We’d been going back and forth like this for years. New Gargoyles were blessed with physical strength and natural fighting skills that were the envy of Faerie, but being a new Fae race, and one even less fertile than the average Fae, we lacked numbers. In Faerie, there was power in numbers. There were several hurdles to overcome to reach Marisol’s goal of kingdom status, but the biggest challenge facing the New Gargoyles was population size. It was hard to make a case to the High Court for a kingdom charter with such a small population. Maxen’s mother—and likely many New Gargoyles—thought it a disgrace that I was wasting my peak fertility years in the Earthly realm working for the Guild.
But my life outside Faerie gave me some degree of freedom from Fae affairs and politics, which I strongly preferred to avoid. My job in the Earthly realm also gave me space from Marisol. If I’d lived in Faerie, I’d be at her beck and call. Hunting down criminal vamps was more important to me.
Maxen’s eyes slipped down over my patched scabbard strap, torn jeans, and worn leather boots. “If you joined the Stone Order’s fighting legion, you’d have top-of-the-line equipment. Daily access to the best training facility. You’d be set up with everything you needed, and you wouldn’t have to worry about earning a paycheck.”
This was our other little ongoing push and pull. When I sidestepped the obligation-to-your-people play, he always tried to persuade me to leave the Guild to join the battle ranks of the Stone Order.
I shook my head. “Placing myself squarely under Marisol’s thumb for all eternity? No thanks.”
He gave a sad smile that was very much meant to tug at my heart. “You’re one of the best fighters in Faerie, Petra. Your skills are wasted with the Guild. The future of the New Gargoyles hangs in the balance. Your people need you.”
His plea seemed a bit dramatic, but there was some truth behind the seriousness of it. While Marisol was doing everything she could to strengthen the Stone Order’s position, several of the other Faerie rulers were working to oppose her efforts so they could absorb the New Gargs into their own kingdoms. She needed to show strength in every way possible.
“You know what my work means to me,” I said. “I vowed a long time ago to get criminal vamps off the streets.”
He pressed his lips together, seemingly holding back further attempts at persuasion.
“Your turn to answer questions,” I said. “What brings you into a place like this?”
“Business with King Sebastian,” he said. His hand moved to rest lightly on the pommel of his sword. The unconscious gesture suggested perhaps the visit wasn’t entirely amicable.
My eyebrows rose. “Oh?”
Any remnants of lightheartedness faded from Maxen’s face, and his eyes tightened. “Sebastian persuaded a small group of New Gargoyles, ones with some Spriggan blood, to leave the Order and swear fealty to him. I’m here to ask that he allow a Stone Order ambassador to reside in his court, seeing as how we now have this connection.”
Maxen was being extremely diplomatic. Even as ignorant of politics as I was, I knew this wasn’t truly his aim, or at least not his only one. Marisol would want our people to retract their oath to Sebastian. Not that taking back an oath was a simple matter in Faerie, but it could be done, and I knew Marisol took it as a personal affront when a New Garg pledged to a different leader. It didn’t happen often, but as she always said, every New Gargoyle mattered, and our race needed to be united to have any hope of forming our own kingdom.
“And how is the Spriggan king receiving you?” I asked wryly. I didn’t envy Maxen one bit. His mother had sent him on an impossible errand.
“Actually, you can see for yourself,” he said. He pointed up to a roped-off area in the balcony. I scolded myself silently. How could I have missed those royal guards? I should have been paying better attention. “Sebastian is up there right now, and he sent me to ask you to join us.”
I swallowed back a groan. “Can’t do it. Busy.” I lifted my palms and shrugged in a so-sorry gesture.
The corner of Maxen’s mouth quirked a bit. “You know you can’t refuse the summons of a Fae king without causing an inter-kingdom uproar. C’mon, Maguire. Buck up.”
He grabbed my wrist and began pulling me toward the staircase.
“But I’m not dressed for a royal audience,” I protested, dragging my feet. “And he’ll blow my cover. My job depends on discretion!”
As Maxen forced me upstairs and across the balcony, I caught a good view of the vamp at the VIP table just as a human kid wearing a ball cap pulled low over his eyes passed a wad of cash into the hand of one of the vamp’s entourage. The vamp, a stocky, swarthy guy with dark brown eyes, nodded. Then he stood, pulled on his jacket, and headed for the stairs. As soon as he was clear of the balcony, another of his entourage, a too-thin Fae girl with silver hair down to her waist, slipped a small glass vial of a clear liquid to the kid. Not VAMP3 blood, but it had to be some other drug.
Damn it to Maeve, that vamp was likely my mark, and it looked like he was leaving.
“Your sword, madam,” said a deep authoritative voice. It was one of Sebastian’s guards. A typical Spriggan, he was built like a muscle-bound oak. He held out one beefy hand and nodded at the grip of my broadsword. I lifted the scabbard strap over my head and reluctantly passed it to him.
“Let me go, Maxen,” I hissed. “My mark is getting away.”
“Petra Maguire, how delightful to see you here!” called a cultured voice. The guard shifted as he turned to set my sword aside, and I caught sight of Sebastian.
“Too late,” Maxen whispered to me. He actually looked contrite.
The Spriggan king beckoned to me. “Not to worry, my man Gerald will keep a watchful eye on your prized shadowsteel spellblade. Please do join us.” Sebastian’s mouth was relaxed into a pleasant smile, but his eyes were commanding. When I hesitated, his brows rose a fraction.
Maxen was right. I couldn’t refuse an invitation of audience with a Fae king. It was just one of those Fae things there was no getting around.
Before I was ushered past the velvet rope, I caught one last glance of the swarthy vamp. He appeared to be speaking to the head bartender or perhaps the owner, a Fae man with a close-cropped salt-and-pepper beard. If my mark got away while I was being forced to dance like a monkey for the king, I was going to wring Maxen’s neck.
Irritation buzzed through me like a swarm of hornets. But I tamped it down, mustered up what I hoped passed as a smile, and faced the Spriggan king.
Chapter 2
BEING SEPARATED FROM Mort made me edgy, and it took all of my self-control to keep from glancing over at the spot where my scabbard was propped against the wall. The broadsword was imbued with my blood and therefore my magic, and I got a little twitchy when it was out of reach.
Maxen, in contrast, was allowed to keep his sword and daggers in King Sebastian’s presence. Something to do with court protocol for diplomats, most likely. I only knew enough of Faerie court etiquette to keep from getting in too much trouble, but I had never bothered to learn the hundreds of finer points that were second nature for Maxen.
I made an awkward curtsy in front of Sebastian, not an easy thing to do in skin-tight jeans. With no skirt to fan out, I just had to lift my arms at my sides as I put one ankle behind the other, bent my knees, and bowed my head. It was the proper practice for female Fae wearing pants, but there was really no graceful way to do it.