Carling asked, “Another assassination attempt. When was this?”
Niniane could tell nothing from the Councillor’s face. For all she knew, Carling had already heard of the second attempt and merely wanted her to tell the story. She shifted in an attempt to become more comfortable, her wound and fatigued muscles aching, the return of stress making her head pound. “It happened early yesterday morning when I was returning to the hotel. It was another triad. None of them survived for questioning. I didn’t recognize them, although that doesn’t mean anything. I wasn’t close enough to get a good look.”
“Curious, when the Dark Fae need you so badly,” said Carling.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
The Vampyre lifted an elegant shoulder. “Ultimately the Dark Fae did not fare well under Urien’s rule. Elder historians will eventually concur on that point, although his isolationist policy did allow him a great deal of control over trade and business agreements. I’m sure his personal fortune has become quite extensive.”
“I’ll bet it has,” Niniane said between her teeth.
Carling continued, “But Urien closed off Dark Fae society at a critical juncture in this country’s development. With the Dark Fae talent for metallurgy, they could have become a much more powerful and prosperous demesne than they are. I believe certain intelligent people among the Dark Fae will have realized this by now.”
Old fury surged at Carling’s words. Niniane pressed her lips together to keep it contained. She had raged at just such a fact many a time throughout the Industrial Revolution. “Despite the political rhetoric he spouted, Urien never did act in the Dark Fae’s best interests,” she growled. “He only acted in his own.”
“Indeed,” Carling said. “Urien was a metallurgist of some significant talent himself, and a Powerful sorcerer. I suspect you will find that while his fortune increased, the rest of Dark Fae society has grown stagnant economically and politically. As a people their numbers are too small for them to have thrived under such a separation from general trade and interaction with other societies, which is why they need you so badly. As heir, you will satisfy traditionalists like Justice Trevenan. You also have important ties with all the other Elder demesnes, which will appeal to the progressive-minded like Chancellor Riordan, and you have an unprecedented popularity with the general American population. You are a unique gift to the Dark Fae.”
She snorted, and it caused her side to twinge. “All of that sounds good in theory, Carling, but I have to tell you, right now I’m not feeling the love.”
The blonde Vampyre attendant entered the room again, carrying a tray. She set a wineglass filled with some kind of dark liquid on the table near Niniane’s chair and set a sealed bottle of chilled water beside it. Carefully skirting the line of sunshine on the carpet, the attendant set another wineglass near Carling’s chair, bowed her head to her mistress and backed out of the room.
Niniane’s brows contracted. She lifted her glass to sniff gingerly at the contents. Power was steeped into the rich, dark red liquid, which emitted a gentle radiance against her hand. Herbs floated on the surface. She smelled cinnamon and cloves.
“It is a 1962 Rothschild,” Carling murmured as she sipped from her own glass. “Yours is bastardized with a healing potion that will ease your discomfort, should you care to drink it.”
Niniane kept her gaze downcast. She tried to think past the pounding in her head. She would not put Carling past anything in pursuit of her goals, including poison, but why would Carling bother to poison her? Carling and Urien had hated each other, which had only served to strengthen the Vampyre’s alliance with Dragos and the Wyr. Niniane couldn’t see Carling backing any other potential Dark Fae contender for the throne, especially anyone who might have been a supporter of Urien’s when he had been alive.
On a personal note, Niniane and Carling had always been cordial. And the Vampyre was here in an official capacity as a representative of the Elder tribunal. Niniane needed allies, and Carling, if she were so inclined, was in an excellent position to make a friend and ally of the next Dark Fae Queen.
Also, the Power imbued in the concoction was a warm, gentle glow against the palms of her hands. It felt good to her, in the way chicken soup smelled good when she was sick. She raised the wineglass and took a cautious sip. Her eyebrows went up. “Well, I didn’t expect that,” she said. “It’s delicious.”
Carling drank wine and watched her from under lowered lids. Niniane came to a sudden decision. She threw back her head and drank the healing potion down to the last drop.