Page 82 of Fortune's Blade

“Goddamn, you suck at this.”

My head jerked up, because that had not been me, nor Mircea, either. Ray stood in the doorway to the bedroom, looking the worse for the wear, to the point that I thought it entirely possible that he had gotten into it with some pixies. Possibly a lot of them.

But he must have won. For he was here, and despite a few torn areas on his clothes and tiny burnt marks that were already melting back into his skin, he looked fairly normal. Except for the rage on his face, which almost matched mine.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Mircea told him tightly.

“Oh. Oh, excuse me, massa, I didn’t understand that. I’ll just tug my forelock and go stand in the hall with the rest of the servants. Is there anything I can get you while I’m out there? Some brandy or—”

“Have a care,” Mircea said, in a voice that would have sent sensible vampires running.

But Ray was not sensible, never had been, and in Faerie, he was acting even less so than normal. In Faerie, he was acting insane. “Oh, don’t beat me, massa!” he said, falling theatrically to his knees with his hands held up and gripped prayerfully in front of him. “Your slave is just a poor nothing of a creature, too dumb to know what he’s saying . . .” the arms fell. “Kind of like you.”

“I tire of this!” Mircea said, and waved a hand. Which must have had a suggestion behind it, because Ray’s face went blank and he got up and walked calmly off the balcony and into the bedroom.

Only to return almost immediately with a tray on which a bottle of something sat, along with two glasses. “We don’t have any brandy,” he said, in that same, mock servile tone. “But maybe this will do?”

“What is wrong with you?” Mircea demanded, looking as if he thought Ray might be as mad as he was acting.

“Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.” Ray sloshed some of whatever was in the bottle into a glass and gave it to me. For a moment, I thought it was another test, like the one on the road, to see if I would drink it just because he indicated that I should. But a moment later, common sense returned.

We were way past that.

I drank it because I wanted it, belting it back although it tasted like fire and burned all the way down.

“A couple days ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated,” Ray said, as if reading my mind, which maybe he was. I seemed to be an open book tonight. “Wouldn’t have asked herself if she wanted it. Would have just done what I said.

“But she learns fast. Faster than you.”

“This isn’t your concern,” Mircea told him again. “Get out.”

“Isn’t it?” Ray looked thoughtful for a moment. “Let’s find out. Dorina,” he turned to me. “This is your room; you decide who stays and who goes. So, is it my concern? Or should I go find something else to do?”

He was trying to needle Mircea, but I knew, I knew, that if I asked him to go, he would. Not because he’d want to, as Mircea was well known for persuading people to do as he liked, and that was especially true for me. But because he respected my choice.

He believed that I should have a choice.

“It’s your concern,” I said briefly, and drank more of whatever it was.

But Mircea wasn’t a fool, and he’d done deals with harder nuts than either Ray or I would ever be. He settled for ignoring him. “What do you want me to say?” he asked me, and would have gone on, probably into another pretty speech.

I cut him off. “If you have to ask, it would only be a lie.”

“Go get him,” Ray muttered, and Mircea turned on him.

“Yes, encourage her to spread her wings, and to use her newfound autonomy to involve herself in fey politics! But tell me, how are you going to feel when she lies bloody and lifeless at your feet, after dying uselessly in battle for a queen who will merely go on to her next target, her next patsy, before she’s even cold? They do not value life here as we do; I sometimes wonder if they value it at all. And my daughter will not be—”

“Your daughter is back on Earth,” I said, and reached for the bottle because my glass was empty. “She’s fine. She has the senate seat, and if they try to take it from her, they’ll find out what she’s capable of. Your majority is in no danger. Just leave me alone.”

Mircea stared at me, and for the first time, I thought that something I said might have gotten through. At least a little, at least in part. For the all the color suddenly drained from his face, or maybe his glamourie failed him.

It didn’t matter; he only used it to color his complexion anyway.

But it wasn’t just the pallor. His eyes darkened and his face fell. He looked tragic, suddenly, and if it was an act, it was a good one.

Of course, it would be a good one, I thought cynically, and drank some more.

“Is that what you think of me? Is that why you think I’m here?” he asked. “To protect my majority?”