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"I am heir to the Unseelie throne. Do you really think Taranis would risk harming me?"
"He challenged Emrys to a personal duel for merely asking why I had been exiled. You yourself were beaten as a child for asking about my fate. Now, here you sit speaking with me. He will never believe that I have not told you the reason for my exile."
"But you've told me nothing," I said, and I tried to keep the eagerness out of my body language, though I think I failed.
She gave another slight smile. "He will never believe that I have not shared my secret with you."
"He can think what he likes. To harm me would mean war between the courts. I don't believe that any secret you have is worth that."
She laughed, derisive again. "I think the king would risk war between the courts for this."
"Fine, the king might risk a war where he could sit safely behind the front lines, but Queen Andais would be within her rights to challenge him to one-on-one combat. I don't believe Taranis would risk that."
"You are the heir to the dark throne, Meredith. You have no idea what power resides in the light."
"I've seen the Seelie Court, Maeve, and I agree that once you've fallen afoul of it, you're afraid of the light; but everyone fears the dark, Maeve, everyone."
"Are you saying that the high king of the Seelie Court is afraid of the Unseelie Court?" Her voice held an amazing amount of outraged disbelief.
"I know everyone at the Seelie Court fears the sluagh."
Maeve sat back in her chair. "Everyone fears them, Meredith, at both courts."
She was right. If the Unseelie Court was all that was dark and frightening, then the sluagh was worse. The sluagh was home even to the things that the Unseelie feared. It was a dumping ground for nightmares too terrible to contemplate.
"And who holds the reins of the sluagh?" I asked.
She looked uncertain, but said, at last, "The Queen."
"The sluagh can be sent to punish certain crimes without a trial or a warning. One of those crimes is kin slaying."
"That is not often enforced," she said.
"But if Taranis killed the queen's heir, don't you think she'd remember that little law?"
"Even Andais would not dare send the sluagh after the king."
"And I say again, that even the king would not dare slay Andais's heir."
"I think you are wrong on that, Meredith, for this he might dare."
"And for that crime, Andais might loose the sluagh on him. Even the King of Light and Illusion would have no choice but to run from them."
She took the drink off the tray that the maid still held near at hand. She took a deep drink before saying, "I do not believe that the King would think that clearly about this. I... I would not be the cause of war between the courts." She took another drink. "I have wished for Taranis's arrogance to be punished over the years, but not by the sluagh. I would not wish that on anyone, not even him."
Having been chased by the sluagh myself, I could agree that they were terrible. But they weren't as bad as all that. At least the sluagh would simply kill you -- maybe eat you alive -- but you'd be dead. There would be no torture, no long, slow death. There were worse deaths than to fall to the sluagh.
And I knew something that Maeve could not know. The sluagh's king, Sholto, Lord of That Which Passes Between, called Shadow-spawn, but never to his face, had no great loyalty to Andais, or to anyone else for that matter. He kept his word, but Andais had let her politics slide for a few years, and now she depended heavily, too heavily, on the threat of the sluagh. They'd been meant to be the threat of last resort. I'd learned in talking with Doyle and Frost that the sluagh had become a much-used weapon. That was not what they were meant for, and it showed great weakness on Andais's part that she used them too often.
But Maeve did not know this. No one at the Seelie Court knew, unless there were spies, which, come to think upon it, there probably were; but Maeve didn't know it.
"Do you really think that the King will learn that we spoke together?" I asked.
"I don't know for certain, but he is a god, or was once. I fear he will discover us."
"Fine, I want to know why you were exiled -- but you want something from me, as well. You want something that you would risk your very life for. What could that be, Maeve? What could be that important to you?"
She leaned forward, robe still closed tight. She leaned forward until I could smell the cocoa butter from her skin and the harsh rum on her breath. She whispered against my ear, "I want a child."
Chapter 13
I stayed leaning in, shoulders almost touching with Maeve, because I didn't want her to see my face. A child? She wanted a child? Why tell me? I'd thought of a lot of things Maeve Reed could want; a baby had not been on the list.
I finally looked at her. "What would you have of me, Maeve?" That was the question.
She sat back in her chair, settling with a small wriggling movement that reminded me of her old teasing. "I have told you what I would have of you, Meredith."
I stared at her, frowning. "I know what you said, Maeve, but I don't see ..." I tried again. "I don't know how I can help you." I put a little emphasis on the I because I had thought of one thing I had that she might need. I had the men.
She looked around at the men, all the men, her bodyguards included. "You can understand now why I would want privacy for this discussion, can't you?" There was a small thread of pleading in her voice.
I sighed. I wanted to be politically savvy. I wanted to be cautious. But I did understand why she desired privacy. Some things supersede politics, your side, my side, and one of those is the plea of woman-to-woman. Maeve had given that plea, silently, but it was still there. Mother help me, but I couldn't pretend ignorance.
"All right," I said.
Maeve put her head to one side. "All right to what?"
"Privacy."
I felt both Doyle and Frost move behind me. They didn't truly move, not a step, but they tensed so hard it was almost a jump.
"Princess," Doyle began.
"It's all right, Doyle. You and the rest of the men can sit under the umbrella while we have our girl talk."
Maeve frowned, her pale pink lipsticked mouth pouting prettily. She was definitely regaining her composure. Or maybe she'd spent so many years as Maeve Reed, sex goddess, that she didn't know how else to behave.
"I was hoping for a little more privacy than a few yards."
I smiled at her, no pouting, no pretense. "You've shown that you're willing to persuade me with magic. It would be stupid of me to trust you completely."
The pout vanished, replaced by thin, almost angry lips. "You've proven you can best me at magic, Meredith. I am not so stupid as to try my luck for a second time."
Again, I was pretty certain that I had not bested Maeve at magic. It was more that she'd thrown her magic in my metaphysical face and my natural abilities had been awakened. It hadn't been deliberate on my part; in fact, I wasn't 100 percent certain that I could have duplicated it if I'd tried. But Maeve believed that I could do it at will, and I wasn't going to dissuade her. Let her believe that I was wonderfully powerful, and paranoid. Because I wasn't going anywhere completely out of sight of the men. Powerful and paranoid -- it was a recipe for royalty.
"My guards can sit in the shade while we talk out here. That is as much privacy as I'm willing to give you, even for girl talk."
"You don't trust me," she said.
"Why should I?"
She smiled. "You shouldn't. You most certainly shouldn't." She shook her head and sipped her rum, then gazed at me over the rim of her glass. "You've refused all refreshment. You fear poison or magic."