“You have to trust me,” Dylan said.
“Why? You didn’t trust me,” I said.
“You know it wasn’t that simple,” he said.
“It never is with you, Dylan,” I said. He had the decency to look away.
“What happened to you? You’ve…. changed,” Eorla asked.
I caressed the bowl. The essence glittered inside it as I trailed my fingers along the surface. “This, actually. Maeve wanted this bowl.”
“Why?” Eagan asked.
I glanced at him. “Why don’t you start with telling me about the faith stone.”
Eagan arched an eyebrow. “What’s to tell? I used it to protect the Guildhouse.”
“You didn’t tell Maeve about it” I said.
“Brokke said not to. With good reason, it seems,” he said.
“An underKing of the Seelie Court acted on the orders of an advisor to the Elven King?” I asked.
Eagan grinned. “I’m not going to revisit a hundred years of decisions, Grey. Brokke made a convincing case. He knew things. He never steered me wrong.”
I looked at Keeva. “What was in it for you?”
She stared down at the table, her face cold and hard. “My choices are none of your business. I’ve sacrificed enough without answering to you.”
“MacGoren had to die. Brokke predicted it,” Eagan said.
She glared at him. “You could have told me sooner.”
Eagan showed no sympathy. “You made the right decision, Keeva. MacGoren would have killed Connor or exposed you and our operation. He had to be removed, and you knew that when you walked into that room. If you had known he had to die, would you have followed through? Ask Eorla about knowledge of the future. Ask her how easy it is to stand aside and watch someone you love die.”
Keeva met his gaze. “I did what needed doing. I would have liked a choice.”
“You had one. You made the hard one, so that we can all live,” Eagan said.
I looked at Eorla. “You knew your husband would be killed?”
She nodded. “Brokke said a druid would kill him, and a druid did. I told Alvud the vision. It made him reckless. He didn’t suspect the druid would be glamoured as a troll. And, yes, Manus, as you imply, it was hard knowing what was to come.”
“What does she want with the bowl?” Eagan asked.
“It’s part of a package. She said she had the stone, the sword, and the spear, and only needed the bowl,” I said.
“I no longer sense any of those things about you,” Eagan said.
“I can call them to me. What do they mean in all this?” I said.
“Brokke said to tell you: The Ways seal and unseal. A needle binds as it pierces.” Eorla said.
“He told me to tell you: The bones of the earth are steadfast and eternal,” Eagan said.
“He told me to tell you: Tell me what to do,” said Dylan.
Joe laughed. “No one owns the cow.”
Everyone looked down at him. Joe turned his head this way and that, annoyed and embarrassed at the same time. “What? Brokke said it, not me.”
Their words shifted in my mind. I recognized them, remembered them from somewhere else, somewhere stark and white and dangerous. And beautiful beyond words. I never saw Brokke there, but he heard the same things I did. Something beyond powerful had reached out and touched us both. More doors opened in my mind— memories of the past, decisions made and efforts failed. Convergence wasn’t an event. It was a process, one that had been leading to this moment for over a century.
I bit back a laugh and a sob. “I know what I have to do.”
45
Meryl leaned off the side of the bed and rummaged around on the floor. We were in a room in the safe house. Several floors above us, the others worked out the final details of their battle plans, deciding who would do what and the risks involved. Eorla and Eagan had known for a long time that they would have to defend the city. They had plans and contingency plans, and contingency plans for their contingency plans. It was fascinating to watch them work together. They had been secret allies for years, yet protecting their own positions in case…. well, in case I died or Vize died or the world went to hell. After I saw the shape of their strategy, I didn’t need to hang around. In the final analysis, what they did was a distraction—for me and for Maeve. The endgame would be decided by two people, no matter the plans.
Meryl propped herself on the pillows and lit a clove cigarette. As the sweet smell filled the air, I curled on my side next to her. While she smoked, I used one finger to trace small circles in the damp skin of her cleavage. “Thank you for coming,” I said.
“Is that a pun?” she asked.
I poked her in the side, and she chuckled. “My poor taste in humor is finally rubbing off on you,” I said.
“I have to ask you something,” she said.
I propped my head up on my hand. “What?”
She flicked ashes on the floor. “We just had farewell sex, didn’t we?”
I forced myself to grin. “I hope not.”
She glanced at me through half-closed eyes. “Tell me something more wasn’t going on. Tell me you’re not planning on dying.”
“I’m not planning on dying,” I said.
She sighed, staring at the ceiling. “Gods, I know that tone.”
“You’ve heard it before,” I said. I wasn’t asking.
“You’re not planning on it, but it’s likely,” she said.
I stretched out my arm and laid my head on her shoulder. “You remember everything, don’t you? About Faerie. You remember it.”
“It sucks,” she said.
“Did you know who I was when we met here?” I asked.
“No. You don’t look the same. I had planned on avoiding you like the plague this time,” she said.
“Why?”
She stared at the burning ember of her cigarette. “Because I was tired of serving the Wheel of the World. I thought Convergence was an opportunity to be left alone and do what I liked this time. Whenever I’ve gotten involved with you, one of us dies. I was hoping to avoid that this time.”
I trailed my hand down her body. I remembered her from Faerie. She didn’t call herself Meryl then. We weren’t friends. Not enemies, exactly, but she had a knack for screwing up my life. This time had been different.
“The Wheel of the World turns, and we turn with It,” I said.
She snorted. “You don’t believe that anymore.”
No, I didn’t. Maeve was right about one thing. The Wheel of the World turned as It willed, but sometimes we could nudge it in different directions. “I need you to do me a favor—two, actually.”
She smirked. “Do I have a choice?”
“Absolutely.”
“Shoot.”
“I need to you to get my parents out of the city and as far away as possible,” I said.
She quirked an eyebrow at me. “Okay. And?”
“I want to send you away, too. You’ll be a fail-safe in case I fail. When you get to where you’re going, you can decide whether to come back or not,” I said.
“What if I decide not to?” she asked.
