I flopped down on the ottoman and pulled my skirt up to look at the damage. It was minor, but I could tell there would be a bruise the next day.
"It's nothing," I said as I smoothed my skirt back down. "Is it safe to talk here?"
"Yes," he replied. "The house and grounds are swept on a regular basis for any sort of bugging- magical or otherwise. I'm curious, though. You are here with Harlequin. Surely you know he is at odds with Ehran."
"I know," I said. "But his relationship with you is still intact. And I have much more severe problems among the Elders of this Tir myself. Aithne and Alachia, for example. From whom I suspect you have received much of your information about me."
He dropped into a chair opposite me and looked me over.
"You are both not at all what they described and quite like their descriptions," he said after a mo- ment. "But I'm not so foolish as to acquire all my information from only two sources-and those with grudges, no less."
"And what have you found?" I asked. My ego speaking, no doubt.
Surehand settled into his chair, then propped his feet next to me on the ottoman.
"You have stayed out of political dealings for most of this cycle. You disapprove of the way we've been handling matters thus far; According to Aithne, who rarely allows any mention of your name, you are worse than any nightmare."
That stung, coming from someone else. So he hated me enough still to try and sabotage me at every turn. Well, perhaps it was no more than I de- served.
"Ah," I said. "Aithne always did have a way with words."
, Lugh Surehand laughed. It was deep and rusty, as though he didn't use it often.
"Alachia underestimates you," he said. "She said you had little wit."
I shrugged. "Alachia underestimates anyone who doesn't automatically worship her-or those who cannot be led around by portions of their anatomy."
"I know little of the animosity between the three of you. Aithne refuses to speak of it, and Alachia holds it out like a trinket, then snatches it away when one gets too close."
I smoothed the velvet of my gown across my knees. In the warm light it took on a deep silver cast. Anything to distract me from memories of the past.
"Do you know the story of Scheherazade?" I asked.
For a moment, Surehand looked startled, but I knew he would quickly replace that with his usual bland expression. I wasn't disappointed. And it oc- curred to me that for all his show of calmness and balance, he was really quite formidable. After all, he had managed to remain High Prince since the found- ing of Tir Taimgire. With all the political intrigue so rife among the Elders, he should have been ousted long ago. But here he was in complete control of the Tir.
"She was married to a sultan. He killed every other wife he took after only one night with her," began Surehand. "On the first night of Scheherazade's marriage to him, she refused to lay with him, in- sisting instead that she would tell him a story. Each night continued after the first the same way. She kept him spellbound with her wit and stories. It con- tinued thus for a thousand nights.
"At the end of the thousand nights, the sultan had fallen in love with Scheherazade and couldn't bring himself to kill her. Thus was she spared."
I clapped my hands softly together. "Bravo," I said. "Nicely told. You will go far should you ever become the wife of a sultan."
"Am I to take it that you have no desire to be- come my Scheherazade?"
"I think now would not be the time for those sto- ries. I would not cloud the danger of the present with tales from the past." "And if I were to insist?" I shut my eyes. "Then I would oblige," I said. "Then this must be a very serious matter indeed," he said.
I opened my eyes. He was looking at me with an unreadable expression. I knew then that I would never willingly make an enemy of him. To do so would be far too dangerous, even for me. "I would not come here otherwise," I said. "Very well," he said. "What is it you wish?" "For you to call an emergency meeting of the High Council."
She's in a dark house. At first, she thinks it is Lugh Surehand's mansion, but then she realises this is no place she's been before.
Outside, she hears the roar of helicopters. Bril- liant lights come streaming around the edges of the drawn shades. Then the door bursts open and shadow figures are coming inside. They hold weap- ons and they are grabbing. Grabbing the other peo- ple who are here. There are screams and she starts to run. Run away from the faceless things breaking into her dream.
22
"It went well then?" asked Caimbeul.
We were in the back of the limo again. I still had Surehand's jacket around my shoulders. I'd forgotten to take it off as he led me back to the party.
"He agreed to call a meeting of the High Coun- cil," I replied. "It went much better than I expected. But I suspect he'll want something in return."
"And what might that be?"
"I have no idea," I said. "But I think he might be more dangerous than both Aithne and Alachia."
"Lugh Surehand?" Caimbeul was incredulous.
"He's good enough at compromise and juggling the players, but a threat? Please."
Ignoring his arrogance, I stared out the tinted win- dows. The rain-slick streets flashed by. On a corner I saw a pair of trolls dressed in the height of fashion. I wondered briefly what they were doing here in this neighborhood, then let them fade from my mind.
"You're a fool if you underestimate him, Caim- beul. He has neither Aithne's temper nor Alachia's ego. How has he managed to stay in power all this time? That isn't the feat of someone who should be taken lightly.
"Didn't I read something about an assassination attempt, not too long ago? Despite that, he's still in power. More the wonder if one of us was behind it."
"You sound impressed," he said. "I can't remember the last time anyone impressed you."
"What are you talking about?"
"You sound like a school girl."
"Don't be asinine," I said. I was getting impatient. "You haven't been listening. Yes, I find him interest- ing, but not in the way you seem to think. He's a force to be reckoned with and not just some puppet put in place by Aithne, Ehran, and Laverty."
Caimbeul made a smug little noise. I turned toward him.
"What was that?" I asked.
"Nothing," he said.
"Why are you making such an issue out of this?"
"You're the one who won't let it drop."
I gave an exasperated sigh and turned away from him. Sometimes there was no knowing what was in Caimbeul's head.
The main room of the penthouse was dark when we entered. Some pale light filtered in through the terrace windows. The light from the hallway made a wide triangular shape on the floor and cast our shad- ows long in it.
I banged my injured knee on something and let out a curse. Enough of this, I thought, and caused a light to appear. The room leapt into view, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the light.
There, sitting on the couch, was Aithne's son, Glasgian Oakforest.
"Ah, perhaps the very last person I might have expected," said Caimbeul. His voice was pleasant, but I knew from his far too casual stance that he was very angry.
Glasgian stretched and made himself more com- fortable. A trick he'd learned from his father.
"My business doesn't concern you. Harlequin," he said. He had a spoiled rich-kid way of speaking. I didn't know who I was more disappointed in-him or Aithne.