Herbie Brennan - Ruler of the Realm

He scowled as he turned back to the house. They’d be waiting for him by now, all of them. Waiting with their stupid questions. Not that it mattered. He could wait too, longer than the rest of them put together.

Pelidne was standing just inside the doorway. Hairstreak looked at him with a hint of distaste. Such a shame about Cossus Cossus. A damn nuisance training in a new Gatekeeper, but you could never trust a man with a worm up his bottom. And what Pelidne lacked in experience, he made up for in loyalty. Not to mention his interesting talents, which would certainly be useful.

‘Are they here?’ he snapped.

Pelidne nodded. ‘I showed them down to the Conference Chamber, sir.’

‘Are the securities in place?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Did they take precautions against being followed?’

Pelidne looked startled. ‘I assume so, sir.’

‘Assume nothing,’ Hairstreak told him. ‘They’re idiots – all of them. Have a contingent of guards search the grounds. If they find anybody, interrogate them then kill them painfully. You can feed any bodies to my slith. Poor thing hasn’t eaten in days.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The Conference Chamber was more than thirty feet beneath the foundations of the manor, functional and spell-proof. There was a sudden silence when Hairstreak strode in, as if they’d been talking behind his back. Which they probably had. He allowed his eyes to drift coldly from one to the other, unsmiling. Old Duke Electo was there, dressed in his revolting magenta robes and looking more ancient than God. He seldom left his castle nowadays, which showed the importance he placed on the current developments. Hairstreak nodded an acknowledgement.

The rest, with a few notable exceptions, were the usual crowd – Anthocharis Cardamines, complete with irritating twitch, the ghastly Colias twins, Hecla and Lesbia, glaring at him malevolently, that imbecile Croceus who murdered his father, and all the other inbred weeds inflicted on him by reason of their titles. Their inherited titles. Not a real talent among them.

But the exceptions were interesting. Hamearis, Duke of Burgundy, was lounging in a chair at the end of the table. Darkness, but the man was enormous! Even seated he seemed to overwhelm the others. He played up to it, of course. Those shoulders were part due to his padded armour. But that didn’t mean he should be underestimated. He’d fought more than his fair share of battles and attracted a huge following as a hero. He’d once been Hairstreak’s closest ally. Now Hairstreak couldn’t be sure. They had very different ideas about the current situation.

Then there was Fuscus, dear, sweet, baby-faced Fuscus, with his private army and wardrobe of military uniforms. They said he wore a different one each night and strutted round the battlements waving an amber sword. Such theatrics. Hairstreak doubted Fuscus had ever delivered a blow in anger. But the private army was a different matter. An elite force, well-trained, well-armed and ready to do their master’s bidding. Which made Fuscus a power to be reckoned with. There’d been a time when Hairstreak thought he might have made a close ally, but he was Burgundy’s man now and Hairstreak was no longer sure of Burgundy.

The final exception was more interesting still. Zosine Typha Ogyris, the only faerie in the room without a title. But what he lacked in breeding, he made up for in wealth. He sat there, a little, balding, toad-like creature with his hands calmly folded in his lap. He looked harmless, but he commanded more resources than six noble houses. The man was incredible. He’d actually arrived in the Realm without a penny, a refugee from Haleklind. Somebody claimed he’d laid the foundations of his fortune by hauling manure to market gardens. Manure! Hairstreak had had a hard time securing his place at this conference. The Great House representatives thought it beneath their dignity to sit down with someone who lacked a title. But Zosine was here now, oh yes. And whatever doubts he had about Hamearis, Hairstreak could count on Zosine absolutely.

Irritatingly, it was Hamearis who seized the initiative. ‘Ah, Blackie,’ he said, as if he were in command of the entire meeting, ‘did you do it?’

Idly Hairstreak wondered if a poisoned stiletto might penetrate the padded armour. But he kept his face impassive, even managed a benign look, as he turned his gaze back to Burgundy.

‘Of course,’ he said.

‘Any answer yet?’

‘Hardly,’ said Hairstreak easily. He pulled out a chair from the head of the table. ‘The message has only just been dispatched.’

‘Why the delay?’ asked Hecla Colias sharply, ever ready to make trouble.

Hairstreak fixed her with a warning glance. ‘Because I did not deem the time right before now.’ He noted with some satisfaction that she dropped her gaze at once. He tilted the chair backwards to convey easy relaxation and swept the gathering with his eyes. ‘Crown Prince Pyrgus -’ He stopped, smiled a little, then went on, ‘Or rather I should say ex -Crown Prince Pyrgus, has received details of our offer and is now on his way to deliver it to the young Queen. What I -’

‘Is it in writing?’ someone interrupted. Hairstreak recognised the voice as Cardamines, who wasn’t so much an enemy as a nuisance. He had a pedantic streak.

Hairstreak forced a smile. ‘Difficult to see the need, Anthocharis. At this stage we’ve merely offered to negotiate.’ Cardamines nodded and grunted. Then twitched. Hairstreak turned back to the others. ‘The purpose of this meeting is to refine our position should Her Majesty agree…’ he paused a beat, ‘… and define our position should she refuse.’

The purpose of the meeting was nothing of the sort, but it sounded good. He closed his mouth and waited for the inevitable reaction.

It came without a moment’s delay. ‘Thought we’d agreed on our position,’ growled Electo’s gruff voice. ‘Both ways.’

‘So did I,’ snapped Lesbia, who was just as poisonous as her sister, but slightly better in bed as Hairstreak recalled.

‘Perhaps not quite both ways,’ Cardamines twitched pedantically.

And they were off. Hairstreak closed his eyes and let the discussion wash over him. Of course it had already been decided. It was the most serious defeat he’d ever suffered in the Council of the Faeries of the Night. Made worse because it had been utterly unexpected. Negotiate a peaceful solution? He almost shuddered. But once the proposition had been put – by some minor noble, obviously acting under orders – they’d forced his hand. Even Hamearis had deserted him and he was at a loss to understand why.

The end result was plain enough. There’d been a change of heart among the Faeries of the Night. Somehow they’d lost their backbone, lost the will to fight. He’d even been pilloried for his last two attempts to seize the throne. And now they wanted peace. Worse, they wanted it at any price. The offer of negotiation hid complete capitulation. If Blue wanted peace, she could have it. If she accepted quickly, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He’d lost his backing and without backing he was nothing.

But Blue wouldn’t accept quickly, not if he knew his niece. She’d always had a deeply suspicious streak and now she was being advised by a Gatekeeper who was batty as a Border Redcap. She’d suspect a trap. She’d stall for time. She’d postpone the negotiations while her old harridan of a spymaster tried to find out what was behind them. And all that would give Hairstreak the time to shift Council members back behind him.

Starting now.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Pelidne had silently entered the chamber. ‘Refreshment,’ Hairstreak ordered shortly. He gave a small nod.