'It makes it much harder to determine what gifts they have inherited, especially as human blood adds its own twist, bringing forth gifts that were formerly dormant.'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean that your Fey forebear could have come from any court, not just that of Altair, our missing brother. Your human blood threw the dice and you are the result. Just because you are wraithkin and Blackbird is Fey'ree does not mean your child will be one or the other. Human heredity has thrown us back into the hands of fortune. Your daughter, Alexandra, could take after any of us. As could your unborn son.'
'My son? It's a boy?'
'Did Kareesh not tell you? Yes, if Blackbird survives to deliver him, you will have a son. Be warned, though, birth among the Feyre is a hazardous business. Blackbird must be careful.'
'I'll look after her.'
'You?' It was the first time the feral man in the red shirt had spoken. 'You're not leaving this room.'
THIRTY
Teoth broke the silence that followed that remark.
'Unfortunately, Krane is right. We cannot allow you to leave.'
'I'm sorry? Why not?'
'Blood price alone demands your heart,' said Krane.
'We talked about this, Krane,' said Yonna. 'Fenlock initiated the attack. Even Carris agrees. She cannot claim blood price.'
'It doesn't matter,' said Krane. 'He knows about the ceremony. He knows about the barrier and the arrangements we made. He cannot be allowed to leave this room with that knowledge. He could bring the whole thing down around our ears and there would be nothing we could do to prevent it. Are you prepared to set him free with that knowledge?'
'He has a point,' said the deep booming voice of the ogre. 'Our position would be significantly undermined.'
'What about Blackbird?' I asked. 'She knows as much as I do. What will you do? Wait until the babe is born and then kill her too?'
'Her position is different,' said Yonna. 'She is bound to the Court of Fire and Air. We have taken her word that she will tell no one else. It's her life if she breaks that oath and she knows it.'
'Then do the same with me. Will you not accept my oath?'
None of them would meet my eyes. Even Krane looked away.
Barthia broke the silence that followed. 'There is only one court that could have you, and that seat is vacant.'
'Because I'm wraithkin.'
'Even so,' she said.
Claire Radisson looked up to the gallery of Court Four to see if she could see Ben Highsmith. At that distance and in this light her eyesight wasn't good enough to distinguish faces, even with her contact lenses. She smiled anyway, hoping he could see her and not realise how nervous she was. She and Jerry had conducted the Quit Rents Ceremony many times before, but it had never had the significance it had today.
When Ben Highsmith had appeared on Sunday, his clothes soaked through with river water, he had caused quite a stir. Security had refused to let him in and he had been threatened with arrest. It was only when he'd asked for her by name and they had promised to bring her to see him that he'd calmed down enough to allow himself to be led to a side room away from the busy entrance.
She'd found him standing in the security office, a grim smile on his face and the towel she had lent Niall in his gnarled hands. The knives had been wrapped in it. He'd told her what had happened and insisted the ceremony must go ahead.
Elizabeth had expressed her concerns. The grey tinge underlying Jerry's complexion worried Claire too, but Blackbird's message had been clear. The best protection for Jerry, his family, and everyone else was the restoration of the knife and the performance of the Ceremony of the Quit Rents.
Whatever Blackbird had said to Elizabeth in the hospital must have been enough because she acceded, though she could see her sitting in the front row, the set of her shoulders a testament to the enforced leave Jerry would be taking as soon as his duties were completed.
Behind Elizabeth, the two figures dressed in red grandeur stood with chains of office hung about their necks. These were the candidates for the Sheriff of the City of London and for Middlesex. They were being presented to the Queen's Remembrancer, in his role as representative of the monarch, for approval. Since the City of London had picked the wrong side in the conflict between Simon de Montfort and Henry III, they had been required by the reigning monarch to present their sheriffs for ratification. They would have been brought up the river from the Square Mile and then walked through the Inns of Court in procession with all the pageantry this group of wealthy middle-aged men could muster.
'And can you confirm for me,' the Queen's Remembrancer called out in tones that carried up to the rafters, 'that there was no repetition, when crossing Temple, of the disgraceful scenes of 1756?'
The Comptroller of the City of London, wrapped in his bearskin cloak, shook his head and smiled.
'I can assure Your Lordship, these fine men have behaved impeccably and were received with courtesy and respect wherever they walked.'
The Comptroller went on to extol the virtues of the two men being put forward. One was an accountant for a big consultancy and the other was a tax auditor, but they each stood and listened in silence to their lives being described in bold terms. They certainly looked the part, even if the most dangerous thing they would be called upon to do was to decide whether to accept another glass of port or move on to the brandy.
She wondered idly whether the investiture also had some secret meaning, whether the City had its own reasons for conducting rituals lasting hundreds of years. She thought it much more likely that the office of sheriff had more to do with networking and connections in the world of high finance. She smiled as she realised people probably looked at her and thought she had a boring staid existence.
If only they knew.
The Comptroller completed his speech and recommended the two candidates for approval by the crown, which the Remembrancer granted. He looked gravely at them for a moment and then told them in a serious tone, that although there was an annual salary of three hundred pounds for each of them, due at the quarter-sessions of Epiphany, Easter, Midsummer and Michaelmas, they would receive not a single penny of it.
There was a ripple of laughter though the assembled audience of family members and colleagues, all turned out in their finery. They all knew these city gentlemen regarded three hundred pounds as small change and that they would probably spend more than that on champagne after the ceremony.
Rolled charters inscribed on vellum, one for each of them, were sealed with wax using the great silver seal of the exchequer, binding the ribbon interleaved into the document and making it official. It was a great honour to be made a sheriff and she wished them well of it.
Then was the moment she had been waiting for.
'End it now,' said Krane, 'before he causes any more trouble. Garvin?' I saw the flash as the blade came up.
'Wait,' said Kimlesh. 'He has earned our gratitude. He and Blackbird restored the barrier when without it all would have been lost. Surely that is enough to save his life?'
'You'd let him walk away, knowing what he knows?' said Krane.
'A boon then,' said Kimlesh. 'His life is forfeit but we will grant him a boon for his service to the courts. We have much at our disposal. What would you ask of us?' he said to me.
'Are you offering me compensation so you can kill me without feeling guilty?'
'I regret this, truly, but I can see no other way. Come, what would you have from us?'
'I would have three things, then.'
'Three? Oh very well. Name them.'
