Now the mutterings grew so loud that Zrakovi paused the video until it quieted down.
“I can tell you without a doubt that Garrett Melnick killed my father,” Adrian continued once the video started again. “I witnessed it myself. And he made it look as if an animal had done it in order to implicate Jacob Warin.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Zrakovi muttered.
“Garrett Melnick also set two explosives in the building where the council met yesterday. The target of the bombing was the clan chief of the fire elves, Quince Randolph, and his bondmate, Sentinel Drusilla Jaco. Melnick was acting on information supplied by Mace Banyan in exchange for a political alliance between the elves and vampires, against the wizards. He wanted Randolph under control to secure his spot on the council and with the Synod.”
Adrian went on a while longer, but the point had been made. Rand leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful expression, no doubt figuring out how to spin whatever it was he had to announce.
Finally, with the video done, Zrakovi turned to Christof. “Your majesty, could you share with us how you got this recording?”
Christof nodded, and I reconsidered whether I’d made the right choice in daydreaming of Sean-Bean-as-Boromir instead of Viggo-as-Aragorn. He made a fine-looking fake Lord of the Rings character. “Of course, Mr. Zrakovi. I was working in my office in Faery about two o’clock local time, rewriting weather coordinates to help the dire situation of New Orleans. A courier left the disk in a plain white envelope in my inbox, and my secretary delivered it with my afternoon mail. I questioned her, and would have brought her along if I thought it would help, but she had no recollection of who left it.”
Faery princes had offices and secretaries, and plotted weather coordinates on computers? Since I was probably soon to be unemployed, I’d have plenty of time to catch up on my faery research.
“Very well. It’s clearly Adrian in the video—many of us know him quite well. And he didn’t appear to make the statement under duress. Mr. Randolph, would you like to add something about this particular matter?”
“Yes.” Rand stood up. “I’m so sorry to announce that my colleague Mace Banyan met with an unfortunate accident in Elfheim this evening. I was called about it by Betony Stoneman, chief of our earth clan, and by the time I arrived in Elfheim he was dead.”
Zrakovi’s mouth opened and closed several times before he could get himself under control. “How … how did Mr. Banyan die?”
“I believe he was crushed beneath an airplane,” Rand said, as if that were the most normal death imaginable. “He was an amateur pilot and enjoyed working on his own planes.” He paused, then added, “It’s quite common among the air clan.
“But,” Rand continued, “in light of that, I would like to inform the council that with the vacuum of leadership in Elfheim, we held an emergency meeting a short while ago and I humbly accepted the position as head of the Elven Synod. I would like to nominate my colleague Betony Stoneman as the second elven representative if it meets with council approval. He will be here shortly.” Rand looked around the room. “Thank you.”
Holy crap. He’d killed Mace. Not only killed Mace, but taken over the Synod. Too bad he was about to get his own set of handcuffs to match mine and Jake’s.
CHAPTER 32
Zrakovi called a brief recess so those who wished to do so could stretch their legs. I suspected he needed to regroup.
“Did you know about that?” Jake asked.
“Not at all.” Thank God. That’s one secret I didn’t want to carry around.
What do you think, Dru? Rand had turned his sunny smile toward me.
I think you better not ever tell me what really happened.
Rand smiled, but I caught a hint of attitude on his face that I didn’t like. His surprises weren’t done.
“If everyone could be seated, let’s get started again.” Zrakovi banged a gavel he’d come up with from somewhere. “I think it’s clear that the charges against Jacob Warin for the death of Geoffrey Hoffman must be dismissed, and apologies to Mr. Warin for the false accusation.”
Jake’s expression didn’t change. He’d been working on that blank-face thing.
“However, before Mr. Banyan … died, he passed along information that we’ve been able to verify independently.”
“Alex is a rat,” Jake breathed, and I elbowed him. Alex wasn’t a rat, and Betony could very well have corroborated Mace’s story before Rand bought him off, or however he got to the head of the earth clan.