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a target of the Guild. Her royal bloodline and elevated diplomatic profile made her motives suspect to Maeve. It came as no surprise that the Guild had tried to place spies on her staff. Back in my early days in New York, my old partner Dylan and I had done our duty and turned our fair share of elven agents. Dylan had been particularly good at it. I learned a lot from him, which was why I had picked up on the dead elf’s circumstances.
    “Is it asking too much to know who his handler was?” I asked.
    Rand shrugged. “That I don’t know. I knew Alfren from the old days. He came to Boston because the Guild offered refuge and relocation. Once he left Germany, he wasn’t a priority.”
    Eorla had watched our exchange with quiet interest. “Rand, did you ever use this man for information about Bergin?”
    Eorla had raised Bergin Vize, and his descent into terrorism pained her. Vize had tried to leverage her personal feelings for him to gain protection, but she declined, which also pained her. She knew I had wanted Vize captured. While I wasn’t sorry he was dead, I had forgotten that she must be feeling differently.
    “Never. I kept tabs on a few of Vize’s people, but I would have informed you immediately if it became necessary,” Rand said, fast and to the point. I liked his “if necessary” caveat, the age-old plausible-deniability defense all headsof state enjoyed. Basically, he was saying he didn’t but maybe he did. I didn’t care. It didn’t matter to me. I wanted to help Murdock out, nothing more.
    “I didn’t mean for the conversation to go in this direction,” I said.
    Eorla nodded slowly. “They have not recovered Bergin’s body yet. A part of me holds out hope that he escaped death. Even though I know he would continue on his chosen path, I still wish him alive.”
    “You don’t need to apologize for loving him,” I said. I startled myself by saying it. I hated Vize. I hoped he had died an excruciating death. Eorla, on the other hand, I cared about. While I didn’t share her feelings, I did understand them.
    Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t cry. I took it as a compliment that this woman—one of the most powerful in the world—felt comfortable showing her vulnerability in front of me. She took a deep breath and moved some papers on her desk. “Have you spoken with Bastian?”
    I grunted in amusement. “No. Chatting up the Consortium is not in my best interest at the moment.”
    She leaned back in her chair. “Bastian is not one to let his pups stray too far even when they’ve misbehaved. If Rand recognizes this man, Bastian will.”
    “I’d call him, but there’s the little matter of accusing me of killing Aldred Core,” I said.
    When Donor came to Boston, he disguised himself as his own ambassador. When he died in the Guildhouse collapse, the Consortium was left with several conundrums. It would have to admit not only that the Elven King deceived the Seelie Court and human government by posing as Aldred Core, but that he was dead. The deception would jeopardize every agreement the humans had made with the Teutonic fey. A dead Elven King was even more problematic. Donor had no children, so claimants to his throne would materialize. All of this happening at a delicate point in Celtic and Teutonic relations.
    “Yes, well, I have issues with that as well,” Eorla said.
    I gave her a sharp, confused look. Donor and Eorla had not gotten along. Donor’s father stole the crown from Eorla’s father. “Not that I don’t regret killing someone, but what have I done that you take issue with?”
    “Not you. Bastian. He’s running the Consortium after the mess that Donor created. He can’t do that for long without my support. You don’t need to go to him. I can bring him here,” she said.
    “You do know how to turn the screws,” I said.
    She grinned. “In this case, Bastian screwed himself.”
    I don’t know what was funnier, what she said or the look of shock on Rand’s