“Rand hinted at something. What’s going on?”
Eorla settled onto the couch and lifted a glass of wine from the coffee table. Circumspect, she sipped. “I’ve received a communiqué from Maeve. She said she will not interfere with me if I do not interfere with her. I am assuming it’s a stalling tactic.”
I grunted. “Maeve doesn’t make equal alliances. She’s asking you to accept a truce until she can eliminate the Consortium. Then it will be your turn.”
Eorla rolled her glass, watching the light color the wine. “I agree. She’s massing her forces as we speak.”
“I’ve heard rumors,” I said. From my parents, I knew she had emptied Tara and closed the shield wall around it. No one was allowed in. Across Europe, Celtic fairy warriors were appearing in greater numbers.
“Civilians have been evacuated from the demilitarized zone around Consortium territory in Germany. She’s on the move,” Eorla said.
“Sounds like war,” I said.
Eorla nodded. “Without Donor, the Elven Court will tear itself apart in a fight over succession.”
“Giving Maeve the perfect moment to strike,” I said.
Eorla had struck out on her own as a means to force Donor and Maeve to negotiate. In the months since she founded what had become known as the Unseelie Court, unaligned fey the world over had committed to her cause and her leadership. The threat of aligning with one court or the other had kept Maeve and Donor at bay for a brief period.
“While Donor lived, the Seelie Court and the Consortium were at equilibrium. A destroyed elven court is not to anyone’s advantage,” she said.
“Except Maeve’s,” I said.
“Precisely. Thus, my dilemma,” she said.
“Are you going to remain neutral?” I asked.
“I do not think I can accept her offer, but I cannot allow the Elven Court to fail for lack of an uncontested monarch,” she said.
Eorla walked a fine line between supporting monarchy and the will of the ruled. More than any other royal I had met, she recognized that Convergence had changed the way of life for those born in Faerie. Absolute monarchies were a thing of the past, for good or ill, and adjustments had to be made for the modern world. While Donor and Maeve clung to their old ways, Eorla saw that new paths needed to be considered. At the same time, she saw the need for transition, that a people conditioned to accept royal rule needed something familiar to guide them to something new. That was the primary motivator for establishing her new court.
“Support for the elven monarchy seems strange coming from you,” I said.
“Not if the alternative is accepting a foreign monarchy. That’s what’s at stake, Connor. Civil war among the elves will mean nothing if the end result is fealty to Tara,” she said.
“Who’s officially in line for Donor’s crown?” I asked.
“A few cousins with competing claims. No one everyone will agree on. I have a stronger claim and a larger following than any of them,” she said.
Eorla’s father had been king. Donor’s father usurped the throne. When he died, Elven Court rules refused the crown to a woman, and the court passed to Donor. “You’re going to claim the crown? You were denied the throne before,” I said.
“Over a century ago, in another time and place. I think my people have changed enough that they will favor survival over legal niceties.”
“You’ll need support,” I said.
“I’ve already reached out to Bastian,” she said.
Bastian Frye had been Donor’s chief advisor, spy, and assassin. “Strange bedfellows.”
She chuckled. “But very elven.”
“Are you going to make a formal reply to Maeve?”
“Not yet. There are other considerations, which is why I asked to see you. I cannot lead the Consortium unless I am in Germany. I will have to leave Boston,” she said.
I stared at my water bottle. Eorla was the only thing standing in the way of the Guild steamrolling over the Weird. “What about the people who rely on you?”
“They don’t rely on me, Connor. They rely on the idea that someone cares. I’m not going to abandon them,” she said.
I tilted my head. “Who can replace you? Rand?”
A cryptic look came over her though with a touch of evasion. “Rand would not be…. suitable. I have someone else in mind.”
“Who?”
She stared into my eyes. “You.”
I laughed and swigged water from the bottle. “That’s crazy talk.”
She couldn’t be serious. Eorla’s amused expression made me wonder if she was teasing me. “Not at all. You know the people and the city. You know how it works and, more importantly, how it doesn’t. And you know how to work with anyone.”
“A lot of those people think I caused the destruction of their homes,” I said.
She crossed to her desk and arranged some folders. “Not true. Guild and Consortium agents spread those rumors, but the people down here are suspicious of anything they hear from those quarters. You have more allies and supporters than you think, Connor.”
“Eorla, I appreciate what you’re saying, but the fact remains, I have no abilities. How can I lead fey folk with no abilities?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Donor Elfenkonig was an extremely powerful man with many abilities, yet here I stand in opposition to what he stood for. Having abilities didn’t enable him to stop me.”
“That’s different. You could hold your own against him in the power department if you needed to,” I said.
“Connor, you stood in the room when I unmasked Donor’s disguise and revealed that he wasn’t Aldred Core. A physical altercation did not ensue. Donor asked for my cooperation, not my submission.”
“You make a lot of sense, but ruling a court isn’t something I’ve ever wanted. You know I don’t like monarchies,” I said.
She shrugged off the comment. “No one said you have to. Don’t call it a court. Make it a transition to something else. I don’t care what you do with it. I didn’t ask to be here. I serve at the will of these people. You would, too. The point is, the old ways are over. We have to create the new ways. They won’t be handed to us.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you will think about it,” she said.
I laughed. “That I can do. In fact, I doubt I’ll be able to think about anything else for a while.”
“Good. Events are speeding up, but we have some time before a decision needs to be made. Shall I call Bastian in now?” she said.
“He’s here?”
She gave me a sly smile. “Of course. You said you wanted to ask him some questions about these murders. He agreed to wait until we were finished.”
20
Bastian Frye moved with a formal bearing, methodical and deliberate, as if the act of walking into the suite was a practiced art. Despite his reputation as an assassin for the Elven King, I had never been in a physical confrontation with him. It was hard to imagine the frail old man in a fight. Of course, he had spent a lifetime learning shamanic rituals, honing his body in ways known only to the initiate, and as an Alfheim elf, his ability to manipulate essence rivaled that of the most powerful people in the world. He probably didn’t need to lift more than an eyebrow to defeat an opponent.
“You’ve brought war upon us, Mr. Grey,” he said.
“I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration, Bastian. How are the funeral preparations coming along?” I asked.
“Exaggeration? I think not. Intelligence reports indicate massive numbers of Celtic warriors moving on Germany,” he said.
“Not that part. The ‘it’s Connor Grey’s fault’ part. Donor brought this on all of us,” I said.
“But you killed him,” he said.
“I’m not going to lie, Bastian. Yeah, I killed him, but in point of fact, I was already dead anyway. It was pure luck I hit him with the spear. I’m not going to shed any tears for Donor,” I said.
“What do you mean you were dead?” he asked.
“He threw me off the damned building. I was falling to my death when I hit him with the spear,” I said.