” Alycithin held out the plate of bread. “Won’t you try some? It’s from a bakery Dinalaran found, and is quite good.”

  Lily accepted a slice. “Is Dinalaran the one with the SIG or the one practicing spellcasting over by the TV?”

  Alycithin had eyebrows. They weren’t obvious, blending in as they did with the short, golden fur on her face, but she had eyebrows. She raised them now. “He stands behind my chair. Aroglian practices runic writing. You are familiar with such practice?”

  “I have a friend who fiddles with spells that way.”

  “Ah. Cullen Seabourne. The…your word is sorcerer.”

  “The guy who made the device everyone is so eager to get their hands on, yes. Though I admit I’m puzzled about why you would want it. Your Gift works a lot better than any device could.”

  Silence. One heartbeat, two…just long enough for Lily to be sure that arrow had hit home. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Lily tore a piece off the bread and popped it in her mouth. Alycithin was right—it was good bread. She washed it down with tea. “Your Gift is really good at hiding things. You can’t do outright illusion the way the elves can—that’s why Dinalaran or the other guy does the driving, isn’t it? Going unnoticed works great unless you’re in the driver’s seat of a car. It upsets people if they don’t notice a driver in a car. But in many ways, your Gift is better than straight illusion. It’s not just that you
can knock everyone out, though that came in handy last night. You can baffle wards and Find spells. You can hide whatever needs to be hidden. Coming like you do from a place where magic is used for all kinds of things, that must be a very valuable talent. A very rare one, too, I’m told.”

  Alycithin tipped her head to one side. “You have been told things I did not expect anyone in this realm to know.”

  “And you have not been told some things you need to know. Like about Robert Friar and the war you’ve landed yourself in the middle of.”

  “Oh, that.” She brushed it off with a graceful gesture. “I am aware that he and your lupi consider yourselves at war. This is why he will trade what I want for you.”

  Lily took another sip of tea and prepared to roll the dice. “Your realm must be subject to Queens’ Law.” The sidhe realms had many rulers but only two queens: Winter and Summer. The queens had great power and only a fistful of laws, but when they said “thou shalt not,” they meant it.

  Those subtle eyebrows lifted subtly. “You know of Queens’ Law?”

  “Some. There’s one that says no one is allowed to invoke a certain Name.” Lily ripped off another bite of bread, but didn’t eat it. She looked squarely at the halfling. “Do people in your realm know about Rethna? What he did, what he tried to do, and what happened to him?”

  “Stop.” Alycithin turned to the elf standing behind her, who’d watched Lily closely the entire time. The one with the gun. She said something short and musical to him, then to the other elf. They didn’t like it. They argued—at least Lily assumed that’s what they did, because although they sounded terribly polite, Alycithin responded in a voice cold enough that their balls should’ve shriveled on the spot.

  The two elves bowed and left. Not the apartment—they went into another room. A bedroom, Lily thought, though she only caught a glimpse before the door closed on them.

  Alycithin turned back to Lily. “They do not speak your language, but they understand some of it. I would protect them from hearing that which can be dangerous to know. Why do you bring up Lord Rethna?”

  “Because you haven’t landed in the middle of a war between Robert Friar and the lupi. The war is between the lupi and the one we don’t name. Ever. She is who Rethna invoked, and she is who Robert Friar serves. You may not be invoking her name yourself, but if you’re helping Friar, you’ve signed up on the wrong side.”

  Silence stretched out between them. Alycithin didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Lily’s heart pounded. She was gambling big-time now. Alycithin might not give a tinker’s damn who Rethna had served. She might be on the same side as Friar, already recruited into the Great Bitch’s service. She might simply not believe Lily.

  “And why,” the halfling said at last, “should I believe you?”

  “Why did you send your people out of the room? Why did you leave Sean out of our little tête-à-tête? Why have you allowed me to steer the conversation so far? Something’s already bugging you. Something’s not right. That’s why you wanted this chat.”

  “It is customary to dine with one’s captives or see that they have other company for meals. The code calls for captives to be treated civilly. This includes providing opportunities for pleasant conversation.”

  She sounded abstracted, however, as if she were speaking automatically while her mind was busy with some other subject. Lily decided to take a step back. T.J., her mentor in homicide, used to say that once a fish takes the bait, you let him run out the line. Grandmother put it another way: it’s best if your enemy persuades himself to do what you want. “You were right about the bread,” Lily said politely. “It’s delicious.”

  “We were pleased to find a good bakery, as none of us possess that skill. Tell me, Lily Yu…but we never did settle on what I am to call you, did we?” Her smile was a work of art, warm and lovely. “We use few titles, and I am not familiar with the nuances of those you use. What title do you prefer?”

  “Special Agent is correct. But why don’t you call me Lily?”

  “Lily. A pretty name. It sounds similar to our word for a certain type of happiness. Your English does not have an equivalent. It is the happiness one feels at a pleasant surprise.”

  “Given your remarkable command of English, you probably know that here in America lily means a type of flower. But I was named for my grandmother, who is Chinese.”

  “I do not have any Chinese, I’m afraid. Is it permitted to ask what it means in that tongue?”

  “Oddly enough, it has no precise meaning. This is uncommon with Chinese names.” Should she ask what Alycithin’s name meant? Cullen said names were a big deal to elves, but what kind of big deal?

  “Languages are interesting, are they not? My language has many more names for some things than English does. For example, we have sixteen words that would translate, if rather poorly, as enemy.”

  “Does that mean you see sixteen types of enemies?”

  “It does.” Alycithin took a moment to select a slice of fresh pineapple. “We have only seven words for friend. It is…what is your phrase? Ah, yes. It is a sad commentary on us that we have so many more words for enemy than for friend, yet we find these distinctions useful. Of course, three of our words for enemy also denote a friend, so the imbalance is not so great as it seems.”

  “We call that sort friendly enemies.”

  “Yes, that is one type—enemies for whom one feels some cordiality. There are also enemies who seem to be friends, aren’t there? Hidden enemies. And those with whom one would be friends if not for other circumstances. Such as, for example, having given one’s word.”

  “Circumstances can be a bitch.”

  Amusement gleamed in those bright green eyes. “Bitch is a rude word in your culture, I believe. Yes, sometimes one regrets that someone who is so’elriath—ah, that is an enemy for whom one feels no hostility, one who is simply on the other side—cannot become a friend, perhaps of the fifth degree. But once one’s word is given, it must be adhered to.”

  “Of course. But what was that other word? The one for someone who would be a friend, under other circumstances.”

  “So’amellree. That is the word in the feminine. My language is somewhat like your Latinate tongues, but it is not the adjectives we change to suit the gender of the noun. When appropriate, we make the nouns themselves either masculine or feminine to suit their referent. So’amellree,” she said, looking Lily directly in the eye, “refers to a woman who would have been a friend, perhaps of the fifth degree, had circumstances been different.”

  “So-amel-ree,” Lily repeated. And smiled. Bait taken. Alycithin might be going the long way around, but she was swimming in the right direction. “Do you have a word that means the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THE conversation with Ruben took longer than Rule expected. Ruben had persuaded the president to order the secretary of commerce to visit the sidhe delegation at their hotel under some diplomatic pretext or another. In an hour or two the secretary would arrive and be amazed to discover that some of the delegates were missing. When Rule got off that call, he started to touch Tony’s number when his phone vibrated.

  It was Tony. One of his wolves had found the scent, but at a location north and slightly west of the hotel. Did Rule want to check it out?

  He did, once he learned where it was. He called Special Agent Bergman and asked her to meet him there. Rule got there first and congratulated young Ed, who was extremely proud of himself and wiggled all over in delight, his tail wagging madly. Ed’s escort—a tall, morose city cop—watched with disbelief. “If that’s not the damnedest thing,” he said. “Damnedest thing I ever did see. I could swear he understood everything I said to him.”

  “He’s not a dog, officer. Most of the time he’s a man.”

  “Still.” The cop shook his head. “Damnedest thing I ever did see.”

  Bergman had one of her people drop her off. She’d had a long night, and it showed in the
dark circles under her eyes, but those eyes were bright with anticipation. She knew what this meant as well as Rule did.

  Ed had found the scent at a bank.

  Follow the money. Lily had said that often enough, and this was something Rule knew. Something he understood. Something the Bureau understood, too. They had excellent forensic accountants.

  “I’ll do the talking,” Bergman told him.

  “Of course.”

  “Yeah, that’s why you called me. You want my badge.”

  “Of course,” he said again, this time with the hint of a smile.

  She almost smiled back. “Let’s go—and pray one of those tellers remembers something or someone who was a little odd.”

  “We won’t be relying on memory alone,” Rule said, pushing open the door and holding it for her. “We’ll want the bank’s records of every transaction at this branch in the past two days, whether through a teller or at the ATM. The scent is probably from yesterday, but it might be as much as two days old. We’ll need names, addresses, everything the bank has.”

  She snorted. “You’ve got funny ideas about banks if you think they’ll hand all that over just because we say pretty please.”

  “Ruben is getting you a warrant.” Rule glanced at his watch. “It should arrive in about thirty minutes.”

  She stopped and frowned. “What does he do, wiggle his nose and poof, I’ve got a warrant?”

  “That wouldn’t take thirty minutes. He’s having someone deliver it here.”

  “Huh. I’m starting to like working with Unit Twelve.” They’d paused just inside the doors. Bergman reached into her purse and took out a leather folder much like the one Lily used for her ID. “Even if it’s just two days’ worth of names, it’s going to be a long list. These elves could look like anyone, young or old, male or female, right?”

  “Right.” Rule slanted her a smile. “We’ll be able to trim the list by eliminating those who’ve had accounts here for several years, but it will still require a lot of resources to check out whoever is left. Which is why I like working with your Bureau. You have resources.”