His face became unreadable. He stared at Eorla, but whether they conversed by sendings, I couldn’t tell. “I came here to offer forgiveness, Eorla. I understand your actions occurred under stressful conditions. Our people are stronger when we are united. You weaken both of us against a common enemy with this adventure.”
“Yet I strengthen many, many more, cousin,” she said.
Donor compressed his lips. I’d bet he didn’t encounter resistance to his wishes all that often, especially to his face. I doubted there were many besides Eorla who could do it either. “Think on this, cousin. Think on this with care. My hand in friendship is a much wiser choice than the alternative. I will give you a brief time to reconsider your path.”
He stood and reactivated the Aldred Core glamour. For now, I supposed, it suited his purpose for the outside world not to know that the Elven King was in the city. Frye fell in step behind him. Eorla gestured for Rand to follow them out the door.
Eorla exhaled. “That was not as difficult as I anticipated.”
I shook my head with amusement. “I can’t imagine what besides threats from the Elven King would be difficult for you.”
She waved her hand. “Oh, he had to do that to save face with his weaker supporters in the Consortium. He may be a strong king, but he is only as strong as the confidence of his followers. I’m more interested in the real reason he’s here. I felt what happened between you.”
I closed my eyes. “It’s bad enough I have Maeve watching my every move. The last thing I need is the Elven King doing it, too.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t let him fool you, Connor. He’s afraid of her as much as she is of him. That’s what the Fey Summit was all about—putting on a conciliatory face to cover their fears. He wants to know if her interest in you will help or hurt him.”
“You know I’m not a fan of either of them,” I said.
She rose and walked to the window. “And that’s what he fears about both of us. Come here. I want you to see something.”
She handed me a pair of binoculars from the windowsill and pointed across the harbor. The main part of Logan Airport was out of view, but the ends of the runways near the water were visible. A large plane with the Teutonic Consortium symbol painted on the rudder sat on the tarmac off to the side, far from the terminals. I lowered the binoculars. “That’s a troop transport.”
Eorla hummed in agreement. “Odd choice of travel for an ambassador to the crown, don’t you think?”
“What are you going to do?”
She crossed her arms and stared out the window. “Watch for now. See who moves where. He’s not likely to seek the Guild as allies, but he will do his best to remove me as a threat. The humans are as leery about that plane as I am. There’s another plane filled with U.S. Marines at the other end of the field. Donor is here for a reason. Why he is here is more important than what is in that plane at the moment.”
“Until the fighting starts again,” I said.
She shot me a look. “You know I will do everything I can to prevent that.”
“Except submit to him,” I said.
She tilted her head toward me with a slight smile, curious rather than angry. “Is that a criticism?”
I shook my head. “Not at all. Standing up to monarchial power has become a hobby of mine lately. Be careful, Eorla. You can’t predict everything.”
We stared at the view, lost in our own thoughts.
9
Briallen sent word after I left Rowes Wharf that she was free for the evening. Between her schedule and Murdock’s, setting up a time to run tests on his body signature had taken a few days. Even though I had suggested the idea, I was apprehensive that Murdock wouldn’t take the results seriously. I had no doubt he was part druid—his mother was. What I didn’t know was whether his heritage would be a good thing or a bad one. I worried because untrained abilities had a knack for going wrong at the wrong time. Murdock liked to take things as they came, but abilities were not something to ignore.
To distract myself for the remainder of the afternoon, I walked to Avalon Memorial to take Meryl for one of our strolls. I knew her condition wouldn’t be any different. Someone would have called me. Being with her calmed me, though, and helped settle my mind about the evening to come.
I guided Meryl up the wide path on Boston Common that ran along Beacon Street. The tall trees that lined the way had begun to bud but remained bare. Meryl moved in a stupor, her gaze sightless. She responded to pressure on her arm, walking when prompted, stopping when held. Sometimes it felt like a game, like she was pretending to be silent and uncommunicative. It wasn’t a game, though. She didn’t respond to my voice or anything auditory. A motorcycle roaring past, children laughing, dogs barking brought no reaction. I watched for a sign in her eyes or a flinch from a startling noise, but saw nothing.
The concrete basin of the Frog Pond sat empty, a forlorn puddle of water in the depression where the drains were. I didn’t know why it was called that. The only frog I had ever seen was a bronze statue on the edge of the basin. The city filled it with water on occasion. In the summer, people waded in the water, little kids splashing in the one foot or so depth as if swimming. In the winter, ice-skaters took over the space, even this year, despite the cyclone fencing erected on the hill side of the pond.
Tall, majestic trees once ringed a Civil War victory column at the top of the hill. The spot had been an oasis in the center of the park, a quiet area above the main paths where people sat and read or enjoyed the view. Last fall, it had become ground zero for a catastrophe that unfolded. The veil between worlds opened between here and TirNaNog, the Land of the Dead. For the first time since Convergence, the Dead roamed the earth again, causing all sorts of havoc. When dawn arrived, the veil refused to close. One thing led to another, as they say, and the top of the hill imploded. The victory column vanished, and a huge granite standing stone pillar from TirNaNog appeared in its place. The stone vibrated with essence, attracting gargoyles from all over the city, turning the top of the hill into a garden of tormented stone.
“I guess that’s my fault, too,” I said.
Meryl didn’t respond. If she had, she would have told me to get over myself. It was what she did, and it was what I needed. I wrapped my arm around her, slipping her head into the crook of my shoulder. It felt good to have her there, and it felt wrong to have her nonresponsive. Pulling away from me I could take; pulling tighter I could enjoy. This nonresponsiveness was wrong in so many ways. Wrong because it violated Meryl’s inherent nature. Wrong because somehow her condition was a result of my failure. Her choice, but my failure. I kissed the top of her head. She hated when I did that, drawing attention to my height over hers, kissing down at her. I loved that it irritated her, and I suspected she enjoyed it, but denying it was also part of who Meryl Dian was.
I led her away from the gargoyle-cluttered hill and empty pond basin, helping her up the stairs to Beacon Street. We cut up Joy Street to where Briallen lived around the corner on Louisburg Square, an exclusive address behind the State House, prim formal town houses staring at each other over a locked oval park. It was a pretty, cultured block with who knew what went on behind closed doors, especially at Briallen’s house. She had lived there for years, the political and financial fortunes of her neighbors ebbing and flowing around her house, which never changed.
The pleasant odors of dinner filled the entry hall as I removed Meryl’s jacket for her. Briallen came out of the kitchen, a dish towel in her hands. “How’d it go?”
“Fine. We walked around the Common and back,” I said.
Briallen brushed stray hairs back from Meryl’s face, a motherly gesture that surprised and reassured me. Briallen and Meryl had a thorny relationship filled with challenge and verbal sparring. It wasn’t that I thought Briallen didn’t care about Meryl. It was more a pleasant surprise that at the end of the day, all their disagreements were put aside.