When I ventured forth, it was to the sound of Rans’ muffled voice filtering through to me from the kitchen. I paused, but didn’t hear any sign of a second person. Entering, I found him engaged in a phone conversation, and my excitement surged. He lifted a finger to forestall anything I might have been about to say, and pointed at the phone, mouthing, Albigard.
EIGHT
I BIT MY LIP and perched on a chair, waiting. Rans’ end of the conversation was unenlightening, and I chafed at not knowing what was being said. Finally, he ended the call and looked over at me.
“Well? What did he say?” I asked impatiently.
Rans turned to face me. “He was able to confirm that a high-level prisoner was transported to Dhuinne from this area. No details, but it seems fairly clear that it was your father.”
My heart rate sped up. “We have to go after him,” I said. “We have to sneak in somehow and—”
“Zorah,” he interrupted, “One does not sneak into Dhuinne.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. “There must be some way to get in!”
Rans sighed. “I told you that the entrance to the Fae realm lies inside a burial mound in County Meath, in Ireland. Perhaps I didn’t make it clear that the entrance on the Hill of Tara is the only entrance. To say that it’s well-guarded is putting it mildly.”
I set my jaw and rose, pacing as I thought hard. “Then we’ll have to... I don’t know... make it so that they let us in voluntarily. Like, a Trojan Horse kind of thing, okay? I have to get in there, Rans. I can’t just leave Dad in their hands! Maybe if I pretended to be a prisoner—”
Hands closed on my upper arms, stopping my progress. I looked up, surprised. I hadn’t even seen him move, I was so focused on brainstorming ways to get to my father.
“Zorah. Stop. You’re not marching into the Fae realm like some kind of sacrificial offering.”
I glared up at him.
“I’ll speak with Nigellus,” Rans continued, unperturbed by my scowl. “Possibly some other people, as well. Perhaps one of them can arrange some sort of diplomatic exchange with the Fae Court... some way to allow you contact with your father, and maybe get you off their hit list at the same time.”
My lips were pressed together in a thin line. “And how likely is that?” I asked, my skepticism coming through clearly in my voice.
He didn’t give ground, though. “I can’t know until I try, now can I?” he shot back, a hint of frustration visible on his face. “But I do know this—you are not walking into Dhuinne without a guarantee of safe passage from someone with the power to back it up.”
“Yeah? How long is all this likely to take, assuming it can be done at all?” I ground out.
“I’m not a fortune-teller, luv. Believe me, if I owned a functioning crystal ball, my life would be very different than what it is now.” The words were uncompromising. “I’ll call Nigellus next, and see what he has to say on the matter.”
There was... something in his tone. Something that told me he didn’t think the diplomatic option would work, and that if it didn’t, he still wasn’t going to budge on trying to get me into Dhuinne either openly or clandestinely.
My stomach churned, remembering what I’d said to him as I sat on the floor of my dad’s ruined condo, holding the torn quilt that had belonged to my mother.
My only goal is to find my father. From this moment, that’s the one thing I care about. As long as it’s your goal, too, we’re good. If I get a hint that it’s not, then we have a serious problem.
I didn’t want to end up in conflict with Rans. I really, really didn’t.
“What if someone else went after Dad, instead of us?” I asked slowly. “Would Albigard do it? Could we... I don’t know... bribe him? Or offer to do something for him in return?”
Rans’ expression hardened. “There are areas in which I trust Albigard, and areas in which I don’t. Sending him to deal with the Court face-to-face on your behalf falls firmly into the latter category.”
I opened my mouth to say something angry—great, so you’re not willing to take me, but you won’t let someone else go either—but I stopped myself before the words could escape.
“Fine,” I said. “Call Nigellus, then.”
His expression was still set in a stony facade that covered a well of frustration. Rather than say anything, he thumbed through contacts and tapped one.
“Nigellus?” he said after a few moments. “I need your input on something. There’s a bit of a... situation developing in Chicago.”
I seethed quietly at having my determination to find and retrieve my father labeled a ‘situation,’ but I held my tongue as Rans concisely outlined what we’d discovered since arriving in the city.
“If one wanted to attempt travel into Dhuinne under prearranged diplomatic immunity, where would one start?” The words were tight enough to imply that the last thing Rans wanted was to get anyplace near Dhuinne, much less inside it.
He paused to let the voice on the other end reply, and a tendon in his jaw tightened. “Yes, I know it’s bloody dangerous, Nigellus—I’m not mentally deficient!”
Another silence as Nigellus spoke.
“Bollocks. There must be someone who has a contact within the Court,” Rans said. “You can’t tell me no one has a backdoor line of communication at the ruling levels. If that were true, the damned treaty wouldn’t have held for a decade, much less for more than two hundred years!”
The back and forth continued as I watched, chewing on a thumbnail. I couldn’t make out anything of Nigellus’ side, but Rans’ side of the conversation grew more heated until he finally snapped, “The fucking treaty
