Free All That Burns by Ryan Graudin Page B

surprise me.”
    “Fortunately for you I have better things to do than blowing up doors.” I look away from the politician, back to the door.
    “I see you don’t appreciate my humor,” he says.
    “That’s rather difficult to do when one is called a ‘monster’ and a ‘siren ginger.’” I keep my voice as chilled as the champagne in my glass. The one I’m gripping with whitening knuckles.
    “Ah yes. The article.” I hear the frown in Julian’s voice, but I refuse to give him the privilege of a glance. “I was . . . upset . . . when I said that. After all, we’d just been attacked. Elaine is still having nightmares. She was even too upset to come tonight. Especially considering that the creatures’ queen is supposed to make an appearance.”
    Creatures. Just the way he says it—so silky and snide—boils my insides. “As a politician I’d expect you to be a bit more careful with your words.”
    “We don’t have to be enemies, you know,” Julian says. “In fact, I’d rather not. The way I see it, you and I have a common goal.”
    “I highly doubt that,” I manage through gritted teeth.
    “We both want King Richard to make wise choices.”
    I know his words are a trap, but I hardly care. “What part of pushing Britain toward unlimited free energy doesn’t fall into that category?”
    “Perhaps I should rephrase that. We both want King Richard to make safe choices.” His S uncoils long and slow, snakelike. His chin jerks up to the Faery lights. “You don’t give up power to get it. That’s not how the world works, Lady Emrys. I know what your queen is up to. Electricity is her only weakness and our only defense. It doesn’t take a genius to solve that equation. She’s using you and King Richard to strip us bare, before she moves in.”
    “You’re wrong,” I say.
    The rising-star politician shrugs and takes a sip of his champagne. “I’ve been told that Faery queens are the cruelest creatures alive.”
    His comment is better timed than a summoning spell. The room changes as soon as Queen Titania enters. The hum of the mortals’ conversations dies and for once the hushed awe isn’t directed at me. The Faery queen doesn’t even notice the hundreds of stares as she glides—cool and calm—through the door.
    It’s the Frithemaeg behind her who look shocked. Many of them are nobility—old Fae who haven’t interacted with mortals for centuries. They file behind Titania in a V formation, eyes wider than those of a child thrust into the middle of a candy shop.
    The world’s most powerful men and women part for the Faery queen, keep a safe distance. I can’t tell if it’s from respect, fear, or both. Her path ends only steps away from Richard.
    “Your Majesty.” Her voice holds the same cool silver as her aura, but she curtsies nonetheless. All of her attendants do the same.
    Richard bows in return. “Welcome, Queen Titania. I’m honored you could make it.”
    The two aren’t speaking loudly, but their every word echoes through the ballroom’s stillness. Even the music has stopped: the violinists gawk from their corner, too stunned by the Faes’ entrance to keep playing.
    Lord Winfred is the first to recover. The prime minister clears his throat and holds out his hand. “Queen Titania. I’m Laurence Winfred. The Prime Minister. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you face-to-face.”
    Titania stares at his hand, eyes narrowed. Handshakes are reserved only for oaths in the Fae’s world. I want tocurse myself for forgetting to explain this to Britain’s prime minister.
    The Faery queen’s head tilts. Slowly her hand edges out, pale fingers meeting Lord Winfred’s sturdy handshake.
    As soon as they touch it’s as if a spell has been broken. The great silence of the room lifts. People fall back into their conversations. The violins return to their sweet-strung ballads. Waiters start to circulate again, offering silver platters of Anabelle’s hand-selected