Storm's Heart (Elder Races #2)(83)

Aubrey had never been ordinary in his long life, but she chose not to remark upon that. Instead she said, “Why, you sound almost democratic.”

He laughed. “Perhaps I wouldn’t go quite that far, unless it’s possible to be a democratic-minded supporter of a benevolent, open-minded ruler?” He sobered as he continued, “At any rate, opportunities became rare, and they went to Urien’s circle of friends and supporters, which grew fewer over time as our economy slowed. In the meantime, many of the ordinary ones suffered, and people began to speak of your legend with quite a dangerous sense of longing. It used to drive Urien into a rage. Of course now we know he knew the truth about you.”

She gave him a grim look. “Indeed he did.”

“I hated him,” Aubrey said. He shook his head. “We’re all adjusting to his death, I think, because it still feels dangerous to admit that. Your father had been a good friend of mine, and I, like so many others, had been half in love with your mother.”

She smiled. “Really? I guess she might have been beautiful. I don’t know, I don’t remember that very well. What I remember is she was so funny and loving, and lively, and she made the room light up whenever she came into it.”

“Yes,” Aubrey said. “She was all of that. She would be so proud of you.”

Niniane’s eyebrows shot up. She was so shocked at his words, tears sprang to her eyes. “My goodness,” she said. She laughed a little and wiped her nose. “Do you really think so?”

“I do,” Aubrey said. “Not only did you survive against all the odds and turn into a beautiful woman, but you also learned skills and made connections, and you became someone she would have been thrilled to see take the throne.”

“I don’t know about that, but it means a lot to me that you said it.”

She caught sight of Tiago out of the corner of her eye. He was smiling at her.

She said to him, “Thank you.”

“For what?” said Tiago. He sprawled in his chair, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his elbows rested on the chair’s arms, his fingers steepled.

“You’ve been nothing but supportive today in all the right ways,” she said.

“It’s a complicated day,” he said. “I’m trying to help.” His words were neutral, but his Power stroked her cheek with a smoky tenderness.

“That means a lot to me,” she said. She straightened her aching back and turned her attention to Aubrey, who had followed their exchange with close attention. She told Aubrey, “I have an agenda for this talk. First, I promised I would tell you why I know Dragos and the Wyr were not behind the second attack. Second, you need to know—Tiago is coming with me to Adriyel to stay.”

The Chancellor’s expression flared. “That’s unacceptable.”

“Is it now?” Tiago said. He tilted his head and regarded the Dark Fae male with a lazy predatory gaze. “Tough shit.”

Tiago made an interesting discovery that day, as he guarded Niniane through two very different groups of people. She sure did an awful lot of talking. She spoke to every last person—yeah, there’s no way that would always be possible—but somehow none of what she said ended up being blah-f*cking-blah. She spoke to people with real warmth about matters that directly affected them, and they responded to her.

To him there was always something interesting to what she did, whether it was what she actually said, or how she wrinkled her nose and widened her eyes when she was feeling mischievous, or whenever she might get a particularly evil glint in her eyes. Sometimes he just watched her cute little ass as she walked, and he lost himself in remembrance of what had happened, in fantasy for the lovemaking to come.

He came to realize that all of her shoes were f**k-me shoes. Those little pretty froufrou strappy things she slipped on her feet could be categorized as weapons of mass destruction, because they obliterated the male mind. They elongated and defined those delicate, slender legs of hers. He would swear they caused her to walk in such a way that her hips swayed with a sexy little wriggle that had every male focusing on her like they were German pointers and she was the game they had just flushed out of the foliage.

She would be good on the throne, he decided with a sense of pride. She needed seasoning and confidence, and she had wavered once or twice at certain junctures, but all the raw materials were there, along with the not-inconsiderable added bonus that people fell in love with her wherever she went.

So he was content to stroll behind the little faerie and learn more about her. He catalogued potential threats, memorized faces, and noticed weaknesses in the layout of the property, such as the places where he would launch an attack or how he might break into the house. There wasn’t a lot on that end; the place was well constructed and defended. But there were a few things he would change.

He also made a note of personalities and problems. He had been used to command for a very long time. Most people had tells, a twitch or nervous habit, or a manner of speaking, or a scent they gave off. Scents were interesting tags or identifiers, because they were an involuntary response to stimuli. It was an extremely rare entity that had no tells whatsoever. Often Carling or Dragos could manage it. Certainly the Elven High Lord could pull it off, but the Elven Lord’s consort was more intriguing to Tiago, for she could pull it off with much more frequency than anybody else he had met.