Лорел Гамильтон - A Kiss Of Shadows

I had a Spyderco folding knife clipped over the underwire of my bra. I always carried at least two blades at court, just a rule. The guns would only be allowed in certain parts of the sithen, the faerie mounds. But I'd be allowed to keep the knives. Before the banquet tonight, in my honor so Doyle informed me, I'd add more blades. A girl could never have too much jewelry or too much weaponry.

Doyle had Mortal Dread in the back sheath, the hilt sticking out from under his shoulder for a cross-draw like a gun shoulder holster. He had his own gym bag full of weapons. When I'd asked him why he hadn't used them against the sluagh, he'd said, "Nothing else I had with me would bring them true death. I wanted them to know that I was serious." Frankly, I've always found that blowing a hole bigger than a fist out someone's back lets them know you're serious. But many of the Guard feel that guns are inferior weapons. They carry them out among the humans, but guns are almost never used among ourselves, except in times of war. That Doyle had even packed a gun meant that things were bad, or maybe there'd been a policy change while I was away. If the other guards were carrying guns, then I'd know.

The plane dipped so suddenly that even I gasped. Doyle moaned. "Talk to me, Meredith."

"About what?"

"Anything," he said, voice tight.

"We could talk about last night," I said.

He opened his eyes just enough to glare at me, the plane took another dive, his eyes snapped shut, and he almost whispered, "Tell me a story."

"I'm not very good at stories."

"Please, Meredith."

He'd called me Meredith, an improvement. "I can tell you a story that you already know."

"Fine," he said.

"My grandfather on my mother's side is Uar the Cruel. Other than being a complete and utter bastard, he earned the name because he fathered three sons that were monsters even by fey standards. No blooded fey woman would sleep with him after the birth of his sons. He'd been told that he could father normal children if he found someone of fey blood who would willingly sleep with him."

I peered at Doyle's closed eyes and blank face. "Please continue," he said.

"Gran is half brownie and half human. She was willing to sleep with him, because she wanted more than anything to be a part of the Seelie Court." Silently, because it wasn't part of the story, I didn't blame Gran. She more than even myself understood what it was like to tread two very different worlds.

The plane had straightened but was still shuddering as wind buffeted it from every side. A rough flight. "Are you bored yet?" I asked.

"Anything you say will be most fascinating until we reach the ground in safety."

"You know, you're cute when you're scared."

He did the open eyes to slits, glare, close eyes again. "Please continue."

"Gran bore two beautiful twin girls. Uar's curse was ended, and Gran was one of the ladies of the court—Uar's wife, as a matter of fact, because she'd borne him children. To my knowledge, my grandfather never touched his 'wife' again. He was one of the fine and shining gentlemen. Gran was a little too common for him now that he was curse-free."

"He is a powerful warrior," Doyle said, eyes still closed.

"Who?"

"Uar."

"That's right; you must have fought against him in the wars in Europe."

"He was a very worthy opponent."

"Are you trying to make me feel better about him?"

The plane had actually flown straight and relatively smoothly for about three minutes. It was enough for Doyle to open his eyes completely. "You sounded very bitter just now."

"My grandfather beat my Gran for years. He thought if he hurt her enough he'd drive her away from court, because legally he couldn't divorce her without her permission. He couldn't put her aside because she'd given him children."

"Why did she not simply leave him?"

"Because if she were no longer Uar's wife she would no longer be welcome at court. They would never have allowed her to take her daughters with her. She stayed to make sure her children would be safe."

"The queen was most puzzled when your father invited your mother's mother to accompany the two of you into exile."

"Gran was his lady of the house. She oversaw the household for him."

"She was a servant, then," Doyle said.

It was my turn to glare. "No, she was… she was his right hand. They raised me together for those ten years."

"When you left the court this last time, so did your grandmother. She opened a bed-and-breakfast."

"I've seen the write-ups in the magazines: Victoria, Good Housekeeping. Brownie's Bed-and-Breakfast, where you can be waited on, cooked for, by an ex-member of the royal court."

"Have you not spoken with her since you left three years ago?" he asked.

"I haven't contacted anyone, Doyle. It would have endangered them. I disappeared. That means I left everything and everyone behind."

"There were jewels, heirlooms, that were yours by right. The queen was amazed that you left with nothing but the clothes on your back."

"Any of the jewels would have been impossible to sell without it getting back to the courts; same with the heirlooms."

"You had money that your father had put away for you." He was watching me now, trying to understand, I think.

"I have been on my own for three years, a little over. I have taken nothing from anyone. I have been a woman on my own, free of obligation to anyone of the fey."

"Which means you can invoke virgin rights when you return to court."

I nodded. "Exactly." Virgin in the old Celtic ideal was a woman who stood on her own, owing nothing to anyone for a space of time. Three years was minimum for claiming it at court. To be virgin meant that I was outside any old feuds or grudges. I could not be forced to take sides on any issue, because I stood apart from all of it. It was a way of being in the court, without being of the court.

"Very good, Princess, very good. You know the law and how to use it for your benefit. You are wise as well as polite, a true marvel for an Unseelie royal."

"Being virgin allowed me to make hotel reservations without risking the queen's anger," I said.

"She was puzzled as to why you did not wish to stay at the court. After all, you want to return to us, do you not?"

I nodded. "Yes, but I also want some distance until I see just how safe I'm going to be at court."

"Few would risk the queen's anger," he said.

I looked at him, searching his eyes so I would catch whatever he thought of my next words. "Prince Cel would risk her anger, because she's never seriously punished him for anything he's ever done."

Doyle's eyes tightened when I mentioned Cel's name, but nothing more. If I hadn't been watching for it, I wouldn't have noticed any reaction at all.

"Cel is her only heir, Doyle; she won't kill him. He knows that."

Doyle gave me empty eyes. "What the queen does, or does not do, with her son and heir, is not for me to question."

"Don't give the party line, Doyle, not to me. We all know what Cel is."

"A powerful sidhe prince who has the ear of the queen, his mother," Doyle said, and the tone in his voice was a warning to match the words.

"He has only one hand of power, and his other abilities are not that great."

"He is the Prince of Old Blood, and I for one would not want him using that ability on me on the dueling ground. He could bring every bleeding wound I have had in over a thousand years of battles on me at once."

"I didn't say it wasn't a frightening ability, Doyle. But there are others with more powerful magic, sidhe that can bring true death with a touch. I've seen your flame eat over a sidhe, seen it eat them alive."

"And you killed the last two sidhe that challenged you to a duel, Princess Meredith."

"I cheated," I said.