Storm's Heart (Elder Races #2)(63)

Aubrey took a deep breath. “We must not forget our own responsibility in all of this,” he said aloud. “I am the one who made the appalling mistake of choosing Geril, who is, after all, the one who caused you the real injury. I cannot apologize enough for that.” He offered her a small grave smile. “And how could you not want your friends at a time like this? It must be difficult to leave behind the home you have known since you were a child. I believe this will be a very good way for you to transition.”

Niniane breathed out a sigh of relief that was shakier than she would have liked. She turned to the harpy. “So will you guys come—if Dragos approves, of course?”

Aryal touched her shoulder with a smile. “Be real, pip-squeak. How often has the Old Man said no to you? We wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

So. Not quite up shit creek, not quite without a paddle—yet.

It was agreed that the sentinels would work with Carling’s entourage to provide security for Niniane as part of the short-term arrangement until the investigation into the attacks was concluded. “We will be visiting together anyway,” Niniane said. “They have guarded me many times over the years and we know each other well.”

Then Niniane nodded to Aubrey, Kellen and Carling as they each bid her goodnight and withdrew. At a gesture from her, Duncan withdrew to stand just inside the patio doors again where he went into a statuelike stillness. When they were all gone, or at least as gone as they were going to get, she sat back in her seat.

Niniane muttered, “So you’ll be around for a couple of weeks now. At least that’s bought me some time.”

Aryal narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about, bought you some time?”

She slumped forward with a groan. She laid her cheek on the table. “Time for the investigation on the attacks, time to find out who I can and can’t trust. At least a little bit. At least for some things.”

Aryal snorted. “That’s easy.”

Niniane smacked the harpy’s knee. “I know I can trust you, goofball,” she said. “I don’t know what I was thinking to let myself get shaken even for a few minutes. I mean, any harpy that will let me gussy her up in pink lipstick and pigtails—”

Aryal smacked her in the back of the head. “Will you shut UP about that. God!”

She gave Aryal an evil grin then sobered. “I’m talking about the people I’m going to be living with for the rest of my life. I have to make Powerful friends fast in the Dark Fae ’hood, or the brutal fact of the matter is, I don’t think I’m going to last very long.”

Aryal laid her head on the table too, facing Niniane, her gaunt features turning serious. “You’re going to be okay,” Aryal promised. Her scowl promised other things as well, like she would rain hell down on anybody that tried to say otherwise. “You’re going to live for a long damn time. We’ll work it out.”

Niniane tried to swallow past a dry throat. Her fingers were cold. She rubbed her hands together. “And since we’re on the subject of finding people to trust, I’ve also got to find somebody to marry.”

Aryal’s head reared up. “What?”

“I’ve made a shopping list for a husband,” she whispered. “He’s got to be Powerful and influential, and someone who wants the throne but can’t get it on his own because he’s got to have a vested interest in keeping me alive.”

The harpy’s stormy eyes widened. “Oh, good God, gak.”

Niniane felt her eyes flood with tears again. This time, no matter how she tried, they spilled over, and then there was no containing the harpy’s panic.

Which was why Niniane was now dancing and trying to pretend she was having a good time.

Because Aryal talked to Duncan who talked to Cameron, who cooked up the idea of a trip out to Big Red’s. Big Red’s was a nearby bar owned by a retired cop and frequented by cops. It was a sturdy place rather than a fancy one, with solid wood furniture and a sizable dance floor and a small kitchen behind the bar that served a limited menu of food, primarily sandwiches and fries. The building was easily defended, and even better, Cameron knew the owner and vouched for his integrity. Niniane, who would have given almost anything to get out of the hotel from hell, jumped at the chance to escape for a few hours. She threw herself into the venture and put on makeup, an outfit, shoes, the whole works.

Besides, she adored music and loved to dance. She did, really. Get her under some stress, and she was bound to turn manic and do something like this anyway. Aryal knew. Niniane had closed down more than a few nightclubs in her time. She would close down Big Red’s too. She would click into her groove any minute now, baby, and shake it out.

But clicking into her groove meant she first had to find it. Her body felt disjointed, graceless. She felt disconnected from the music blaring over the dance-floor speakers. It sounded like a great crash of meaningless noise. The human policewoman, Cameron, dressed casually in jeans, a tank top, and a light summer jacket that hid her gun from casual view, threaded through the other dancers. The floor was packed with a rowdy, good-natured crowd, so Cameron stayed close, while Aryal and Duncan kept watch from one side.

Niniane forced herself to smile, and it felt horrible and fake, a rubbery stretch of tired facial muscles. Nobody else seemed to notice. Cameron smiled back, her cinnamon-sprinkled features lit with pleasure at Niniane’s apparent enjoyment. The whole thing was gruesome, really.