to arrest me for one bogus reason or another. Why I was such a threat to them baffled me. I had been involved in more than one major disaster in the city, but I hadn’t caused them and had always been on the side that ended them. Yet the Guild acted like I was the primary reason for all its troubles. I was more than happy to blame myself for stuff. I didn’t try to imprison myself as punishment for it.
We rode the elevator to the seventeenth floor. Guild security agents, powerful Danann fairies in black uniforms and chromed helmets, their diaphanous wings undulating, waited for us when the doors opened. Security agents were the mobile powerhouses of protection for the Guild. They were strict, forceful, and aggressive in their jobs. Conversation wasn’t their strong suit.
“Please follow me to the Receiving Hall,” one of them said.
Surprised, I murmured to Briallen, “The Receiving Hall? We’re meeting in the Receiving Hall?”
Briallen licked her lips in distaste. “This is so Ryan. You know he needs his ego stroked even if he’s the one doing it.”
The Receiving Hall of the Guildhouse served as the room of state for official duties of the Seelie Court. When the Guildmaster sat in the hall, for all intents and purposes, he or she was the voice of the Court and spoke with Maeve’s authority, a privilege with a double-edged sword. No one wanted to speak for Maeve and get it wrong. To my knowledge, Manus ap Eagan, the current Guildmaster, didn’t like to use it. Since he was in a coma and had left no one to act in his stead, no one was around to stop macGoren.
The agent escorted us to another set of elevators. With the additions to the building, elevators were scattered about in order to access odd sections and floors that didn’t reside in a standard vertical. “He’s not Guildmaster. Nigel should be Acting Guildmaster.”
“Nigel resigned the position before Manus went into the coma. You were there the day he did if I remember correctly,” she said.
Manus liked having Nigel as his second because he knew Nigel didn’t want the job. If he had any idea that macGoren was acting as de facto Guildmaster, he would have awakened from his coma without outside help.
“Then you should do it. You were Guildmaster once,” I said. Briallen had been Guildmaster a few times in Eagan’s absence, but not in my lifetime. As the twentieth century progressed, she had found other interests and kept her hand in local affairs only when reason demanded it.
Brownie guards opened the doors to the hall. “I wasn’t asked, and I have better things to do right now,” she said.
“No one asked macGoren.”
“Let it go, Connor. It’s a thankless job that no one except Ryan wants. No one can do a good job at it unless they commit. Let’s hope Gillen Yor figures out how to wake up Manus before Ryan does something stupid,” she said.
Ten flights higher, we exited onto a narrow concourse in a tower that hung over empty space. We entered a sky bridge that connected the tower to the main part of the building by an intricate mesh of steel holding together a hallway of glass walls and ceiling. The rounded bank of windows to either side showed an amazing view of the Charles River to the north and Boston’s outer harbor to the south. The stark exposure left humans feeling uneasy, but the fey were not afraid of heights.
The bridge joined the Receiving Hall in a seamless transition. A grand medallion design in the floor marked the threshold, a mosaic of stones set with Maeve’s favorite sigil—three cups arranged in a circle, one each in bronze, silver, and gold, embossed with birds, symbols of her penchant for bestowing valuable gifts at a great price.
In the hall proper, tall narrow windows of leaded glass let in light that reflected off a gem-encrusted ceiling. Between the windows, pilasters shaped like trees rose, their branches splitting in a uniform symmetrical pattern to form the ceiling vaults. Crystal lanterns hung
We rode the elevator to the seventeenth floor. Guild security agents, powerful Danann fairies in black uniforms and chromed helmets, their diaphanous wings undulating, waited for us when the doors opened. Security agents were the mobile powerhouses of protection for the Guild. They were strict, forceful, and aggressive in their jobs. Conversation wasn’t their strong suit.
“Please follow me to the Receiving Hall,” one of them said.
Surprised, I murmured to Briallen, “The Receiving Hall? We’re meeting in the Receiving Hall?”
Briallen licked her lips in distaste. “This is so Ryan. You know he needs his ego stroked even if he’s the one doing it.”
The Receiving Hall of the Guildhouse served as the room of state for official duties of the Seelie Court. When the Guildmaster sat in the hall, for all intents and purposes, he or she was the voice of the Court and spoke with Maeve’s authority, a privilege with a double-edged sword. No one wanted to speak for Maeve and get it wrong. To my knowledge, Manus ap Eagan, the current Guildmaster, didn’t like to use it. Since he was in a coma and had left no one to act in his stead, no one was around to stop macGoren.
The agent escorted us to another set of elevators. With the additions to the building, elevators were scattered about in order to access odd sections and floors that didn’t reside in a standard vertical. “He’s not Guildmaster. Nigel should be Acting Guildmaster.”
“Nigel resigned the position before Manus went into the coma. You were there the day he did if I remember correctly,” she said.
Manus liked having Nigel as his second because he knew Nigel didn’t want the job. If he had any idea that macGoren was acting as de facto Guildmaster, he would have awakened from his coma without outside help.
“Then you should do it. You were Guildmaster once,” I said. Briallen had been Guildmaster a few times in Eagan’s absence, but not in my lifetime. As the twentieth century progressed, she had found other interests and kept her hand in local affairs only when reason demanded it.
Brownie guards opened the doors to the hall. “I wasn’t asked, and I have better things to do right now,” she said.
“No one asked macGoren.”
“Let it go, Connor. It’s a thankless job that no one except Ryan wants. No one can do a good job at it unless they commit. Let’s hope Gillen Yor figures out how to wake up Manus before Ryan does something stupid,” she said.
Ten flights higher, we exited onto a narrow concourse in a tower that hung over empty space. We entered a sky bridge that connected the tower to the main part of the building by an intricate mesh of steel holding together a hallway of glass walls and ceiling. The rounded bank of windows to either side showed an amazing view of the Charles River to the north and Boston’s outer harbor to the south. The stark exposure left humans feeling uneasy, but the fey were not afraid of heights.
The bridge joined the Receiving Hall in a seamless transition. A grand medallion design in the floor marked the threshold, a mosaic of stones set with Maeve’s favorite sigil—three cups arranged in a circle, one each in bronze, silver, and gold, embossed with birds, symbols of her penchant for bestowing valuable gifts at a great price.
In the hall proper, tall narrow windows of leaded glass let in light that reflected off a gem-encrusted ceiling. Between the windows, pilasters shaped like trees rose, their branches splitting in a uniform symmetrical pattern to form the ceiling vaults. Crystal lanterns hung
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