Page 47 of What Fools These Immortals Be
“If you had a photo of the dryad, I might be able to help,” she says when I am done. “But with your description of the selkie… I believe I know who you are talking about.”
“Who?”
“The selkie is most likely Sehild. She is one of Reijo’s cousins, which is why he would refuse to give her up. The dryad could have been Taimo, but I have not yet heard anything of a sudden absence.”
“Why would they be after him?” I ask, encompassing Njáll in the conversation again.
He’s being very well-behaved, all things considered. He hasn’t interrupted once. He’s just quietly sipping his drink, watching us both.
“You’re the new crai,” Spectra says, and Njáll looks at me. I nod.
“Yes,” he says. “Pleased to meet you.”
“I’m sure that’s an opinion that will change with time,” Spectra says. She sets her own glass aside. “I can’t be sure why they would target the crai and not the alpha or the head of the Hunters’ Council.”
“He was more vulnerable?” I ask.
“Sure. But they must have already planned it.”
“Why?” Njáll asks.
“Because the odds of them coming across you at random are very low.”
“No one knew we would be out,” I say. “No one.”
“Well, either someone told them, or they followed you. Did you sense any magic?”
Not until the chase was done and I first followed the selkie, but… Maybe they followed us after all. I was so distracted before that I’m not certain I would have noticed.
“That’s not all you wanted to ask about, is it?” Spectra says.
“No.” I push a hand through my hair, scowling when I tug on stray knots. “There are more and more fae coming to the city. Coming to this side. Why?”
Her expression darkens. “I’m not quite certain why.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She has to be telling the truth; even the high fae can’t lie. It’s the one true advantage we have. “I’ve been in London for a very long time, Maurice. Longer than you have been on this earth, I would wager. This side is where I belong.”
“What does that have to do with all the fae coming here?”
“The king died.”
I go still. Njáll makes a confused sound, and when I don’t reply, he asks, “The king?”
Spectra nods. “The fae king. The Unseelie king. He died.”
“That was decades ago,” I say. Longer, maybe. I can’t quite remember the exact date, only that it was…
Brutal. We had to keep the fae back, had to help the queen keep order.
“It was,” Spectra says. “But there is still an Unseelie queen, and…”
“And?”
“Most of the fae who are crossing over are Seelie.”
Njáll frowns. He doesn’t understand, and why would he? Even in the stories about fae here, about the Unseelie and Seelie courts, there are only kernels of truth to be found.
