Sometimes the Other lands were immense, as Adriyel was, and they had several crossover passageways to other places. Sometimes the Other lands were mere pockets of space that led nowhere. Adriyel had significant time slippage from the rest of Earth, so that visits from Niniane and Tiago were rare.
As Tiago had been a Wyr sentinel and she had become the Dark Fae Queen, according to Dark Fae law, they could never marry, but neither had found that to be an impediment to their happiness. Tiago lived at her court as her chief of security.
In the face of Dragos’s friends, the dragon’s feral internal voice retreated into the shadows. Stepping forward, he clasped hands with Tiago. “You look good.”
“You too,” Tiago said, eyeing him with a glance of approval. He turned to survey the large, crowded ballroom. “Good job not killing anybody.”
“That’s what Pia said,” Dragos told him. “Night’s not over yet.”
“I kinda love it more than I ever thought I could, especially since I have such bad memories from when my family was killed,” Niniane was saying to Pia. “But I can’t get over missing junk food. I have it shipped all the way to Adriyel. Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Doritos. Skittles, and oh my gods, Hostess Ho Hos. And you just can’t ship fresh-baked pepperoni pizza. I’ve been gorging on it ever since we arrived.”
Dragos met Tiago’s black gaze. “You ship Hostess Ho Hos to Adriyel?”
“They’re very important,” said Tiago impassively. “In fact, they have become quite the court fashion in Dark Fae circles. A single Ho Ho is now worth twenty Dark Fae doubloons. We’re making a killing.”
A bark of laughter burst out of Dragos, surprising him. Releasing Pia, Niniane turned to fling her arms around him. “Dragos! It’s so, so, so good to see you! Come down here, I need to kiss you.”
Obligingly, he bent and turned his head so that she could smack him on the cheek. She hugged him tightly again, and as he put his arms around her, he glanced at Pia, who was, after all, in the mating heat as well.
Her face had turned sour, and she sucked a tooth, but she didn’t say anything. Still amused, he said in her head, Okay there, lover?
If it was anybody else but Niniane, I’m not sure I would be, she told him. Thankfully, you’re not very approachable to most people.
At that, he cocked a sardonic eyebrow, but as she was right, he let it pass.
He caught sight of Bayne winding his way between clumps of people and told the others, “Excuse me.”
Stepping away from the small group, he asked, What did you find?
Bayne shook his head. To a casual observer, he might still look relaxed, but Dragos knew him very well and caught the subtle tight compression to his mouth.
Bayne said, I counted close to seventy people who are masking their scents, mostly congressmen and other officials and their spouses, along with a few interns. I cornered the White House press secretary, since Angela’s always been on friendly terms with us. She said it started sometime early last week in a sub-faction of people who are against maintaining warmer relations with the Elder Races. They’re calling it a Right to Privacy movement.
Dragos rubbed the back of his neck. Seventy fucking people, most of them government officials. That’s a sub-faction?
I know. Bayne met his gaze with a grim look. Washington is pretty strongly divided on how to deal with the Elder Races right now. Rumor has it, Angela said, that the vice president started it. This is the president’s last term in office, and she thinks Colton might be cultivating the issue to use it in her platform in a bid for election.
Fucking hell. If Colton became president, the world for the Elder Races, and the Wyr in particular, would get very cold indeed.
Automatically, he scanned the crowd for Colton. As he was taller than most people, he was able to locate her easily, standing to one side of the large ballroom with a tall, lean man. They looked like they were having a tense conversation, perhaps even an argument.