At Poppymeadow’s enclave, she discovered one of the sekasha had called ahead. Half the females of Windwolf’s staff ambushed her at the door and hurried her to room. She tried not to mind as they clucked and fussed over her, pulling her out of clothes, washing her face, neck and hands, and pulling the formal gown over her head. Certainly she wouldn’t be able to dress quickly without them, but their nervousness infected her.
At least she was confident about how she looked. The dress was a deep, rich, mottled bronze that looked lovely against her dusky skin. Over the bronze silk was another layer of fine, nearly invisible fabric with a green leaf design, so that when the bronze silk moved, it seemed like sunlight through forest leaves. Unfortunately, it still had long sleeves that ended in a fingerless glove arrangement and the dainty matching slippers.
“Oh please, can I wear boots?”
“You’ll be outside, so the boots are appropriate.” Lemonseed proclaimed and her best suede ankle boots were produced, freshly brushed.
Tinker stepped into the boots, the females fastened the row of tiny hooks and eyes made of cling vine and ironwood down the back of the gown, and she was dressed.
Windwolf waited by the car, wearing the bronze that matched her underdress and a duster of the leaf pattern of her overdress. His hair unbound in a shimmering black cascade down his back.
“Where is your jewelry?” He asked.
“They wanted me to wear the diamonds.” She held out both necklaces. “But I thought the pearls would look better. I told them I’d let you pick.”
“The pearls do look better,” Windwolf took the diamond necklace and fastened in place. “But the diamonds are for formal occasions such as this. The pearls would be for more intimate times, such as a private dinner party.”
Sighing, she surrendered the pearls back to Lemonseed for safekeeping. “We’re just going out to the clearing and saying ‘howdy’ aren’t we?”
“We are greeting the Queen’s representative who can strip us of everything if they deem us unable to protect what we hold. Appearance is everything.”
“They can’t really take everything — can they?”
“It is unlikely.” Windwolf swept her into the Rolls. “Please, beloved, be on your best behavior. Keep to High Elvish — and forgive me — but speak as little as possible, since your High Elvish is still weak.”
Great, the Queen’s representative hadn’t even landed and already she was being made to feel like a scruffy junkyard dog. Her annoyance must have shown on her face, because Windwolf took her hand.
“Beloved, please, promise me to keep that cutting wit of yours sheathed.”
“I promise.” She growled, but silently reserved the right to kick anyone that truly pissed her off.
Tinker could see why Windwolf opted to dress first. True the dreadnought had landed and its many gangplanks were lowered. There was, however, no sign of the Queen’s representative. A sea of Fire Clan red moved around the ship as the Queen’s Wyverns secured the area with slow thoroughness. Their Rolls was checked at the entrance to the clearing where Wyverns already erected a barrier. After their identities were verified, the Rolls was directed to a shimmering white tent of fairy silk. An ornate rug already carpeted the tent. Servants were setting up a teak folding-table, richly carved chairs, a map chest and a tea service.
Leave it to elves to do everything with elegance.
The Queen’s Wyverns were tall with hair the color of fire pulled back and braided into a thick cord. Like the Wind Clan sekasha, they wore vests of wyvern-scale armor, and permanent spell tattoos scrolled down their arms; both were done in shades of red that matched their hair.
All of Windwolf’s sekasha had come with them and formed two walls of blue in the sea of red. Seeing all the sekasha in mass, Tinker realized not only how much alike the Wyverns looked, but also how much the Wind Clan sekasha — slightly shorter with black hair — looked the same. Only Stormsong stood out with her short blue hair.
“Are the sekasha of the various clans separate families?” Tinker whispered to Windwolf as she held out a hand to him, so he could help her out of the car. Experience had taught her that the long skirts loved to wrap tight around her ankles as she got in and out of cars and carriages — she had nearly gone face first into the dirt several times.
“Hmm?” Windwolf steadied her as she scrambled out.
“They look alike.” Once out, she twitched her skirts back into place.
“The Skin Clan liked their sekasha to match — like coach horses. They would bio engineer a generation to suit them and then breed them one to another. They would kill all the children that didn’t express the desired traits, weeding out stock until it bred true, like drowning litters of puppies when a mutt gets into a pure breed’s kennel.”
“That’s horrible!”
“That’s why we rebelled against them. Why we will have nothing to do with the oni who are so much like them.”
“This one has the domana genome?” Lord Tomtom had said when he held her prisoner. “Perhaps I’ll get my own litter on her.” Tinker shivered as she remembered Tomtom’s clinical gaze on her. No wonder the elves hated and feared the oni so much.
Alertness spread through the Wyverns, like ripples in a pool, moving outward. A figure in white and gold emerged from the dreadnaught. With the focus of every person on the field tight on him, the tall male strode across the meadow to join them at the tent. He wore a vest of gold scale, white leather pants, and a duster of white fairy silk that flared out behind him as he walked.
He ducked into the tent and nodded to Windwolf. “Viceroy.”
Windwolf bowed. “Prince General.”
Prince? He had the Queen’s glorious beauty — the radiant white skin, the vivid blue eyes and oh-so-gold hair twisted into a sekasha-like braid.
Tinker carefully followed Windwolf’s suit as to how low to bow. Not that she needed to worry, for the elf prince didn’t even glance in her direction. The duster settled around him, revealing that it had a delicate white on white design of wyverns and flames.
“Well, it took a hundred and ten years.” Surprisingly, the Prince General used low Elvish. He has a deep voice with a hint of rasp, as if he’d spent the day shouting. “But as I said, it was only a matter of time before you would be calling for help and then I would have to come save your sorry ass. Of course you never could do things small — you had to go find a nest of oni for me to wrestle.”
Windwolf grinned hugely. “True!”
“Young pup!” The prince returned the smile and gave Windwolf a rough hug. “It is good to see you again. It has been too long.”
“I have been busy.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“True Flame, this is my domi, my beloved Tinker of the Wind Clan. Beloved, Prince General True Flame of the Fire Clan.”
The prince turned his vivid gaze onto her and his eyebrows arched up in surprise. “So this is your child-bride. They said she was little…”
“Spare her your razor truth, please, True. I love her dearly and do not wish to see her hurt.”
True Flame snorted. “She better learn to guard her heart. Those vultures of court will rip her to shreds.”
“I don’t plan to take her to court…”
“Can we stop talking like I am not here?” Tinker matched True Flame’s Low Elvish. A look from Windwolf told her that regardless of what True Flame did, she was expected to speak High Elvish.
“Certainly, cousin,” True Flame said.
“Cousin?” Tinker glanced to Windwolf in confusion.
“My mother is the youngest daughter of Ashfall,” Windwolf said, and then, seeing Tinker’s blank look, added. “Ashfall was our first king.”
True Flame gave Windwolf a look that clearly asked, ‘She doesn’t know that?’
“Grandfather has been dead for nae hae,” Windwolf said.
“We’ve only had three rulers,” True Flame said. “Ashfall, Halo Dust, and Soulful Ember.”
“Yes, my knowledge of all things elfin is lacking.” Tinker acknowledged and managed to bite down on ‘I’m sure, however, you’re equally ignorant of buckyballs.’ Be nice to the male that can take everything away from you, she reminded herself, and managed to force her mouth into a slight smile. Thank gods, Windwolf seemed to be friends with him.
True Flame took in the weak smile and turned back to Windwolf with a slight look of distaste.
“Once you come to know her, True, you will see why I chose her.”
True Flame clicked his tongue and waved toward the table. “Time will tell. Most of your choices continue to mystify me. Sit. Let us discuss this mess you’re in.”
He pulled a map from the chest and spread it on the table. It showed the city of Pittsburgh and the surrounding areas of Elfhome in detail.
“First, what is happening here?” True Flame pointed at Turtle Creek on the map. “The whole area seems — wrong.”
Windwolf explained the events that lead to Tinker creating the Ghostlands.
True Flame looked at Tinker with slight surprise, sweeping a look down over her, before saying, “She’s surprisingly destructive for her size.”
“That’s part of her appeal,” Windwolf agreed.
She kicked Windwolf under the table, which earned her another warning look. She gave the look back at him. Being nice was one thing, having them gang up on her was another.
“Can the oni cross from their world to ours through this unstable area?” At least True Flame asked her directly.
“I don’t know,” Tinker said. “I need to study the area more. In theory, there should not be enough energy to keep it unstable.”
“We think at least one creature has come through.” Windwolf said. “My domi was attacked in the valley yesterday by what we believe is an oni dragon. It is unlikely that the oni could have smuggled such a creature across all the borders of Earth — so it stands to reason that it’s a new arrival.”
“Then we will have to wait until this area is secure,” True Flame tapped Turtle Creek on the map, “before you can continue your study.”
“If the oni can come through, then we’re in trouble,” Tinker said. “They had an army poised to come through my pathway. With a few hours of study, I can…”
“Child, you will stay out of this valley until I give you leave,” True Flame said.
“I am not a child.” Tinker snapped.
“You have learned your esva?” True Flame asked.
Tinker didn’t know the word. She glanced to Windwolf.
“No, she hasn’t.” Windwolf said quietly, as if holding in anger. “You know it takes years of study.”
“A domi protects her warriors as they protect her,” True Flame said. “Until we know the enemy’s strength, we will not endanger any of our people by pushing them onto the frontlines with a helpless child to protect.”
Windwolf put a hand to her shoulder as if he expected her to say something rude. Tinker, however, found herself glancing at Stormsong and Pony standing with the Wind Clan’s sekasha. She hadn’t been able to protect her people — she nearly got them killed. She looked away, embarrassed by True Flame’s correct reading, and that she had failed Pony and the others so completely.
True Flame took her silence as agreement and moved on. “Have you been able to determine any other oni stronghold?”
“Not yet. Tinker killed their leader, Lord Tomtom, but the size of their organization and the type of operations that they were carrying out suggested a number of subordinates, which we haven’t identified nor located.”
True Flame grunted and signaled for tea to be poured. A servant moved forward to fill the delicate china tea bowls. After a month at Aum Renau, Tinker knew that talking was a no-no without Windwolf’s glance her direction; some elf bullshit about appreciating the act of being civilized. She distracted herself with the honey and milk. True Flame studied the map of the sprawling Earth city and expanse of Elfhome wilderness, ignoring the tea. Silence would rule until True Flame, as highest ranked person at the table, spoke.
“The oni weakness has always been their own savageness,” he said finally. “To keep his underlings in check, an oni keeps his people weak and in disorder. There is no chain of command. Once you killed this Lord Tomtom, it was each dog for himself until one could emerge as strongest.”
True Flame locked his gaze on Tinker. “Each elf knows who is above them, and who is beneath them, and that neither relationship is stronger than the other. Those who serve are to be protected, those who protect, are to be served. We are not wild animals thinking only of ourselves, but a society that works only when we each know our position and act accordingly.”
Tinker forced herself to sip her tea and chose her words carefully. “Having seen the oni up close, there is no need to convince me which is better.”
She expected another angry look from Windwolf, but his eyes filled with sorrow, which only made her more uncomfortable than his annoyance would have. She focused on her tea instead.
“The rest of my force will be arriving on gossamers shortly,” True Flame said. “I was afraid that you’d be overrun before they could arrive, so I came on ahead.”
“Thank you,” Windwolf said. “If my beloved’s aim had not been true, all would have been lost before you arrived.”
“Tonight, we can bivouac in this field, and tomorrow, we’ll start securing the city.” He ran his hand over the great expanse of wilderness. “The Stone Clan is traveling under escort of my force. I will have no choice but reward them for their service.”
“I know that.” Windwolf said in a carefully neutral tone.
It hurt to see him sit there and take it. She couldn’t just sit there and watch him bow his head and have the Stone Clan swoop in to take what he had carved out of raw wilderness. “Wolf Who Rules didn’t summon Pittsburgh here. And there was no way he could have kept the humans off Elfhome — not even killing every last human would have done that — because then there would have been retaliation. The door was open to the oni by no fault of his.”
“I know that,” True Flame said.
“Then why should he be punished and the Stone Clan rewarded? You claim that our society works because everyone works together. What benefit would the Stone Clan reap if the world was flooded by oni? Wolf Who Rules has put everything on the line — where is his reward?”
“Because it is the law of our people: you hold only what you can protect. It is the law that kept the peace for thousands of years.”
“Beloved,” Windwolf said quietly. “It is not as unfair as it seems. We are making a choice. Does the city fall to Stone Clan, who are honorable elves, or to oni?”
“I wouldn’t turn over a — a — a — warg to the oni.” That was an unfortunate choice of words as it reminded her of the warg at the oni camp and poor, poor — but hopefully dead — Chiyo. How could someone she hated trigger such remorse? One thing was certain — she cried much too easily lately. “This sucks,” she snapped in English, wanting to blot the evidence of tears out of her eyes, but the damn fancy sleeves of her gown were in the way. She turned away from True Flame; she didn’t want him to see her crying. Yeah, yeah, impress the elf on how grown up you are and bawl like a baby.
There was movement beside her and she realized Pony had moved up to her side. It took everything she had not to reach for him.
“If I may be excused,” she hated that her voice shook. “I wish to go back to the enclave.”
“You may go.” True Flame said.
She reached for Pony’s arm. He got her up and away smoothly, almost as if tears weren’t blinding her. So much for appearances.
A full Hand peeled off to accompany her and Pony back to the enclave. Somehow, just having Pony there clearing a path to her bedroom refuge made it possible to blink back the tears and get herself under control. Still she was fumble fingered with emotion as she tried to undo the hooks of her dress.
She finally gave up. “Can you undo me?”
Pony stood behind her and unhooked the tiny fasteners down the back of dress. “Domi, do not be upset. True Flame can see that your heart is in the right place.”
She groaned at the echo of what Stormsong had said to her. “They will put that on my gravestone. Here lies Tinker, her heart was in the right place, but her foot was in her mouth and god knows where her brain went.”
He chuckled. “Usually we judge ourselves harsher than anyone does.”
It was a relief to let the dress slither down to the floor. She stepped out of the pool of silk and picked it up, not wanting it to be ruined. She had messed up enough things already today.
“So, Wolf Who Rules’s mother is—” Tinker paused to recall the various words the elves used to denote relationships. This was made tricky because she wasn’t sure if True Flame mother or father was the connection. If True Flame was Soulful Ember’s brother, then his father was King Halo Dust. What was the word for paternal aunt? “— father’s sister to True Flame?”
“Yes. Longwind and Flame Heart formed an alliance of the Wind Clan and Fire Clan. Wolf Who Rules spent his doubles at court under the Queen’s Care, learning the fire esva. It was there that he gained the favor of his royal cousins.”
“What is that? Esva?” She hung up the dress and considered what was in the closet to wear — all elfin gowns and the sexy white nightgown that she didn’t feel like wearing. She wanted the familiar comfort of cotton. Had her shorts dried yet?
“An esva is all the spells scribed into a clan’s spell stones.”
“Wait. Fire? Wolf Who Rules is Wind Clan.”
“He is both. He is the only one of his family that can access both Clan’s spell stones. It was expected that he would chose to be Fire Clan, but he chose Wind Clan instead.”
“Why?” She found the t-shirt she had borrowed off of Oilcan and sniffed at it. It was a little stinky. She wondered when Oilcan had last washed it.
“I can guess it was because he was born and raised in the Wind Clan,” Pony said. “Such things are hard to ignore, but I can not be sure. You will have to ask him.”
The bedroom door opened and another of Windwolf’s sekasha, Bladebite, stepped into the room. His gaze went down over Tinker; it was the heated calculating look a male gives a female. Suddenly the bra, underwear and diamond necklace that had been plenty of clothes with Pony felt like nothing.
She clutched the t-shirt to her chest. “What is it, Bladebite?”
“It is time you finished your First Hand. I came to offer myself to you.”
Oh shit. What should she do? She’d managed to screw up every single one of these encounters over the last two months, entering relationships with a careless ‘yes.’ After the look he’d given her, though, she didn’t want to say yes — but would ‘no’ be a deadly insult? She started to turn toward Pony, but Bladebite caught her arm, forcing her to look at him.
“This is between you and I, not him.” Bladebite said. “You’re making your preferences fairly clear to us all, but they’re not wisely thought out. I have the experience you need. You should fill your Hand with strong males, not mutts like Singing Storm.”
“What the hell is wrong with her?”
“Since you obviously have no taste for Galloping Storm Horse…” Bladebite used Pony’s true elfin name.
“I love Pony.” She snapped, and blushed red as she realized it was true. When did that happen? “Things have changed since we left Aum Renau. We’ve been through a lot together.”
“And if a fruit is tempting, you take a bite when you’re most hungry.”
What the hell did that mean?
“I offer all of me to you,” Bladebite continued. “Do you accept?”
“I–I — I,” she stammered. I don’t know what the hell to say. The bedroom’s dressing mirror was behind Bladebite. She could see Pony; his jaw was clenched but he made no move to interfere. Apparently Bladebite was right — it was up to her to say yes or no. Her reflection reinforced that she was nearly naked, the glitter of diamonds the only thing visible besides the t-shirt clutched to her chest. She never thought of herself as short, either, until something like this forcibly reminded her that the elves were all a foot taller.
“I can’t make that decision now,” she finally managed to force out. “I’m upset and not thinking clearly.”
“You don’t need to think. Just accept me.”
Not think? Gods, he might as well be saying not breathe. “No.” And then seeing the look on his face. “Not now. I’m too upset.”
“We can’t afford another spectacle—” Bladebite started.
But apparently she’d said the magic words. Pony’s “on duty” light went on, and he shifted from behind Tinker to between her and Bladebite.
“Tinker ze domi,” Pony used her most formal title and High Elvish, “said that she is upset and will decide later. Please, Bladebite, go.”
The words were polite but Pony’s tone was cold as steel.
Bladebite gaze locked with Pony’s. For a moment, she was afraid that the older sekasha would draw his sword. He nodded though and bowed slightly to her. “Good night then, ze domi.”
She started to shake when the door closed behind him.
“I am sorry, domi. Until you refused him, I could not act.”
“Was I right to say no?”
“I am disappointed only in him. He has the years to know that you were upset and could not make such decisions.”
She got dressed, annoyed that her hands still shook. Why was she veering all over the place emotionally? Maybe she was going to get her period. Usually she wasn’t this hormonal, but she hadn’t had one as an elf yet. Oh, she hoped that wasn’t the case; thousands of years like this would drive her mad. How often did elves get periods? It had been over two months since her last one as a human. Oh gods, what if she was pregnant? Of course that made her feel weepy again.
“I need something to drink.” She said. “Can you ask Poppymeadow to find us a bottle of—” What was that stuff called again? “Ouzo?” Wait, if she was pregnant, should she be drinking? And if she was just getting her period, what did elves use? Pads? Tampons? Magic? Hopefully a period only lasted the normal five days — surely even elves couldn’t do — that — for more than a week. Damn it, when Windwolf made her an elf, he should have given her an owner’s manual for her new body.
She fumbled with her necklace and failed to get it off. “Oh please, Pony, get this off me.”
Pony undid the necklace. “I will get you something to eat and drink, and then perhaps you should take a nap. You have been through much lately, domi, and you are worn down.”
“I want to practice magic.” She needed to learn how to protect her people.
“It would be difficult and dangerous the way you are now.”
She supposed that was true. “Okay, okay. Something to eat and a nap — and I need to talk to Stormsong about — female — things.”