“Thanks, Em.”
“Well, this planet, at least.” The fae shrugged. Maybe not Ambar’ogúl.”
“Thanks for the distinction.”
“I’m just sayin’. I could be wrong. Once you whip Ba’rael’s ass, you could be the drow on the throne who heals the world and turns things around for everyone in eleven days or less.”
Cheyenne blinked at her friend and folded her arms. “You’re thinking out loud, aren’t you?”
“What?” Ember laughed in surprise. “I guess you’re rubbing off on me.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, Em. If I’m gonna be the drow on the throne—”
“When you’re the drow on the throne.” Ember pointed at her and dipped her head. “We’re staying positive here.”
With a snort, Cheyenne continued, “It’ll only be for a few minutes tops. Hopefully. ‘Cause I’ll be turning around and shucking that throne off on someone else. We have to find the right magical for the job, one who isn’t hated by half of Ambar’ogúl, doesn’t have a greedy-for-power streak, and isn’t bound to a drow who can’t cross the Border again and live. One who can fight, knows their subjects, sticks to the old laws, and won’t try to kill me for suggesting they become the Crown instead of me.”
Eleanor let out a low whistle. “That’s some laundry list, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Ember leaned all the way back in the armchair. “So, who do we know who comes close to ticking half those boxes?”
“Maleshi and Corian are out. So are you, Em.”
“That’s obvious.”
“Foltr’s too old, and he doesn’t want it anyway. Can’t imagine a raug ruling a world built on super-advanced tech and not getting annoyed by the constant hum of the system around him.”
Ember asked, “Constant hum?”
“You didn’t feel that in Hangivol?” Cheyenne shrugged. “Maybe it’s just me.”
“Sorry to break it to you, Aranél, but a lot of things are just you.”
Eleanor cleared her throat. “What’s that?”
“What?”
“That word you called her. Did I hear you call her ‘Ariel?’”
Cheyenne and Ember exchanged glances and tried not to laugh. Eleanor was drunk enough to start hearing things and sober enough to ask questions. Hope she stops with drink two.
Ember leaned toward the housekeeper and nodded. “Aranél. It’s an O’gúleesh word, I guess. Right?”
Cheyenne nodded.
“It means ‘princess.’”
Eleanor barked out a laugh. “Princess!”
The halfling playfully rolled her eyes and waited for the woman’s fit of slightly buzzed laughter to die out.
“Oh, sweetheart. That’s just… That’s the most… Ha!”
Cheyenne almost lost it when Ember stared at the housekeeper in confusion. “Bianca used to freak out about pet names like that.”
“She doesn’t like ‘princess?’”
“Try to picture it, Em. In what reality would Bianca Summerlin call a person anything other than their name? Unless she was pissed and started talking down to them, I mean.”
Ember frowned in concentration, then shrugged. “Yeah, I’m getting nothing. What about ‘sweetheart’ or ‘honey?’” The fae stopped when she got the same eyebrow lifted the same way by both Cheyenne and Eleanor. “Wow. No Christmas and no terms of endearment. Got it.”
Cheyenne snorted. “That was my childhood in a nutshell, but we’re not sitting here to talk about that. We’re building a list of possible new Crowns, remember?”
“Got it.” The fae rested her head against the high back of the armchair and stared out the massive house’s floor-to-ceiling windows at the rear veranda. “What about that giant thing? Oh, man. What’s her name? Red hair and horns and wings?”
“’Wings?’” Eleanor echoed.
“Nu’ek?” Cheyenne tilted her head in consideration. “Maybe. It would be a hell of a lot of work to keep her comfortable in the Heart, though. She can’t fit through half the doorways at least. Maybe not ninety percent of them.”
“Is that enough to make her the wrong magical?”
“I don’t know. Might be enough to make her say no, though.”
“Ooh, what about the ogre? Sakrit.” Ember grinned. “He’s cool.”
“He’s a rebel bartender, Em.”
“Okay, fine. Do you have any ideas?”
Cheyenne sighed and slouched over her crossed legs. “I did before they all told me to piss off.”
The sitting area fell silent again. Cheyenne stared at the area rug. Why is this so damn hard?
“Well.” Eleanor downed the last of her drink and pushed up off the chaise. “While you two brainstorm, I’ll have another drink.” The woman swayed on her feet and giggled softly as she raised her empty glass in their direction.
“Not that I’m trying to tell you what to do,” Cheyenne said as the housekeeper toddled to the wet bar, “but do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Cheyenne, I can handle my liquor.” Eleanor hiccupped. “I need more of it if I’m going to hang around and listen to you two naming creatures with horns and wings and ogres and I’m fine.”
“Okay.” Cheyenne watched her a moment longer, then returned her attention to Ember. At least Eleanor’s not sobbing anymore. Whatever it takes at the time, right? “Anyone else even remotely come to mind?”
“I’m drawing a blank. It’s not like we had a whole bunch of time to get to know every single magical in L’zar’s happy band of rebels.”
A loud, snarling shout rose from the valley behind the Summerlin estate, followed by an echoing burst of angry yelling in reply.
“Come on.” Cheyenne stood. Either those magicals outside couldn’t keep their shit together, or the portal ridge had another fun surprise for them. She couldn’t tell which was worse.
“What’s going on?” Ember floated out of the armchair and followed her.
“I’m about to find out.” Cheyenne walked to the wall of windows and saw the magicals and the FRoE agents out beside the portal ridge. Two bright circles of red light appeared around Lumil’s fists, followed by flashing green in Byrd’s hands. No green fell bullets came from the FRoE agents’ weaponsyet. “Jesus, they’re almost as bad as Maleshi or L’zar.”
“What? Who?”
Ember joined the halfling at the windows as Cheyenne jerked the door to the veranda open and growled, “Tweedle-Dumb and Tweedle-Dumber out there. I’ll tell you right now, Em, we’re adding those damn goblins to the ‘hell, no for the throne’ list.”
“Everything all right?” Eleanor turned from the wet bar
