Blood Song

eyes. His silver hair and beard were perfectly trimmed, his dark gray suit impeccably tailored to fit a

man who wasn’t carrying even one extra pound.

“Good morning, Ms. Graves.”

“Is it already?” I glanced at my watch. Yep, sure enough. Just after one. “Then good morning, Your

Majesty.” I bent ever so slightly at the waist, using the opportunity to check his reflection in the tinted

windows. It was him. Or maybe a spawn. But I was betting it was him. It was too weird for the ruler of a

smal nation to hunt me down in the predawn hours in the parking lot of a twenty-four-hour pharmacy.

Nobody setting up a fake would do something that hokey. Too unbelievable.

“I would speak with you for a moment.”

“Of course you would. The question is whether I would speak with you.”

He gave me a long look, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly with amusement, before using his

hand to brush off the curb next to where I’d been sitting and lowering himself comfortably onto the

concrete. His retainers were too wel trained to show their shock by more than a slight widening of the

eyes.

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the spot I’d vacated on his arrival. “I’d offer to have you join me in the

limo, but I doubt you’d be wil ing to.”

I sat. “You’d be right. I’d get blood al over the upholstery. You wouldn’t get back the deposit.”

“They don’t make royalty give deposits. But I’d hate to ruin the fabric.” This time the smile was

broader and more genuine. He had a nice smile. It lit up his face, making his gray eyes sparkle. The

change in expression changed his entire look, making him handsome. I was betting he’d been quite the

heartbreaker in his youth. Maybe he stil was.

The smile faded, like the sun disappearing behind clouds. He gestured to the magazine beside me,

with his son’s picture on the cover. “You’ve read the article?”

I nodded.

“My elder son, Rezza, has quite recently rediscovered his religion. He has turned away from drinking,

drugs, and womanizing. Whether it is sincere or a ploy to gain the support of the fundamentalists who

have growing influence in my country remains to be seen.” He continued, “There are those who would

see me dead, and Rezza on the throne, thinking they could control him.”

“One of the perils of being king.” I was surprised Dahlmar was being this open, but considering the

circumstances, who else did he real y have to talk to except a commoner from another country whom

nobody would believe even if she told someone?

He smiled, but it was wry acknowledgment, not the happy expression I’d seen earlier. “It is. They’d be

wrong about control ing him, though. He is his own man. Not the man I’d choose, but his own

nonetheless.” He shifted his weight, trying to make himself more comfortable on the unforgiving

concrete before he continued. “My younger son, Kristoff, is …” He paused, seeming to look for the

right word. He final y settled on one I wouldn’t have expected. “Weak. He is weak. And there are those

who would discredit my elder son so as to see him on my throne in my stead.”

That explained the pictures. “They think they could control him. ”

“Oh, they could. Easily,” Dahlmar said drily.

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I kept my mouth shut. Eventual y, he continued.

“It wasn’t such an issue before we found the natural gas deposits. Now, however, we have wealth

and, with it, power. The European Union courts us, our enemies fear us. It’s a dangerous combination.”

And power draws plots like a corpse draws flies.

“Both groups want me dead.” His smile was a baring of teeth. “I’m not inclined to oblige them.”

“I can relate to that.”

He laughed. “I am sure you can. Your file is quite impressive.” He paused, then, “You are caught in

the middle of our power struggle. One of these groups has already tried to use you. The questions I

want answered are”—he ticked off items on his fingers—“Who in my retinue has betrayed me? And

which, if either of my sons, is complicit?”

I nodded, not sure what that had to do with me.

“The situation is made more difficult by the fact that there are demons and spawn involved.”

I acknowledged that with a dip of my head. “Stil , I’d think that the religious extremists wouldn’t want to

be involved with the demonic. Pretty much every religion frowns on that sort of thing.”

His expression soured. “Yes, but sadly, there are always those who believe the end justifies the

means; and the offer of enough money can frequently make a man forget his loyalties and his beliefs.”

He reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat and pul ed out a heavy white envelope. “My men have

questioned the retainer who they saw in your memories.”

My memories ? That comment made me frown, since we’d never actual y made it to that stage in the

office. Had someone been prying into my brain while we’d been negotiating terms? That would not

make me happy.

He paused, his eyes darkening, his expression steely, but his voice was utterly emotionless. “They

were quite … thorough.”

I couldn’t decide whether to shudder or growl. I hadn’t particularly liked the man who’d hired me, but I

was starting to wonder about Dee and Dum’s ethics.

“He had become involved with an organization that hired professionals to execute a plot against me.

We learned enough of the details to make reasonable preparations.”

“I’m glad.”

“But I am left with questions.” He sighed and shook his head. “As a king, that is neither uncommon

nor unexpected.” At his gesture, the driver of the limo popped open the trunk and walked to the rear of

the car, where he retrieved a black and white bag that might have passed for a bowling bag but wasn’t.

Matty had carried a similar bag. It had two completely separate inner compartments, each of which

was impervious to blood, and the whole thing had been blessed. The king continued, “We wil ,

eventual y, get to the bottom of this.”

He sounded absolutely certain. Then again, he might wel be. With enough time, money, and effort,

most conspiracies can be unraveled, particularly if you’re not too particular about whether or how much

blood wil be spil ed in the process. “As a father, I find it unacceptable that I carry suspicions about my

children for even one moment longer than is absolutely necessary.”

He extended the envelope to me. It was of heavy, high-quality paper in a rich cream color, without

writing of any kind on it. I took it but didn’t open it. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Neither of my sons has ever been good at maintaining a deception when confronted by the truth. I

am hoping that you wil assist me in confronting them.”

“Assist you how?” I tried to keep my voice neutral but didn’t quite manage to keep a note of suspicion

from creeping in.

“In that envelope are two tickets to the World Series game on Friday night. I have purchased a

section of tickets and wil be attending with my sons and our retinue.”

A section of tickets? For Game One of the World Series? I didn’t even want to think how much that

had to have cost. And oh, wouldn’t his security people be having fits.