CHAPTER 2
ORRIN AP RHYS stared out
the large round office window, his wings undulating in the subtle
current from the air-conditioning. The purple- and red-veined wing
layers glanced off each other with gentle nudges, faint flickers of
white shimmering in the bright light of the office. In the near
distance beyond him, the top of the Washington Monument pierced the
bright blue sky. The ornate trim around the window framed the view
like a photograph. “How can a leanansidhe
be in my Guildhouse and I not know about it?”
Laura straightened in her chair at the
Guildmaster’s change in conversation. She had been thinking about
the dawn mission, mulling whether the deaths could have been
prevented. The public-relations implications of Rhys’s latest
projects slipped from her thoughts as she remembered the van driver
falling from shots fired by his accomplices. The mention of the
leanansidhe brought her focus back to the
conversation.
She avoided looking at Resha Dunne, who sat beside
her in front of the Guildmaster’s long ebony desk. Resha was the
Guild board director who represented solitaries, small groups and
individual fey—like a leanansidhe—who
didn’t fit into the major fey species categories. The leanansidhe survived by absorbing essence from
living beings. People died when that happened.
Resha crossed his legs, the hem of his pants riding
up to reveal a strip of blue-gray skin. On a day-to-day basis,
Laura tended not to notice Resha’s appearance. As a merrow, his
pale skin was normal for one of the sea folk, and Laura was used to
working with fey whose appearance did not fit into mainstream
sensibilities.
“Well?” asked Rhys.
Resha fidgeted. “InterSec is not obligated to
inform me about its staff, Orrin.”
Rhys turned, anger glinting in his eye. “Not
obligated? We’re talking about a leanansidhe, Dunne. Not some inconsequential water
sprite.”
Cress, thought Laura. They were talking about
Cress, her InterSec colleague. Not some dangerous being with no
moral qualms about killing people. Cress had rejected that role for
herself, finding alternative means to survive. They weren’t talking
about one of the most feared fey in existence. They were talking
about her friend.
“This leanansidhe seems
different,” Laura said.
Rhys stalked to his desk, his gossamer-thin wings
sweeping back with the motion of his body. “It’s dangerous. We
can’t trust it.”
With a nervous flick of his short-clawed fingers,
Resha brushed at his knee, not looking up at Rhys. “She saved our
lives, Orrin.”
Many lives, thought Laura. Cress had thwarted a
major terrorist attack at the National Archives and almost died in
the process. Even Rhys had a personal debt to her. Not that it
mattered, apparently.
“Are you two defending it?” Rhys asked.
Laura wet her lips. Rhys didn’t know about her
undercover work for InterSec. Part of the delicate balance of her
life was maintaining that secrecy. “I think, sir, that things may
not be as they appear. Perhaps we need more information.”
Rhys startled them with a slap of his hand on the
desk. “I need no more information. I know what this thing is, and I
want it out of my Guildhouse.”
Even sitting, Resha appeared to cower. “I will look
into it.”
Frustration burned within Laura. As the Guild’s
public-relations director, it was not her place to argue with him
about it. Worse, she couldn’t argue without revealing why she knew
what she was talking about. It chafed to watch Resha capitulate
despite the fact that he had a duty to stand up for the rights of
the solitary fey. Even if it was a leanansidhe .
Rhys leaned back in his chair. “Now, what has been
the response to our donation toward the rebuilding of the National
Archives?”
Grateful for the change in subject, Laura placed
her hand on the folder with the information. As a druid, she didn’t
need to read from her notes. Her innate memory retention filed away
data for instant recall later. All she had to do was focus on
whatever she wanted to recall, and the information would start to
flow. “It moved public perception of the Guild slightly upward, but
has had no impact on the overall negative impression of the fey. Do
you want specific numbers?”
Rhys grunted. “Not now.”
“Was the money not enough?” Resha asked.
Laura didn’t answer. If Resha weren’t so prone to
cluelessness in front of everyone, including the Guildmaster, she
would have been embarrassed for him. But Resha was Resha, and his
naïveté came with the territory. Over the years, Laura had taken to
pretending to be fixed on her files or notes when Resha made his
off comments.
Ever since the fey folk from Faerie appeared in the
modern world a century earlier, the majority of humans feared them
and their power. Someone like Laura, a druid with no discernible
physical characteristics to distinguish her from humans, enjoyed
the benefit of social acceptance. Someone like Resha, with his skin
tone and forehead peak and sharp, predatory teeth, had no hope of
blending in. Yet, despite having told her once of his personal
discomfort with prejudice, he didn’t understand that money did not
always buy acceptance.
Rhys made a dismissive gesture. “The important
point is humans are making a distinction between the Guild and the
fey as a whole. That works to our political advantage. The human
politicians can safely support our initiatives without undermining
their voter bases.”
Resha repositioned his chair to face Rhys. “In some
quarters, there are calls for the Guild to fund the entire
renovation.”
Rhys frowned. “I’ve heard the rumblings. Who are
these Legacy people?”
Laura masked any reaction that might indicate she
knew about Legacy. The Legacy Foundation sought an end to the fey
monarchies in Ireland and Germany. Until recently, they acted
primarily as a think tank, better funded than most, whose primary
focus was to convince the U.S. government to sever diplomatic ties
with the monarchies. Recent information indicated they might be
radicalizing, which was why she and Sinclair had started
infiltrating it for firsthand data. She wasn’t aware of any
specific news items or press releases from Legacy regarding the
incident at the National Archives. “They’re a coalition of fey and
humans who think the monarchies are dangerous. They do a lot of
humanitarian work for people affected by the fey. For instance, I
know they run medical clinics for humans who have essence-related
injuries.”
Rhys smiled. “Perhaps we should offer our
support.”
With a serious and considering look, Resha bobbed
his head. “Perhaps funding for one of those clinics would show them
we care about such things, too.”
Laura met Rhys’s eyes for the briefest of moments.
Resha had a tendency to be either dense or clueless. Rhys smirked
back. “That’s an excellent idea, Resha. In fact, I think it would
look less heavy-handed if you made the call.”
Pleased, he bowed his head. “I’d be happy
to.”
A satisfied smile flashed across Rhys’s face.
Having a joke at Resha’s expense felt petty. Rhys underestimated
Resha and, although often justified, the merrow was astute enough
to take advantage of the perception. “I’ll send you what
information I can find, Resha. When you’re ready, we can pull a
press release together,” she said.
Rhys waved a dismissive hand toward Resha. “Laura
and I need to work out some details on the Draigen macCullen
reception, Resha. Send me a budget recommendation and let me know
as soon as Legacy catches wind of things.”
Resha stood and bowed his head. “I will keep you
apprised, sir.”
Laura shuffled the files on her lap as Resha left
the room.
“He’s useful occasionally,” Rhys said.
Laura’s smile was practiced detachment. She
wondered what Rhys said when she left a room. She sensed he liked
her, liked her work; but she had irritated him on more than one
occasion. He made no effort to hide his displeasure then, but he
didn’t seem to hold a grudge. Still, he was her boss, and she
played things carefully with him—distant enough to keep things
professional, familiar enough for him to view her as an ally. “With
all the strong personalities in the Guildhouse, he can be quite a
disarming advantage for you.”
Rhys grunted. “We’re going to need all the strong
personalities we can get in the next few weeks.”
Laura retrieved a folder and pulled out several
papers stapled together. “Senator Hornbeck wants to speak last at
the Archive memorial service.”
She handed him the schedule. The terrorist attack
at the National Archives had resulted in the deaths of twenty-nine
people and millions of dollars in damage. The Guild had plenty of
cash to fix the building. The loss of life wasn’t a problem
solvable with money. Rhys skimmed the schedule. “That’s fine. I’ll
take whatever criticism he wants to throw at us after I speak. We
can spin it later in the media outlets.”
He dropped the schedule. “Speaking of which, from
now on I want every document relating to the attack to refer to
‘Inverni terrorists.’ ”
Laura folded her hands on top of the folders and
pursed her lips. The fey were, in truth, refugees in the world.
Faerie existed, or at least had at one time, and was ruled by
fairies of the Danann clan. In the early 1900s, the event known as
Convergence occurred, the puncturing of the veil between Faerie and
the modern era, and the fey found themselves trapped. Their common
struggle to find acceptance among the human populace did not mean
that the fey forgot their own internal animosities.
“You want to argue with me again,” Rhys said.
Laura let out a tired chuckle. Rhys was a Danann,
as was High Queen Maeve. The Danann had a long-standing rivalry
with the Inverni, who were the only clan strong enough to challenge
Maeve’s rule. When Convergence happened, Maeve made a secret deal
with the United States and Great Britain. In return for her aid in
time of war, the two human governments agreed to defend Maeve
against any threat to her sovereignty. Including the Inverni.
Specifically the Inverni.
“I don’t argue, Orrin. I advise. You decide your
course of action.” She used his first name purposely to indicate
her comment was more personal and off-the-record. It was a
conversational trick she used often with Rhys, a way of gaining his
confidence by showing him she was comfortable being honest with
him.
He smiled. “We have to deflect blame for the attack
from the High Queen.”
“It’s a mistake to imply all Inverni are
terrorists, Orrin. You will end up protecting Maeve’s standing with
the human government at the expense of unity among the Celtic
fey.”
His smile became more predatory. “You say that like
it’s a bad thing.”
With amused disbelief, Laura leaned her head back
and ran her hand through her blond hair. “Guildmaster, you were the
target of an assassination attempt, and that was before the world knew your part in the drafting of
the Treaty of London. Unless you have a death wish, I do not see
the benefit of this course of action.”
Laura had always thought the Treaty of London was
the greatest political accomplishment the fey folk had achieved
when they arrived from Faerie. The Danann clan had ruled the Seelie
Court securely ever since. She had no idea that success had come at
a steep price. What no one knew for a century was that the Treaty
contained a secret clause in which the U.S. and Great Britain
agreed to defend Maeve against any challenge to her rule. Only the
Inverni clan, which was currently led by Draigen macCullen, had the
power to make that challenge. By default, the clause made the
Inverni instant criminals subject to imprisonment if they protested
Maeve’s rule in any way.
“I am in contact with the High Queen,” he said,
which meant, in effect, the end of the conversation. If Rhys was
acting on Maeve’s authority, nothing Laura said would have an
impact.
“Am I to draw any inference between the use of
‘Inverni terrorists’ and the visit from Draigen macCullen?” she
asked. Draigen was the leader of the Inverni clan in Ireland and,
by coincidence, sister to Terryn macCullen, Laura’s supervisor at
InterSec. When the Treaty clause had been made public for the first
time, Draigen announced she would be visiting the U.S. to discuss
business relationships with the president of the United States.
Everyone knew that was a cover. Draigen was coming to put pressure
on the U.S. to denounce the century-old Treaty.
Rhys closed one eye. “An unfortunate intersection
of events, Laura, let me assure you.”
He was lying, she knew. The expression on his face
told her so as much as her truth-sensing ability. Laura didn’t mind
working the politics between humans and fey. Politics between fey
and fey were another matter. Deep, centuries-long animosities
simmered between the various races. Some of the issues made no
sense post-Convergence. Laura sighed. “Where will the reception for
Draigen be held?”
“Here. In the ballroom,” he said.
High Queen Maeve couldn’t forbid Draigen’s visit
without making the situation between the Inverni and the Dananns
worse, and the U.S. president couldn’t appear to snub one of the
most important fey leaders in the world. “We’re covering for the
president, aren’t we?” Laura asked.
Rhys shrugged. “We can’t let it appear that the
president is endorsing Draigen. He’ll meet with her privately, but
a White House reception is out of the question.”
Laura chuckled again. “And Draigen cornered you
into the Guildhouse venue instead at the risk of inflaming the
situation by refusing her.”
“I don’t think it’s funny,” he said.
“No, it’s not. It’s deft, though. You’ll have to
tread carefully with her, Orrin. She doesn’t sound like a
pushover,” Laura said.
He opened a folder on the desk. “Now, that is
advice I can take. I’m going to put Resha on this, but I don’t want
the solitaries getting too cozy with the Inverni. I want you to
watch him.”
Laura stood. “As you like. Do you need anything
else?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “If you can think of a way to
make Draigen disappear, I would appreciate it.”
She let herself out the door. “You’ll be the first
to hear it.”
As she waited for the elevator, anger pressed
against her chest. As director of public relations for the Guild,
she had a job to do. That meant doing as she was told. But Rhys was
playing a dangerous game with the Inverni. It was wrong, and he
knew it. The world had changed in a hundred years. The Inverni were
not the rulers of the Celtic fey, but they had become powerful
political players. Labeling them terrorists simply because they
disagreed with Maeve wasn’t something the human governments would
approve. By slandering the Inverni, Rhys might very well provoke
them.
What made it all the worse was that she had to
decide whether to share what she knew with InterSec.
“How angry is he?” Resha asked her.
Between her limited sensing ability and the
essence-dampening wards in the hallway, Laura hadn’t sensed him
come up behind her. “It’ll pass, Resha. I think he’s more annoyed
that he didn’t know a leanansidhe works for
InterSec. If he can feel like he is doing something about it, he’ll
let it go.”
Resha agreed, his peaked forehead looming toward
Laura with a disconcerting movement. “I should warn Cress.”
“Cress? You know her?”
Resha’s sharp teeth slashed in a smile. “I know
every solitary in this building.”
“You lied to Rhys?” Laura asked. And to her. She
hadn’t sensed it at all.
Resha shook his head. “Not at all. I said InterSec
isn’t obligated to tell me anything. That’s not the same thing as
knowing something regardless.”
It was moments like this that made Laura admire
Resha. Although she often found him irritating, he had flashes of
cunning that made her cautious around him. Because Rhys
underestimated him didn’t mean she should lull herself into doing
the same. “One of these days, Resha, Orrin is going to catch on to
you.”
He blinked several times, obviously affecting
confusion. “Not if I can help it.”
As she boarded the elevator, she thought she knew
exactly what he meant.