Thorn Queen (Dark Swan, #2)(71)

"Cute?"

"Very. And it just made me feel...I don't know. Kiyo thinks it's jealousy, but it's more than that. I just can't explain it."

"Kind of a questioning of your own life and the choices-or lack thereof-before you?"

I looked up, startled, and met his eyes. They were unusually serious. "Yes, exactly." Dorian remained silent, and I found myself rambling more. "He's having a hard time getting all of it lately-the magic, the girls, the demons...he doesn't like me spending time over here. Neither does Roland." I couldn't help a smile. "Hell, neither do I. But...I have to. I have to put things right around here."

"I know you do," he said, face serious.

"Dorian...what would happen if I got a crown?"

This made him a smile a little. "It would make you look even more beautiful."

"No, I'm serious. Kiyo says it's a bad idea. That it would make all this real."

"It's already about as real as it's going to get, my dear."

"That's what I told him! But I don't get the big deal. You never wear a crown."

"Not often. But I have one, and I was crowned and all my people swore fealty to me. That's what a crown would lead to. You want one for ornamentation? Sure, that's easy. But put one on and walk out among your people-especially in a city like Highmore-and say, 'This is who I am, I am your queen...' Well, that's what the kitsune fears. You're already queen. No crown can affect that. But you accepting one and declaring your authority is when you truly believe you're a queen. And as far as Kiyo is concerned, that's where the danger is."

"Wow," I said, nearly as surprised to have such a thorough explanation from him as I was by the content itself. "Are you afraid of it?"

He snorted. "Hardly. I don't need a crown to know you're a queen. It radiates off of you. But I would like for you to know you're a queen."

If dealing with all the crap I had on my plate didn't make me think I was a queen, then I didn't really know what else would. I let the crown issue go and instead recapped my latest intel about the bandits and Abigail. "I can't figure out her role here. You mentioned before that Art's motives would be...uh, understandable. But why her? Unless she's just enough of a pal to help him score some gentry action."

Dorian was still in his pensive mode. He'd poured himself yet another glass of wine and handed me one too that I sipped sparingly. "Let me ask you this. Why do men of the shining ones so often abduct your women?"

"Easy," I returned. "Because we're more fertile. You guys might have sex in public, but it doesn't usually result in anything. A guy who wants a kid has better luck with a human."

Dorian nodded. I had a feeling he'd already made some leap of logic and was prompting me here to figure it out myself. "And what about humans? Are you hoping for children each time you make love?"

I laughed, thinking of my stock of condoms and birth control pills. "Hardly. We go to a lot of trouble not to. Too easy for us."

He leaned toward me, green eyes shrewd. "Then think about it. You understand why we would want humans. Why would humans want us?"

I studied him, trying to catch up to what he'd already thought of. A few moments later, I got it. "Because you'd fulfill the opposite need. A human could have sex with a gentry girl and not worry too much about her getting pregnant. Or getting a disease."

Gentry were healthier than us in that regard. It seemed to go along with them having such long life spans-

"Oh God. That would be part of it." The more I followed his logic, the clearer and clearer it became. "You guys live longer. Gentry girls would stay young and beautiful for a long time...."

The horror of it was setting in. Until that moment, I had thought there were few sexual crimes worse than gentry guys consistently trying to rape me to get me pregnant. As shocking as it seemed, I was wrong. If this were true...if this idea that Dorian was suggesting was true...well. That was worse. Gentry girls taken because they were the ideal sexual partners: young, disease resistant, hard to get pregnant-even with a human. I almost laughed. It was like Tim's poem about the maiden who'd come from another world, whose beauty and youth were so great that mortal men had coveted her.

The question was, how did the gentry girls feel about this role? A lot of girls wanting to get pregnant might wholeheartedly embrace human lovers-literally and figuratively. But Moria's traumatized state suggested her stint with Art hadn't been welcome...

I stood up and rubbed my eyes. "Oh God," I repeated. "The stuff...all the stuff..."

"What?" asked Dorian, understandably confused.

Dropping my hands, I looked back at him. "These shamans, Abigail and Art. They live well. They have more possessions...nicer things than they should for the jobs they have." Art's giant house in an upper-class neighborhood. The shiny SUV. Abigail's luxurious-albeit messy-apartment. Her extensive jewelry collection. "I don't know how, but they're making money off it. Off these girls." I slumped against the wall. "And I don't know what to do about it."

Dorian rose and came to stand by me. "You'll stop them."

I shook my head. "It's not that simple. Art was right-there's no shaman council. I can't report them to anyone, certainly not human authorities. There's no accountability, no laws that apply here."