Aiden shook his head. “No. She is here. She—” He took a deep breath. “No. She was one of the ones who came here when I escaped Underhill and was recaptured by the fae.”
“Tell me about her,” said Adam.
Zee frowned.
It was Tad who said, “In the far past, the Widow Queen was known for seducing men, men powerful in the human world, but also good and beloved men. Gradually, she would separate them from everything they loved until they were obsessed with her. She could use magic to accomplish this—but preferred not. It was better when they followed her of their own will. Then she would destroy the man, the people he once loved—physically, mentally, in all ways at her disposal—then move on to the lands he ruled. The stories of Snow White and Cinderella probably were first conceived as a result of incidents involving her. When Underhill closed, she lost a great deal of that kind of magic, and more to the point, she lost her ability to feed off human misery. That wasn’t her greatest power—she is a Gray Lord—but she enjoyed it the most.”
“So why would she want Aiden?” I asked. Then answered myself, “Beloved of Underhill, right? Possessed of magic she bestowed upon him. And the Widow Queen wants her abilities back.”
Tad shrugged. Zee grunted. Good enough supposition, I read from the vague noises.
“At least she doesn’t prey upon children,” Adam murmured with a sigh. “So now we know that one fae wants Aiden. We need a plan for tonight. Will the Gray Lords meeting with Thomas’s fae be of sufficient status to bargain?”
He looked at Zee, who sighed. “Probably. The Flanagan was a Power, and his daughter showed signs of being the same.” He tapped on the table. “You should bargain with them that they respect the boundaries of your territory—and be very clear what your territory is. Too big, and they will not believe you can hold it; too small, and you tell them that you are weak.”
“What do we have to bargain with?” Adam asked. “I won’t turn the boy over to them.” He looked at Tad. “Or you or your father. Bran has made it clear that we are on our own.”
“There is the walking stick,” I said.
“That’s a nonstarter,” said Adam. “It won’t stay with them in the first place. And in the second place . . .”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s changed, hasn’t it? It’s not just an artifact anymore. It has a mind of its own—which makes it . . . not something I’m willing to bargain with if I can help it.”
8
Thomas had been suspiciously amiable about my request to include us in his fae lady’s meeting.
“I am,” he’d said when I’d called him, “very happy to have more security for Margaret.”
I cleared my throat. “You might not be so happy when I explain exactly why we’d like to come along.” He’d listened as I expanded on the tale of the trouble I’d caused with my little speech on the bridge.
“So,” he said when I’d finished. “You wish to come in the hopes of taking the Gray Lords by surprise—and are fairly sure that those fae you will corner are people who know the situation and have the power to make bargains.”
“Yes,” I said.
There was a little pause. “You don’t think that the Gray Lords are responsible for the threatening message sent to Hauptman’s ex-wife. Worse, you don’t think that the person, this Widow Queen, you talked to on the phone was the person responsible for the message, either.”
“She may have been one of them,” I said, “but there are others—who may or may not have a different agenda than she does. Or they want our refugee, too, but not for the same purpose. You see our problem.”
“You don’t know who wants what—and where they sit in the halls of power.” Margaret Flanagan had taken the phone. “Too many possibilities and not enough information.”
“Exactly,” I told her. “We don’t want war with the fae—and I don’t think they want war with us, either. But we won’t give them the boy, who has been a victim of the fae for a very long time. We won’t give them”—I paused, because in this instance I probably couldn’t speak for the pack—“I won’t give them Zee or his son. Ideally, the Gray Lords will decide we are too much trouble or not important enough to screw with, and they will take over and police their own. Otherwise, we’ll try to bargain with them to get them to respect our territorial boundaries.”
“Zee?” Margaret asked. “You said his name to Thomas, too, as if he were someone we should know?”
“Siebold Adelbertsmiter,” I said. “He’s had a lot of names over the years. You might know him better as the Dark Smith of Drontheim.”
There was a long pause. “You are a friend of the Dark Smith?”
“Zee is a grumpy old fae,” I said. “But he is my friend.”
She drew in a breath. “He was my father’s much-admired enemy.”
“If it helps,” I said, “when I told him your father was dead, it hit him pretty hard. I’d say the admiration went both ways.”
She laughed.
Thomas said, “Margaret is what is important.”
“We will protect her,” I said.
“All right,” he said. “But you come. You and your mate. I’ve met you, and I’ll have you at my back, but no strangers.”
“Deal,” I said.
Which is how I came to be riding shotgun instead of someone more useful like Warren or Honey—but we were hoping this wouldn’t turn into an actual battle.