Mark Del Franco - Uncertain Allies

“You know I want Vize taken into custody,” I said.

She placed her hand on my forearm. “Despite my personal feelings, Connor, I understand your motivation and accept as it as valid. I may not pursue Bergin or encourage you to do so, but I would be foolish to think I can protect him from everyone. He’s done what he’s done and will answer for it one day. That is the Wheel of the World.”

I bowed my head. “Well, thank you anyway. It’s one less thing for me to worry about.”

She resumed her seat at the table. “Well, then, how about something new? I have a special visitor, who has been waiting all morning. I thought you might be intrigued to meet him.”

“That you think that intrigues me. Who is it?”

“Aldred Core, one of Donor’s advisors. I have no doubt threats will be involved. It should be entertaining. Would you like to stay?”

“With an invitation like that, how can I refuse?” I asked.

Eorla gestured to Rand, who positioned himself in front of the table and faced the entrance. I wandered to the side of the room, uncertain where to stand. Two men entered, one I knew. An ancient elf dressed in the traditional dark blue robe of a shaman glided forward in a smooth gait. Bastian Frye was the private counselor to Donor Elfenkonig, who ruled the Teutonic fey from his fortress in Germany. Bastian and I had never met until recently, but we went way back. When I was a top agent for the Guild, he led the opposition from the Teutonic Consortium. We had tried to kill each other, directly and indirectly, about a dozen times apiece over the years. We didn’t hate each other, though. It was business.

The other man piqued my curiosity. He wore the formal dress of an elven courtier, a vermillion tunic over black pants. Gold braid wound about his shoulders. On his chest, he wore a series of ribbons that might have impressed me if I knew what they were for. A thick gold chain, with a large blue gem amulet pierced by a gold sword, hung around his neck. He radiated power, both in his bearing and his essence.

The two men paused when they reached Rand. Leaning on his staff, Bastian bowed stiffly. “Your Royal Highness, I present the Baron Aldred Core, ambassador of His Majesty, Donor Elfenkonig.”

Despite denouncing the Elven King, Eorla was still a Grand Duchess of the elven royalty. Propping her elbows on the arms of her chair, she steepled her fingers. “How pleasant to see you again, Aldred. It has been many years, has it not?”

He bowed enough not to give insult. “It is a pleasure, as always, Your Royal Highness.”

“You must be tired from your trip. Bastian, fetch a chair for my guest,” she said.

Frye showed no annoyance but retrieved one of the large oaken chairs. Eorla enjoyed treating him below his station. Aldred lowered himself into the chair, glancing at me, then Rand. “I have communications from His Royal Majesty. Might I share them with you in more private circumstances?”

Unimpressed, Eorla leaned back. “So shy, Aldred? What topic would we speak of in private? Shall we share confidences on how you’ve risked treason against the crown you hold so dear? Or shall we perhaps discuss your rather creative forays into the royal accounts?”

Amused, Aldred licked his lips. “I would tread lightly on the issue of treason if I were you.”

She arched an eyebrow. “I have done no treason, sir. Perhaps His Majesty has been ill informed as to my words and deeds. Speaking of deeds, Aldred, did the king ever discover your dalliances among his women?”

Aldred shifted in his seat. “You do no good thing to distract us.”

Eorla twisted her lips into a smile. “ ‘Us,’ Aldred?”

He set his jaw. “I speak for His Majesty.”

Eorla chuckled. “Indeed. Enough pleasantries, then. Let us speak plainly with no need of privacy or subterfuge, shall we . . . cousin?”

Bastian stiffened by the ambassador’s side. Aldred murmured a chuckle. “I warned you she would not be so easily fooled, Bastian. You have always been perceptive, dear Eorla.”

His face blurred and shifted in a rainbow smear of color. The fey used spells and amulets to create glamours to change their appearance, sometimes minor improvements, sometimes complete identities. Aldred’s face lengthened along the jaw and widened at the forehead. A deeper glitter appeared in his dark eyes, and, pinned tightly against the back of his head, a short-cropped ponytail appeared. His essence shifted, the removal of the glamour revealing his true body signature.

Donor Elfenkonig pursed his lips in amusement. I had to admit that a small thrill went up my spine. I had met many high-powered people over the years, but being in the presence of the Elven King of the Teutonic fey was fair cause for being starstruck for a moment.

“It has been many years, cousin. You look well,” he said.

“As do you, dear cousin. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” she asked.

The corner of Donor’s lip curled down. “My condolences on the premature death of your husband. Had I known Alvud wished to be buried in this country, I would have surely made plans to attend his funeral.”

From what I knew, Donor despised Alvud Kruge. The late Marchegraf was an internationally known diplomat and frequent critic of the Teutonic Consortium. Eorla’s marriage had found ill favor in the Elven Court. She didn’t care. Like now, seeing this man smile at the mention of her husband’s death, she didn’t show the least bit of annoyance. “Thank you, cousin. I appreciate the visit. Shall I call for a car to take you back to the airport?”

Donor sighed with an exaggerated disappointment that I was sure struck terror in his Court. “As much as I would prefer it, I have other pressing matters to attend.”

“Such as?”

“Come, come, dear cousin. You realize the position you’re placing me in.”

Eorla mimicked his casual pose. “I resolved a situation that demanded resolution. A situation, I might add, that had more than a little to do with the intrigues of that pet assassin behind you. He hid Bergin Vize among the solitary fey, which led directly to the riots that tore apart this city. I stopped the riots and prevented a confrontation that would have led to more bloodshed. That blood would have been on your hands, cousin. You should be thanking me.”

Frye hid his feelings well when he needed or wanted to. It was what made him good at his job. I’d heard enough about interactions between him and Eorla to know their mutual animosity was rich and deep. Donor smiled with feigned apology. “Mistakes were made, I grant you, cousin, but Bastian has always had our best interests at heart.”

Eorla frowned. “That’s the crux of the matter, though, cousin, isn’t it? Your best interests and the crown’s best interest are not one and the same thing.”

Donor let annoyance cross his face. “You dare to criticize my rule in my own presence?”

“I dare to criticize your obsession with returning to Faerie. The Wheel of the World has turned, cousin. We are here. We need to move past this death match with Tara and find a new way in this world. You do the Consortium no good by setting us against the Seelie Court.”

He narrowed his eyes. “And you think defying my rule is the answer? You have no idea of the situation you’ve caused. Maeve suspended the protocols of the Fey Summit. She’s moving her troops around like a drunken slattern. One misinterpreted action by either of us could spark a war the likes of which these humans have never seen.”

Eorla pursed her lips. “Then you have better things to do with your time, cousin, than sit here accusing me of treason.”

He leaned forward. “Maeve thinks I’m using you to distract her.”

“Maeve’s not stupid. Frye tried to drop an army on her, but you claim not to know about that either,” I said.