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Rhodri
I did not expect Lady Renna’s daughter to be so interesting. The way Tarrien described her, as a hard-nosed and uncompromising police officer without a humorous bone in her body, had me imagining someone completely different to the obviously intelligent and very sexy half-banshee who faced us in her office.
How does she do her job, surrounded by death? How does she balance the banshee power that swirls within her, with her human duties as an officer of the law? Banshee magic is part of Winter Faerie and as such, we are already connected, even though I could not sense anything in her while standing in her office.
Tiredness was evident in the tightness of her skin around those large hazel-colored eyes, and in the faint lines each side of her beautiful mouth. I cannot imagine the agony of what she must go through every time her team catches a murder case. Perhaps it drains her, and her magic takes time to replenish?
Inspector Maewen Jones is an enigma. I am glad she has agreed to pool our resources and work together. I have the feeling it is better to have someone like Maewen on our side, than against us.
It is frustrating that she needs to head home and sleep, but she is half-human, after all. I guess she does not have the stamina of a full fae like myself or Tarrien.
“Look, I need to go home, and I need to eat,” she says. “Why don’t you guys join me? We can eat pizza while we talk.”
Her offer is a generous one, though pizza is not something I have ever eaten before so I am not sure about that part of the invitation.
“I’ll have to sign out a vehicle from the fleet, gents,” she says. “Don’t think you’ll both fit on the back of my motorbike. It’s only a few blocks, but I’m not walking it at this time of night.”
I laugh and show her the filigree ring on my thumb. Tarrien has a similar one; in fact, all Winter fae wear one.
“We can meet you there,” I say. “Fae, remember? We raise a portal, and we jump. Would you like to accompany us down the faerie paths? It will be quicker than your motorbike.”
Maewen’s eyes narrow.
“I’ll meet you there,” she says, and reels off an address. “At the front door, please. Don’t go inside my apartment without me.”
I am not used to being ordered around by anyone. At first, her tone annoys me. But then I decide to shrug it off. Maybe it is the way of humans, to have less respect for their leaders? I do not spend long periods of time in the human realm, though I have been here often, of course. Many of the Winter Court’s subjects have permanent homes in realms other than Faerie, and it is my duty as the heir apparent to understand as much as I can about all worlds in which our subjects reside, not just my own.
That task has become even more important, since the Accord was struck thirty-odd years ago. Winter fae became a party to the Accord when my father, the king, signed the Agreement. We need to remain as informed as we can about happenings everywhere. Unfortunately, my father is not as capable as he once was. Things changed when Mother was banished, and over time, the task has fallen to me, to keep an eye on the various realms.
Perhaps I should start extending my visits to the human realm from now on. Especially if there are creatures as intriguing as Inspector Maewen Jones to pique my interest along the way.
True to her word, Maewen meets us at the entrance to her apartment. She carries two large flat cardboard boxes in her arms, from which a delicious smell rises. Is that pizza? How have I not tried this delicacy, before now?
“Hey boys, come on in. Welcome to my humble abode.”
She balances the boxes on one arm and leads the way inside a very small suite of rooms. In fact, it can hardly be called a suite. There is only one room, as far as I can tell, that doubles as both living and sleeping area. There is a food preparation area in one corner, two compact sofas divided by a coffee table in the middle, and a large bed and chest of drawers in the opposite corner. A fold-out screen separates the bed from the rest. There appears to be a bathing room off to one side, but that’s it. The space is neat enough, but it is hardly cozy or homely.
Humble is the right word. Do all police officers have so little in this realm? Our warriors in Faerie are treated much more generously than this. Most have large suites within the royal palace, as well as the opportunity for multiple homes wherever they wish to set them up.
“Take a seat, and dig in,” Maewen says, setting the boxes on a small table by the couch. “I’ll be with you in a sec.”
She disappears into the bathroom, presumably to freshen herself up, or perhaps to remove her gun belt and stow it safely away. I follow Tarrien’s example and sit beside him on one of the two sofa couches, leaving the other for our host when she returns. Tarrien opens the boxes and removes a slice of flat pie, so I do the same.
The taste when it hits my mouth is divine. Hot and spicy and full of grease, which should turn my stomach but instead, is quite delicious.
When Maewen returns, my mouth is full so I give her a greasy thumbs up. She flashes me a surprised grin, and my pulse rate jumps unexpectedly. When she smiles in a genuine way, her whole face lights up.
She should smile like that, more often.
Maewen sits opposite us and carefully places her mobile phone on the table in front of her. Only then does she grab some pizza for herself. Once she has eaten three slices, she wipes her mouth and fingers on a paper napkin and sits back with a satisfied sigh. “Oh, I needed that. Now, how shall we do this? Do you want to go first, Rhodri, and share what you know?”
I also wipe the grease away with a napkin, and lean back. “Ladies first.”
“Hmm. Well, I’m not a lady, so nope. Royalty should go first.”
“Oh, no. I insist.”
“No, I insist. You’re my guest.”
We lock eyes in what feels like an unwinnable glaring match, until Tarrien huffs out a breath.
“For the love of the winter gods, I’ll go first.”
He proceeds to provide a summary to Maewen—and to me, as I haven’t yet heard the full story—about what happened when Indie was held captive in the Badlands.
The poor girl. It must have been terrifying for her to be kept immobile by magic, helpless and unmoving, and believing she was about to be murdered in such a heinous manner.
Shame fills me. Shame that I carry the exiled queen’s tainted blood in my veins. Shame that my father, the king himself, has been so caught up in his internal grief at banishing the woman he loved—that he perhaps still loves—that he has been unable to perceive the growing threat. Or perhaps he has seen it, and chooses not to do anything about it.
I am not my parents, I remind myself.
I have free will to choose my own path.
While Tarrien speaks, Maewen sits forward, listening intently, and I have the opportunity to study her in more depth. At first glance, there is a definite surface brashness, and yet I suspect that may be a front. Every so often her guard drops and I catch a glimpse of something else in her expression. Something sad and haunting and indescribably lonely.
The need to take her in my arms and hold her, not for sexual gratification but simply to comfort her, grows. I shift in my seat, unused to such strange impulses. Sex to a fae is as natural as breathing, and while there is definitely an element of sexual attraction to the banshee sitting across from me, it feels like there is something else layered over the top of that desire. Something that does not lend itself to any kind of label I’m familiar with.
Lost in my musings, I realize Tarrien has finished speaking.
“And, Indigo is all right?” Maewen asks. “I mean, I know she’s safe, physically. But...mentally?”
“Yes, she’s incredibly strong and resilient,” Tarrien answers.
Again, there’s a glimpse of vulnerability in Maewen, just for a moment. She might pretend to be disinterested in her banshee family, but she is obviously relieved to hear that Indie is okay. As am I.
She shoots a glance at me, as if uncomfortable with my keen regard. I turn my attention back to Tarrien, to allow her a moment to gather herself.
“Indie is back here at her apartment in the human realm. Lady Renna accompanied her.” His expression turns fierce. “I have ensured her home and her workplace are laced with protections. No one is getting to her again without first having to go through me.”
Maewen taps her mouth with a finger as she considers Tarrien’s response. Whatever it was that I saw in her is now well-hidden once again.
“The whole thing sounds a lot bigger and more organized than I thought,” she says. “Which is both a bad thing, and a good thing, I guess.”
“How so? What is good about that fact?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“If it was simply a nutter—a necro or two gone rogue—then potentially anything goes. The whole thing becomes completely unpredictable and could go off on any tangent, based on the whim of a literal madman. If there is someone in charge, and a group with an actual plan and a purpose, then we just need to work out what that purpose is, find those in charge, and thwart them. There is less chance of things going off-road on this, now that we know Rhiannon and Targon are controlling the whole thing.”
“Off-road?”
“Just an expression. Never mind,” she says. “So, Tarrien, you said they called it the Restoration Movement, when they were holding Indie?”
Tarrien nods.
“Hmm. I wonder if it is related to the Accord,” Maewen says. “Restoring things to how they were before the Agreement was put in place. I’ve heard whispers over the years that there are such groups working covertly to that end. Nothing concrete, mind you.”
Tarrien shrugs. “Possible. It wasn’t long after the Accord Agreement was struck, between humans and supernatural creatures of all species, that these attacks first started. So, the timing fits.”
“Why would that benefit my mother?” I ask. “Or your father, for that matter? Humans already know about supernaturals. Destroying the Accord now won’t change that knowledge, though it might cause untold chaos if...”
I trail off as a sick feeling settles in my gut.
Chaos. Divide and conquer.
