“Money will not be an issue,” Tiarnán replied.
“I don’t want your money.”
Tiarnán tapped a finger against his cane, the silver links and plates on the jeweled hand adornment clinking together. It sounded like bells.
“Status, then. I can give you that.”
“It will mean war, my lord,” Deirdre said, finally speaking up.
“I am aware of what my favor will cost this city.” Tiarnán tipped his head in Jono’s direction. “I am prepared to pay it so long as you bring our Lady home, Jonothon.”
“And if we don’t?” Patrick asked.
“Then when Estelle and Youssef ask for an audience as the New York City god pack, I will greet them as such.”
Legitimacy was a tempting offer, one Jono knew they couldn’t pass up, but the fae never offered something without a price. A bargain was never exactly what it seemed when one made deals with the fae. Jono said nothing as the limo drove across Central Park, the quiet in the vehicle tense between everyone as he weighed his options.
“Do you speak for all your people?” Jono finally asked.
“I speak for the fae of the Seelie Court, for thedaoine sídhewho bend knee to the Spring Queen. I do not speak for the Unseelie fae, nor for their Queen of Air and Darkness.”
Half the fae was better than none. Jono had worked with less over the years when it came to carving out space for himself in cities that never wanted him.
“She called her warriors home. Does she think they won’t be enough?”
“The mortal plane belongs to humans now, and we do not know it as we once did when it was ours. Our dealings with the Dominion Sect over the decades have been few and far between. Yours is more recent.”
“You mean August.”
“I mean the Thirty-Day War.” Tiarnán turned his attention to Patrick, his expression giving nothing away. “The fight during summer solstice damaged the nexus and ley lines beneath New York City, but did not destroy them. We have experienced that sort of damage once before when it rippled out from Cairo.”
Patrick’s voice, when he spoke, was devoid of all emotion. “You think because I’m a veteran and fought in that war, I know how to deal with the Dominion Sect?”
“Is that not the case?”
Jono wondered what the fae knew about the gods and the soul debt that bound Patrick to doing their bidding, if they knew anything at all. Information was a currency the fae traded in more than gold. He wished, in that moment, the fae were paupers.
“Fuck you,” Patrick spat out.
Deirdre shot him a displeased look, but Jono knew that would never be enough to shut Patrick up. Patrick’s temper being what it was, Jono sought to head off the explosion. The limo was too small of a space to have that sort of row.
“You agree that my pack is the rightful god pack to New York City, and we’ll work on finding your Lady. If we fail to bring her back home, you owe us nothing, and we owe you nothing in return,” Jono said.
Patrick’s mouth twitched at the corners into a scowl. “And you don’t hold it against us if we fail.”
Tiarnán held Jono’s gaze before leaning forward to extend his hand, his left one bare of silver adornments. “A bargain made will be a bargain kept.”
Jono shook on it, because it would’ve been rude not to. Tiarnán’s hand was cool against his, but the strength in the fae’s grip reminded Jono of his own. Fae might look beautiful, but they were deadly in their own way.
“You have yourself a deal.” Jono let go and leaned back in the soft leather seat. “Now, if you’re going to use us to further your own reputation, best tell us what you know about how your Lady went missing.”
Tiarnán smiled slowly, seemingly amused at Jono’s unsubtle accusation. “What makes you think I would withhold information?”
“Fae,” Jono scoffed.
Tiarnán chuckled. “A mutual partnership is beneficial to us both in a situation like this. Personal gain is secondary to the goal.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Patrick muttered.
