Worlds Without End (18 page)

I’d also wondered at Caimbeul’s choice of vehicle until I saw the battery of armaments, assault weapon controls, and other trinkets loaded onto the seemingly innocuous luxury car. The driver was a nasty-looking troll who seemed to know Caimbeul. Or at least they exchanged those knowing sort of nods that men think are very casual but anyone with half a brain can see right through.

I wasn’t sure whose Rite this celebration was for, but Surehand had gone all out. There were white tents scattered across the manicured lawns. Pathways between the tents were lit by magical means—nothing so mundane as electric lights for Lugh Surehand’s guests. Garlands of flowers were draped over anything that stood still. Staff dressed in Surehand’s colors circulated among the guests carrying tray after tray of wine and Epicurean delights. Even the weather had been manipulated. It was cool but not chilly, and the rain that had plagued us all day was finally gone.

I noticed that all the servants seemed to be orks and dwarfs and almost all the guests elves. I knew that when the Tir was established they’d made a big show of inviting non-elven metahumans, but I suspected that it was more the desire for cheap labor than altruism.

Hanging back at the edge of the party, I stayed in the shadows, pulling Caimbeul with me.

“What are they?” I hissed, pointing at several elves dressed in solid-black partial body armor that resembled the plate mail worn by knights in the thirteenth century. Some sported SMGs, others more lethal-looking weapons. Around them I could discern magical auras.

“They’re Paladins.” he replied. “Part of Surehand’s personal guard. He lakes younger sons from the noble families and makes them swear fealty to him. Ehran started the whole thing, I think.

“It keeps them out of trouble. Otherwise they’d be brawling among themselves, or plotting to do in their older siblings. Let’s face it, this hierarchical society they’ve reinstated has some serious drawbacks.”

I nodded. “Only so many can be on top, and since who ends up there is already decided, it leaves everyone else with any ambition pretty much hosed. It’s actually a pretty clever solution. Channel all that brawn and energy into supporting the status quo.

“But why would Surehand need them here? I know he has some sort of magical wards to protect this place. And I’m sure there’s a mundane security system in place. Is there really that much chance for assassination?”

Caimbeul shrugged. “Probably not, but would you want your bully boys to think they’re being shirked socially? Much better to keep them handy.”

“And you wonder why I’ve never been much for
society.” I said. “This all seems like such a waste of
time to me. I don’t have the stomach for it.”

Caimbeul reached out and placed his hand lightly on the small of my back. I was wearing a gown cut very low in the back. The contact of his hand against my naked flesh made me shiver.

“I think we’d best make ourselves known.” Caimbeul said. “I wouldn’t want to get caught lurking here in the shadows.”

We moved forward then, stepping into the golden wash provided by the floating wisps of light. Caimbeul guided us from one group to the next with the practiced grace and smoothness I’d forgotten he possessed. After all, he’d spent time both in Alachia’s court as well as the courts of the Northern Kingdoms, while I had made myself an outcast from society many times over.

With each group, we moved closer and closer to Lugh Surehand. It was a ballet of conversation, compliments, and jockeying for position. I was so caught up in admiring Caimbeul’s easy skills as a courtier that I forgot for a moment to pay attention to who was moving toward
us.

“Aina.” came a deep voice to my left. “It has been far too long. How are you, my dear?”

I found myself being kissed on both cheeks by a tallish man dressed in an exquisitely cut suit of black worsted wool. His long, steel-colored hair hung unbound down to the middle of his back, and he had almond-shaped, preternaturally golden eyes. “Oh come now, Aina. Don’t you recognize me?” I blinked, taken aback by the unexpected intimacy. Then I looked more closely at him. “Lofwyr.” I said. “I didn’t expect to see you in such a place. Nor in this guise.”

The dragon laughed. “When in Rome and all that.” he said. “But what about you? Sheep’s clothing? Or is it a new designer? As I recall, you were more fond of Chanel than anything else. But this doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen lately.”

I smoothed a hand over the gray velvet of my dress, a nervous gesture that I caught and made myself stop.

“I had no idea you were so interested in fashion.” I said. “A new hobby, or are you just bored?”

“Nothing is boring for long here.” he said. “And now you have appeared after such a long time. Have you come to be reunited with your people?”

I gave him an incredulous look. “I believe my position on "my people’ was made long ago, Lofwyr. And you’d best not forget it. It makes my task here all the more difficult.”

“So, you have come to play Cassandra.” Lofwyr said. “You’d do well to remember what happened to her.”

I took a drink of my champagne to keep from frowning at him. At least it was Krystal and not a bad vintage. The privileges of power. Caimbeul had listened to our conversation without saying anything. I glanced at him to judge his mood, but he was looking past Lofwyr. I turned, following his gaze, and saw that a young man was staring at us.

I froze, for a moment thinking that I was seeing Aithne Oakforest, but this elf was too young to be Aithne. On second glance I saw the differences between them. The slightly petulant mouth. The spoiled expression on his face. The bored gaze. He had some of his father’s coloring and bone structure, but the hair was too light and the eyes darker. Still, there was no doubt in my mind that this was Glasgian, Aithne’s oldest son. Or at least the oldest surviving one.

The thought of Aithne’s son pushed the breath from me. That I could still feel the pain of this moment, even after all this time, astounded me. And I knew that my hopes for Aithne’s forgiveness were in vain.

I felt Caimbeul’s hand on my elbow and heard his voice in my ear as though it were coming from a long way off, like an old-fashioned radio broadcast. “I know seeing him is a bit of a shock, Aina.” Caimbeul said. “But don’t let it throw you. He isn’t Aithne, and he’s not the ghost of Hebhel come back to haunt you. Remember what’s important now.”

I turned toward Caimbeul, pulling my gaze from Glasgian. “I’m sorry.” I said. My voice was reedy and thin in my ears. “He gave me such a start.”

“Are you all right, Aina?” asked Lofwyr. “You look positively green. Maybe you should sit down.”

“No.” I said, more firmly this time. “I just felt a little strange for a moment there.”

Lofwyr glanced over his shoulder at Glasgian. “Ah, he does look quite like his father, doesn’t he? No wonder it gave you a start. There’s no love lost between you and Aithne. Is there?

“I’ve always wondered about that. It seemed so strange ...”

“Perhaps some other time.” said Caimbeul as he led me away from the dragon.

He steered me about the perimeter of the party, keeping up a steady flow of nods and polite remarks as we strolled.

“Surehand is just ahead.” he said. “Do you think you’re up to meeting with him?”

I nodded. “Of course.” I said. “It was just a momentary lapse.”

Tilting my glass then, I drank the rest of the champagne with one large gulp. A waiter passed close by and I grabbed another glass from him. How I wished it were something stronger.

“You don’t suppose Surehand has a supply of Taengele lying about, do you?” I asked.

Caimbeul gave a little frown. I returned it and he knew better than to go over that old ground with me. Oh, I knew that particular demon was never far away, but I didn’t succumb to it anymore.

“I’m certain there is little that Lugh denies himself.” Caimbeul said. “But we haven’t time to indulge that particular vice of yours right now.”

I downed the second glass and got a small headache from the bubbles.

“Very well.” I said, giving him a grand wave of my hand. “Lead on, MacDuff.”

He rolled his eyes, but said nothing as he took my hand and led me to the small circle where Lugh Surehand stood.

* * *

“May I present Aina Sluage, Lugh.” said Caimbeul.

I extended my hand and Lugh Surehand brought it up to his lips and kissed it. He was much taller than I, with a slender build. His hair was dark red, almost the color of newly turned maple leaves in fall. His eyes were green as summer grass.

I thought he might have looked quite at home in Elizabethan times with his goatee and the rakish scar he sported on his neck. I knew from Caimbeul that it was an old injury, one that ran across and down his neck and across his shoulder.

There was an aura of command about him, though I thought he might have toned it down somewhat to accommodate the temperaments of the other Elders. I suspected that Aithne, Ehran, and the others would never tolerate the idea that they were being led by anyone.

“Ah, so you are Aina.” he said. “I have heard so many things about you. How is that we have not met over the years?”

I smiled very slowly at him, “My misfortune, no doubt.” I said. “I have always been cursed with bad luck.”

“No, madam, the ill fortune was mine.” he murmured. He had not yet released my hand.

So that was how it was to be. All so very polite and civilized, until, of course, the knives came out.

“Would you like a tour of the grounds?” Surehand asked.

“Delighted.” I said. “I understand they are most impressive.”

I let him pull me to his side and tucked my hand into the crook of his elbow. “I am curious.” he said as he led me away from the small circle of people and down toward his great house. “I understand you knew Goya. I have always been a great admirer of his work. Tell me, was he mad there at the end?”

I glanced over my shoulder at Caimbeul, but he was already engaged in conversation with a pretty young woman to whom we’d just been introduced, the Countess Teargan. She was Surehand’s constant companion, and even Caimbeul was unable to ascertain the nature of their relationship.

“I suppose all humans go mad upon realizing that they will die soon.” I said. “Isn’t that their great misfortune?”

Surehand glanced at me, his face shrewd for a moment before the pleasant mask slipped back into place.

“I don’t believe you find it to be.” he said. “I’ve always found that peculiar about you. You seem to despise your immortal state.”

“Despise is a bit strong.” I said lightly. “I find the proposition a bit strange. It occurs to me that we few have had so much time, yet we have not done any great good with it. And often we have done such harm in the name of ourselves.”

“Perhaps we are beyond such notions as good or bad.” he said. We were crossing the broad expanse of green lawn. Lawn that should have been brown this time of year.

“But isn’t that the very problem?” I asked.

“So you concern yourself with loftier matters than ours—is that it?” he asked.

I could hear the edge in his voice. “No.” I said. “I only know that my choices are those I can live with day to day.”

We reached the foot of the wide steps leading up to a terrace outside the house. In the dim light, it looked gray-white and unreal. As though it were some creation conjured up to amaze.

“Yet you come here to ask for my help.” he said as he led me up the steps. It was getting colder, and I shivered. He pulled off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It smelled of orris root, tobacco, and musk.

“Yes.” I said. “I have news that I believe must be told not only to the Elders, but to the world at large.”

Pushing open the wide glass doors, Surehand gestured for me to enter the house. Inside it was dark and shadowy. I banged my knee on something and gave a little yelp. Instantly, the room was bathed in golden light.

“It’s that damn ottoman.” he said. “I keep telling the maids not to leave it here, but they never listen. Are you all right?”

I flopped down on the ottoman and pulled my skirt up to look at the damage. It was minor, but I could tell there would be a bruise the next day.

“It’s nothing.” I said as I smoothed my skirt back down. “Is it safe to talk here?”

“Yes.” he replied. “The house and grounds are swept on a regular basis for any sort of bugging—magical or otherwise. I’m curious, though. You are here with Harlequin. Surely you know he is at odds with Ehran.”

“I know.” I said. “But his relationship with you is still intact. And I have much more severe problems among the Elders of this Tir myself. Aithne and Alachia, for example. From whom I suspect you have received much of your information about me.” He dropped into a chair opposite me and looked me over.

“You are both not at all what they described and quite like their descriptions.” he said after a moment. “But I'm not so foolish as to acquire all my information from only two sources—and those with grudges, no less.”

“And what have you found?” I asked. My ego speaking, no doubt.

Surehand settled into his chair, then propped his feet next to me on the ottoman.

“You have stayed out of political dealings for most of this cycle. You disapprove of the way we’ve been handling matters thus far. According to Aithne, who rarely allows any mention of your name, you are worse than any nightmare.”