I made coffee for myself while the water boiled for Dad’s tea. I could drink tea in a pinch, and I could drink it to be polite, since everyone in Avalon apparently worshipped at the Holy Church of Tea, but I would never learn to love it.
I set my coffee and Dad’s tea down on the coffee table, then curled up comfortably on the couch beside my dad. With typical Fae formality, he was sitting up straight with both feet flat on the floor. I wondered if it made him uncomfortable to have my bare feet up on the couch so close to him. If it did, he made no sign of it, merely stirring some honey and lemon into his tea as he waited patiently for my first question.
It was hard to decide what to ask first. I had so little idea what to expect from this trip, or from Faerie. But instead of asking a sensible, practical question, the first question that came to my mind was far more personal.
“What’s up with you and Prince Henry?” I asked. “You obviously don’t like each other.”
Dad hesitated a moment, probably as surprised as I was that that was the first thing I wanted to know. Then he grimaced and took a sip of tea.
“No, we don’t like each other. In fact, we’d each be happy to see the other dead.”
I couldn’t help a little gasp. My dad always seemed so cool and rational, even in the face of danger. It took a lot to crack his facade, but what I saw in his eyes now was nothing less than pure hatred.
He smoothed the expression away and then took another sip of tea. “I have enemies at Court, Dana. Everyone who’s ever spent any significant time at Court does, and I was Titania’s consort for well over a century.”
“Enemies who want to kill you.”
“No, enemies who’d like to see me dead. There’s a difference.” He gave me one of his wry smiles. “If one is a courtier, one does not kill one’s enemies. That would be far too vulgar. I told you once that at Court, lying and deceit is an art form. I was speaking rather more literally than you probably imagined. The Court awards figurative style points for the subtlety and ingenuity with which one destroys one’s enemies.”
Geez, and I was going there to meet a whole bunch of courtiers and the Queen herself. Fabulous.
“So why are you and Henry enemies?” I asked.
“Titania is never without a consort. Prince Henry’s father was her consort before me. There was a noticeable reduction in both their statuses at Court when Titania put Henry’s father aside. Henry, quite naturally, blamed me for it. He was only twenty when it happened, and I was a far more experienced and polished courtier. He tried to start various unsavory rumors about me, but I always managed to turn them back on him. And he never could control his temper, which is a fatal flaw in the Court. To lose one’s temper is to admit defeat, and I had little trouble making Henry do it, even in public.” Dad smiled like he was reminiscing about the good old days. “Every attack he made saw his status within the Court slip just a little more. He was forced to leave Court or eventually he’d have faced total social ruin despite being the Queen’s son.”
I gaped as Dad took another sip of tea. This was a side of him I’d never seen before. Sure, he was manipulative, and had a politician’s way with words, but I’d never thought he’d take such obvious satisfaction in basically ruining someone’s life. Henry seemed like a total jerk, but still …
Dad saw my expression, and he put down his teacup and turned to face me on the sofa.
“The primary reason I left Faerie and came to live in Avalon was to escape Court social politics. I am still capable of playing the game, but that isn’t who I am. Not anymore.”
That didn’t make me feel a whole lot better, and nothing he’d said so far made me any more pleased with the idea of going to Court. “So are you and Henry going to be taking potshots at each other for the whole trip, like you were at the dinner?”
“Undoubtedly. And he’s gotten a lot better at it since he was that sullen, untried boy. Luckily, my standing at Court is no longer of great concern to me.” Dad’s smile held a touch of malice. “And his temper is clearly still a liability. He must be beside himself at the thought that Titania would invite my daughter to Court. And he must have done something to annoy her for her to send
him,
of all people, to escort us.”
Glad to know Henry saw having Dad and me traveling with him as some kind of punishment. “But she didn’t really
invite
me,” I pointed out. “Not if she’s really planning to have us arrested if we don’t go. Or is that part Henry’s idea?”
“Hardly,” Dad scoffed. “I’m sure he’d have been happy to drag us off to Faerie in chains, but it certainly wasn’t his idea to blackmail us into going. He’d rather eat iron nails than see my daughter honored. No, he’d have loved nothing better than if we’d been free to refuse the invitation and mortally offend his mother.”
I grunted in exasperation. “How much of an honor can it possibly be when she’s blackmailing me into going?”
“Trust me. It’s an honor, no matter what inducements she felt it necessary to offer in order to be certain we come. The end result is that you will be presented at Court, and that is a very public show of favor.”
“Okay. I’ll take your word for it.” And try to remember that the Fae don’t think like normal people.
“Good. Now, what’s your next question?”
“How long will we be gone?”
“I can’t say with any great certainty, but count on it being at least three weeks.”
“Three weeks!” I’d been assuming—why, I don’t know—that it would take a couple of days.
Dad smiled at me. “Remember, this is Faerie we’re talking about. There are no cars or planes. The trip from Avalon to the Sunne Palace should take roughly four days on horseback, and you can be certain Titania will keep us waiting for at least a week before she finds it convenient to hold the ceremony. And afterward, we’ll be expected to stay awhile to fulfill our social obligations.”
Horseback? This just got better and better. I’d never ridden a horse in my life, and I’d have been just as happy to keep it that way. Though I supposed if the alternative was walking, horseback would have to do.
“It won’t be until after the presentation ceremony that we’ll be able to speak with Titania. However, I have had a chance to question several members of Henry’s entourage today, and I feel reasonably certain Titania did not send those Knights after you.”
I shook my head, not believing it for a moment. “Just because they say so?”
“No, because I know Titania. Getting her to change her mind at all takes something just short of a miracle. If she wanted you gone so recently, she would not have invited you to Court unless something catastrophic occurred, and it hasn’t.
“Of course,
someone
was behind the attack,” my dad continued. “Someone with enough clout to command a pair of Knights to carry out a personal errand.”
I shivered. “You mean someone like Prince Henry?”
Dad grimaced. “The thought has crossed my mind. Although hiring Knights to make threats and do bodily harm is not his style. Remember what I told you about the Fae love of subtlety. An overt attack like that would be considered gauche in the extreme.”
“Gee, I feel so much better knowing that him murdering me would be a social faux pas.”
“Princes can’t afford faux pas like that, so it’s more of a deterrent than you think.” He leaned forward a little and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry. I’ll be keeping a careful eye on him, just in case.”
“Do you think whoever
was
behind that attack would be happy to see me being presented at Court?”
His face wasn’t what I’d call expressive, but even the studied lack of expression was an expression in itself. “You will be well guarded. I’ll be with you, and so will Finn and Keane.”
Keane was Finn’s son and my self-defense instructor. I had what I think of as a like/hate relationship with him. When he’s beating the crap out of me on the practice mats, I really hate him. When we’re not sparring, he can be a pretty decent guy, though things were currently a little uncomfortable between us because I suspected he liked me a whole lot more than I liked him. Still, I would definitely feel safer with him by my side.
“What about Ethan and Kimber?” I asked, because I was sure Kimber would have already started bugging her dad and mine to let them come with me.
My dad managed to look disapproving without changing his facial expression, which was a neat trick. He didn’t insist I stay away from my Unseelie friends, but I knew he’d be a lot happier if I stuck to my “own kind.” If I ever start choosing my friends based on which Court they belong to, just shoot me.
“Alistair has suggested they come along,” he answered. “I hesitate to take the risk when they are both so young and untried.”
“Kimber’s a couple months older than me, and Ethan is the same age as Keane.”
“I know how you feel about Ethan,” he said with a little smile, “but … He and Keane may be physically the same age, but Keane is an adult while Ethan is still a boy.”
I knew what my dad meant, and when I’d first come to Avalon, I might even have agreed with him. But Ethan wasn’t quite the same since I’d rescued him from the Erlking’s clutches. He was still bound to the Erlking in ways I didn’t fully understand, and the ordeal had aged him. He was not the same carefree boy I’d first met.
“However,” my dad continued, “if Alistair is determined that they come along, I shall have to take them. I fear that if I refuse, he might send them after us anyway, and that would be far more dangerous for them.”
I was glad to know I’d have plenty of company, but I hated the thought that Alistair would put his political ambitions above his children’s safety. As ambitious as my own dad was, he was practically fanatical about keeping me safe.
“I don’t believe you will be in danger,” Dad said, “especially not when you are so thoroughly guarded. However…”
I felt the faint prickle of magic, and suddenly there was a pink faux-leather case, about six inches long, in his hand. He extended the case toward me, and I took it. I hadn’t a clue what was in it, and Dad ignored my inquiring look.
With a shrug, I lifted the lid, then almost dropped the case when I saw what was inside, nestled in a bed of red velvet: a gun. The logo on the underside of the lid said “Lady Derringer.”
“It’s only for emergencies,” Dad said. “I’ll teach you how to use it, but I certainly don’t expect you to need it. I just think we’ll both feel better if you have a mortal weapon available.”
Swallowing hard, I touched the ivory-colored grip, which had a picture of a white rose on it. Despite my dad’s reassurances, I didn’t think taking a gun with me into Faerie was going to make me feel safe at all.
* * *
The next morning was one of my regularly scheduled lessons with Keane, which meant I had to get up indecently early and couldn’t have any breakfast until afterward. Not unless I wanted to risk it coming back up while we sparred. If my teacher were anyone but Keane, I’d have expected him to give me the day off on the day before I left for Faerie, but I knew better.
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, examining the new high-backed tank top I’d ordered from an athletic catalog. In the catalog, it had looked like the top might give me enough coverage to hide the Erlking’s mark on the back of my shoulder. It covered part of the mark, but not all of it. I sighed regretfully, then headed to the bedroom to pull a T-shirt on over the tank. It was easier to fight without the loose, comfortable T-shirt giving Keane something to grab on to, but I didn’t have a choice.
I opened my bedroom door to find that Keane had already arrived. He’d pushed the furniture in my sitting room to the walls and was rolling out the practice mats. I admired the view for a moment, because even if I didn’t like him
that
way, there was no denying he was a treat to look at. He had a typically beautiful Fae face, but his hair—dyed jet black, with a lock perpetually hanging in his eyes—along with the earrings in his left ear, the Celtic armband tattoo, and a wardrobe that seemed to consist entirely of black, gave him a bad-boy edge. What could be sexier than a Fae bad boy?
“You’re late,” he said to me without looking up.
“Good morning to you, too,” I responded, approaching him warily. Keane didn’t believe in giving me a warning before he attacked—he said my enemies wouldn’t do it, so
he
wouldn’t do it—and that meant my lesson could start at any moment, even when it looked like he was thoroughly engaged in something else. I watched his body language carefully, searching for any sign that he was about to leap into motion.
“We’ve had this discussion before,” he said as he finished arranging the mats. “I expect you to show up on time
every
time.”
I rolled my eyes at the rebuke. And, of course, that was when he attacked.
Despite his high-handed, annoying, and often painful training techniques, Keane was a great teacher. Not that I’d ever admit it to his face. Even though I’d let my guard down, I reacted fast enough not to take his punch in the face. My arm jerked upward like it had a will of its own, blocking the punch.
In a real fight, that block might have saved my life, because a blow that hard to my head might knock me out and would certainly at least knock me down. And in a real fight, I’d be thanking my lucky stars right now as I ran like hell to get away from whoever had attacked me.
But this wasn’t a real fight, so my reaction—very mature, I know—was to yell “Ow!” loud enough to burst a few eardrums. I knew in theory that Keane pulled his punches when we sparred, but it still hurt like hell when he made contact, even when I managed to block.
“Don’t be such a baby,” Keane said, even as he kicked out in an attempt to knock my legs out from under me.
This was the reason I hated him so much when we were sparring.
I jumped backward, avoiding Keane’s kick, and after that there was no time for complaining. Even if I’d had enough air in my lungs to make a complaint.