“We are greeting the Queen’s representative who can strip us of everything if they deem us unable to protect what we hold. Appearance is everything.”
“They can’t really take everything — can they?”
“It is unlikely.” Windwolf swept her into the Rolls. “Please, beloved, be on your best behavior. Keep to High Elvish — and forgive me — but speak as little as possible, since your High Elvish is still weak.”
Great, the Queen’s representative hadn’t even landed and already she was being made to feel like a scruffy junkyard dog. Her annoyance must have shown on her face, because Windwolf took her hand.
“Beloved, please, promise me to keep that cutting wit of yours sheathed.”
“I promise.” She growled, but silently reserved the right to kick anyone that truly pissed her off.
Tinker could see why Windwolf opted to dress first. True the dreadnought had landed and its many gangplanks were lowered. There was, however, no sign of the Queen’s representative. A sea of Fire Clan red moved around the ship as the Queen’s Wyverns secured the area with slow thoroughness. Their Rolls was checked at the entrance to the clearing where Wyverns already erected a barrier. After their identities were verified, the Rolls was directed to a shimmering white tent of fairy silk. An ornate rug already carpeted the tent. Servants were setting up a teak folding-table, richly carved chairs, a map chest and a tea service.
Leave it to elves to do everything with elegance.
The Queen’s Wyverns were tall with hair the color of fire pulled back and braided into a thick cord. Like the Wind Clan sekasha, they wore vests of wyvern-scale armor, and permanent spell tattoos scrolled down their arms; both were done in shades of red that matched their hair.
All of Windwolf’s sekasha had come with them and formed two walls of blue in the sea of red. Seeing all the sekasha in mass, Tinker realized not only how much alike the Wyverns looked, but also how much the Wind Clan sekasha — slightly shorter with black hair — looked the same. Only Stormsong stood out with her short blue hair.
“Are the sekasha of the various clans separate families?” Tinker whispered to Windwolf as she held out a hand to him, so he could help her out of the car. Experience had taught her that the long skirts loved to wrap tight around her ankles as she got in and out of cars and carriages — she had nearly gone face first into the dirt several times.
“Hmm?” Windwolf steadied her as she scrambled out.
“They look alike.” Once out, she twitched her skirts back into place.
“The Skin Clan liked their sekasha to match — like coach horses. They would bio engineer a generation to suit them and then breed them one to another. They would kill all the children that didn’t express the desired traits, weeding out stock until it bred true, like drowning litters of puppies when a mutt gets into a pure breed’s kennel.”
“That’s horrible!”
“That’s why we rebelled against them. Why we will have nothing to do with the oni who are so much like them.”
“This one has the domana genome?” Lord Tomtom had said when he held her prisoner. “Perhaps I’ll get my own litter on her.” Tinker shivered as she remembered Tomtom’s clinical gaze on her. No wonder the elves hated and feared the oni so much.
Alertness spread through the Wyverns, like ripples in a pool, moving outward. A figure in white and gold emerged from the dreadnaught. With the focus of every person on the field tight on him, the tall male strode across the meadow to join them at the tent. He wore a vest of gold scale, white leather pants, and a duster of white fairy silk that flared out behind him as he walked.
He ducked into the tent and nodded to Windwolf. “Viceroy.”
Windwolf bowed. “Prince General.”
Prince? He had the Queen’s glorious beauty — the radiant white skin, the vivid blue eyes and oh-so-gold hair twisted into a sekasha-like braid.
Tinker carefully followed Windwolf’s suit as to how low to bow. Not that she needed to worry, for the elf prince didn’t even glance in her direction. The duster settled around him, revealing that it had a delicate white on white design of wyverns and flames.
“Well, it took a hundred and ten years.” Surprisingly, the Prince General used low Elvish. He has a deep voice with a hint of rasp, as if he’d spent the day shouting. “But as I said, it was only a matter of time before you would be calling for help and then I would have to come save your sorry ass. Of course you never could do things small — you had to go find a nest of oni for me to wrestle.”
Windwolf grinned hugely. “True!”
“Young pup!” The prince returned the smile and gave Windwolf a rough hug. “It is good to see you again. It has been too long.”
“I have been busy.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“True Flame, this is my domi, my beloved Tinker of the Wind Clan. Beloved, Prince General True Flame of the Fire Clan.”
The prince turned his vivid gaze onto her and his eyebrows arched up in surprise. “So this is your child-bride. They said she was little…”
“Spare her your razor truth, please, True. I love her dearly and do not wish to see her hurt.”
True Flame snorted. “She better learn to guard her heart. Those vultures of court will rip her to shreds.”
“I don’t plan to take her to court…”
“Can we stop talking like I am not here?” Tinker matched True Flame’s Low Elvish. A look from Windwolf told her that regardless of what True Flame did, she was expected to speak High Elvish.
“Certainly, cousin,” True Flame said.
“Cousin?” Tinker glanced to Windwolf in confusion.
“My mother is the youngest daughter of Ashfall,” Windwolf said, and then, seeing Tinker’s blank look, added. “Ashfall was our first king.”
True Flame gave Windwolf a look that clearly asked, ‘She doesn’t know that?’
“Grandfather has been dead for nae hae,” Windwolf said.
“We’ve only had three rulers,” True Flame said. “Ashfall, Halo Dust, and Soulful Ember.”
“Yes, my knowledge of all things elfin is lacking.” Tinker acknowledged and managed to bite down on ‘I’m sure, however, you’re equally ignorant of buckyballs.’ Be nice to the male that can take everything away from you, she reminded herself, and managed to force her mouth into a slight smile. Thank gods, Windwolf seemed to be friends with him.
True Flame took in the weak smile and turned back to Windwolf with a slight look of distaste.
“Once you come to know her, True, you will see why I chose her.”
True Flame clicked his tongue and waved toward the table. “Time will tell. Most of your choices continue to mystify me. Sit. Let us discuss this mess you’re in.”
He pulled a map from the chest and spread it on the table. It showed the city of Pittsburgh and the surrounding areas of Elfhome in detail.
“First, what is happening here?” True Flame pointed at Turtle Creek on the map. “The whole area seems — wrong.”
Windwolf explained the events that lead to Tinker creating the Ghostlands.
True Flame looked at Tinker with slight surprise, sweeping a look down over her, before saying, “She’s surprisingly destructive for her size.”
“That’s part of her appeal,” Windwolf agreed.
She kicked Windwolf under the table, which earned her another warning look. She gave the look back at him. Being nice was one thing, having them gang up on her was another.