“Yes, but he won’t stay that way. Sooner or later, he must come back to court.”
“Maybe when you’ve figured out who tried to kill him!”
Caedmon frowned. He didn’t like to be reminded that his grandson was here because he’d been in danger in Faerie. But it was nonetheless true. If Claire hadn’t been unable to face one more dinner among a court whose lips smiled and smiled, and whose eyes shot daggers, Aiden wouldn’t be here now.
She’d decided to take her baby for a walk, because he was fussy and teething and it seemed to soothe him, rather than hang out at the high table. And when she went back to the nursery, it was to find the maid on the floor, in a puddle of blood, and an unknown assassin probably lurking nearby. So she turned around and ran, and didn’t stop until she reached New York, and who could blame her?
Caedmon, apparently.
“You don’t approve,” he said, watching me.
“Of Aiden going back to Faerie? Hell no. But it’s not my call. It’s Claire’s.”
“My son did have a small role to play in the boy’s conception.”
“Uh-huh. And if you want him to be able to conceive anymore, you’d better not drag him into this.” I looked pointedly downward. “Or get involved yourself.”
Caedmon looked pained and crossed his legs. I knew he was joking with me, but I didn’t think he realized that I wasn’t. If he got Aiden hurt, Claire would freaking geld him.
I decided to get back to the point. “So, the Light Fey, barring batshit-crazy fey queens—”
“Princess. I think she was going for queen.”
“Whatever. But barring people like Alfhild, all dead fey go back to Faerie?”
He nodded. “Of course, I cannot speak for the Dark Fey, as I do not know their habits here. But I would suspect that, at the very least, their bones are sent through a portal.”
I thought about that. It was interesting—I hadn’t known much about fey beliefs before—but it didn’t help with my original question. “So, Olga promised to send the boy back if he died, and then he said something else. Just a few words. Do you remember?”
“Vaguely.” Caedmon’s head tilted. “It seemed mere nonsense. Was it important?”
“I don’t know.” It was probably nothing, just confusion from the pain and shock. But I decided I’d have Olga ask him when he woke up.
I don’t like mysteries.
“Are you done?” Caedmon asked, watching me wrap up the remains of my feast, not that there was much left. I hated to admit it, but swan made for a damned fine meal. Especially fat young swan raised on popcorn and peanuts by the locals.
“Yeah.” I agreed. “All ready for bed.”
“Excellent idea.”
I put a hand to his chest, which was infringing on my space suddenly. “Alone, your majesty.”
“Why so formal? Call me Caedmon.”
“Okay, then. Alone, Caedmon.”
“You know, I always find that I sleep better after exercise.” I suddenly found myself on my back, with a randy fey king on top. “Wanna wrestle?”
“Get off me!”
“Don’t tell me you’re still toying with that annoying vampire.”
“Louis-Cesare. And yes.”
“And here I thought you’d be bored with him by now.”
“Not bored.”
“Give it time.”
“Caedmon—”
“I’ll tie one hand behind my back,” he offered.
“Tie both, and your legs while you’re at it!”
“Ah.” Green eyes glimmered down at me, so dark they were almost black. “But that would leave me at your mercy, and I suspect that could be . . . dangerous.”
I flipped him, and a second later the knife he’d been playing with was at his throat. “You have no idea.”
His eyes flashed, but his lips slid into a purely evil smile. “But then, danger has always been something of a hobby of mine. I’ll spot you both arms—”
“You’ll behave or I’ll kick you out!” I said, and climbed off. He sighed, but didn’t look too displeased. Probably because toying with me was just the overture, wasn’t it?
The main event hadn’t even started.
I grabbed the wineskin and leaned back against the side of the house. I didn’t offer him any. Consider it a beer tax. “What are you really doing here?” I asked. “And don’t lie.”
“I never lie.”
“My father says the same thing. It’s even true, most of the time. Yet somehow . . .”
“Your father is an excellent diplomat. Prevarication is part of the skill set.”
“And you’re a king. What’s the skill set for that?”
He ran a finger up the side of my bare foot. “Everything. And just when you think you know it all, you discover that you require something else. It’s why I learned long ago to arrange help where I need it.”
“Like you need it from Claire?”
Dark eyes met mine, shining in the lamplight. “She likes you. Trusts you. After that little display today, I can see why. You could do her a service—”
“Her or you?”
“Does it have to be exclusive?”
“And what service would that be?”
“Persuade her to contact her father. He has the resources I need, but reaching him has been . . . challenging. But she could arrange a meeting—”
“Caedmon—”
“—here, on neutral ground—”
“Caedmon.”
“—we’re in-laws, after all, or will be soon. We should have met already—”
“Caedmon! Did you not see what happened today?” I gestured at the garden. “Did you somehow miss the massive freaking dragon tearing up the place?”
“No, she was magnificent.”
“Or the horrified woman running off in tears after she changed back?”
“She lost control, and was embarrassed. It happens—”
“That’s not what happened!”
I drank wine, and debated whether I should even be talking about this, because it was Claire’s business, not mine. But I knew Caedmon, and I didn’t see him going away without some kind of explanation as to why his plan, whatever it was, wasn’t going to work. And I thought Claire had enough to deal with without taking on her father-in-law.
“It’s getting stronger,” I told him, after a moment.
“What is?”
“Her dragon half.”
“Of course. She’s growing up—”
“Maybe she doesn’t want it getting stronger, Caedmon! Maybe she doesn’t want to think about it at all!”
“And why not?” He sounded puzzled. “Power is safety, in your world as well as ours—”
I laughed, and drank more wine. “It’s not always safety.”
“Yes, it is.” He still sounded puzzled, but also vaguely wary, like I’d just suggested that the sun comes up in the west or something. I wondered again what Faerie was like, that Caedmon, a being so old and—presumably—wise, couldn’t conceive of a single question to which more power might not be the answer.
“It’s not safe if it takes over,” I told him shortly.
“Takes over . . . what?”
I waved the wineskin around. “Her. Her life, her family, her garden, her kid. Everything. Everything that matters, anyway.”
“Dory. What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about getting your life stolen, right out from under you. About thinking you’re finally someplace that almost makes sense. You have people around that you care about, and who seem to care about you. You’re in a good place, or as good as you’re ever likely to be, and then—bam! It’s all gone. Not because you made a mistake, not because you got something wrong, but because life just decided that today, you lose.”
No matter what you do.
Caedmon took the wineskin away. Just as well. It was mostly empty now anyway.
“Are you drunk?” he asked me. He looked concerned.
I lay on my side, pillowing my head on my arm, and sighed at him. “I wish.”
“Then make some sense—please. I am starting to worry about myself.”
“So is Claire.”
“Claire is worried about me?”
“No. She’s worried about her other half. The one that’s getting stronger every day, to the point that stuff is starting to happen. It was hard enough to manage when it was younger, and smaller. But now . . .”
“Power isn’t an asset,” Caedmon said, like he finally got it.
“Not when you can’t control it.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at me. And then reached over to brush a bit of hair out of my eyes. I was sleepy, so I didn’t object, and his expression softened.