"What care we how many people die?" asked Marsilia, waving at the dead man and speaking to everyone here. "They are short-lived, and they are food."
She's meant it rhetorically, but I answered her anyway.
"They are many, and they could destroy your seethe in a day if they knew it existed. It would take them a month to wipe all of you out of existence in this country. And if you were creating monsters like that thing Andre brought into existence, I would help them." I leaned forward as I spoke. My hands throbbed in time with my heartbeat, and I found that the rhythm of my words followed the pain.
"Truth," said Wulfe in a satisfied tone.
Marsilia put her mouth near my ear. "That was for my soldier," she murmured in tones that reached no farther than my ears. "Tell him that."
She lowered her mouth until it hovered over my neck, but I didn't flinch.
"I do think I would have liked you, Mercedes," she said. "If you weren't what you are, and I wasn't what I am. You are Stefan's sheep?"
"We exchanged blood twice," I said.
"Truth," said Wulfe, sounding amused.
"You belong to him."
"You would think so," I agreed.
She let out a huff of exasperation. "You make this simple thing difficult."
" You make it difficult. I understand what you are asking, though, and the answer is yes."
"Truth."
"Why did Stefan make you his?"
I didn't want to tell her. I didn't want her to know I had any connection to Blackwood
whatsoever—though probably Adam had already told her. So I attacked.
"Because you murdered his menagerie. The people he cared about," I said hotly.
"Truth," Stefan ground out.
"Truth," agreed Wulfe softly.
Marsilia, her face angled toward me, looked obscurely satisfied. "I have what I need of you, Ms. Thompson. You may vacate the chair."
I pulled my hands off the chair and tried not to wince—or relax—as the uncomfortable pulse of magic left me. Before I could get up, Stefan's hand was under my arm, lifting me to my feet.
His back was to Marsilia, and all his attention seemed to be on me—though I had the feeling that all of his being was focused on his former Mistress. He took one of my hands in both of his and raised it to his mouth, licking it clean with gentle thoroughness. If we hadn't been in public, I'd have told him what I thought of that. I thought he caught a little of it in my face because the corners of his mouth turned up.
Marsilia's eyes flashed red.
"You overstep yourself." It was Adam, but it didn't sound like him.
I turned and saw him stride over the floor of the room without making a noise. If Marsilia's face had been frightening, it was nothing compared to his.
Stefan, undeterred, had picked up my other hand and treated it the same way—though he was a little more brisk about it. I didn't jerk it away because I wasn't sure he'd let me—and the struggle would light Adam's fuse for sure.
"I heal her hands," Stefan said, releasing me and stepping back. "As is my privilege."
Adam stopped next to me. He picked up my hands—which did look better—and gave Stefan a short, sharp nod. He tucked my hand around his upper arm, then returned with me to the wolves. I could feel in the pounding of his heart, in the tightness of his arm, that he was on the edge of losing it. So I dropped my head against his arm to muffle my voice. Then I said, "That was all aimed at Marsilia."
"When we get home," said Adam, not bothering to speak quietly, "you will allow me to enlighten you about how something can accomplish more than one purpose at the same time."
Marsilia waited until we were seated with the rest of the wolves before she continued her program for the evening.
"And now for you," she said to Stefan. "I hope you have not reconsidered your cooperation."
In answer, Stefan sat in the thronelike chair, raised both hands over the sharp thorns, and slammed them down with such force that I could hear the chair groan from where I stood.
"What do you wish to know?" he asked.
"Your feeder told us that I killed your former menagerie," she said. "How do you know it to be true?"
He lifted his chin. "I felt each of them die, by your hand. One a day until they were no more."
"Truth," agreed Wulfe in a tone I hadn't heard from him before. It made me look. He sat with Estelle collapsed at his feet, Lily leaning against one side, and Bernard sitting stiffly on the other. Wulfe's face was somber and… sad.
"You are no longer of this seethe."
"I am no longer of this seethe," Stefan agreed coolly.
"Truth," said Wulfe.
"You were never mine, really," she told him. "You had always your free will."
"Always," he agreed.
"And you used that to hide Mercy from me. From justice."
"I hid her from you because I judged her no risk to you or the seethe."
"Truth," murmured Wulfe.
"You hid her because you liked her."
"Yes," agreed Stefan. "And because there would be no justice in her death. She had not killed one of us—and would not, except that you set that task to her." For the first time since he sat in the chair, he looked directly at her. "You asked her to kill the monster you could not find—and she did it. Twice."
"Truth."
"She killed Andre !" Marsilia's voice rose to a roar, and power echoed in it and through the room we were in. The lights dimmed a little, then regained their former wattage.
Stefan smiled sourly at her. "Because there was no choice. We left her no choice—you, I, and Andre."
"Truth."
"You chose her over me ," Marsilia said, and her power lit the air with strangeness. I took a step closer to Adam and shivered.
"You knew she hunted Andre, knew she'd killed him—and you hid what she did from me. You forced me to torture you and destroy your power base. You must answer to me." Her voice thundered, vibrating the floor and rattling the walls. The suspended lights drifted back and forth, making shadows play.
"Not anymore," said Stefan. "I do not belong to you."
"Truth," snapped Wulfe, suddenly coming to his feet. "That is fair truth—you felt it yourself."
Across from us, high in the bleachers, a vampire stood up. He had soft features, wide-spaced eyes, and an upturned nose that should have made him look something other than vampire. Like Wulfe and Estelle's human, he strode down the seats. But there was no bounce to his step or hesitation. His path might as well have been straight and paved for all it impeded him. He landed on the floor and walked to Wulfe.
He wore a tuxedo and a pair of dark-metal gauntlets. Hinged metal on the top and chain link below. He flexed his fingers and blood dripped from the gloves to the floor.
No one made any move to clean it up.
He turned, and in a light, breathy voice, he said, "Accepted. He is no man of yours, Marsilia."
I had no idea who he was, but Stefan did. He froze where he sat, all of his being focused on the vampire in the bloody gauntlets. Stefan's face was blank, as if the whole world had tilted from its axis.
Marsilia smiled. "Tell me. Did Bernard approach you to betray me?"
"Yes," Stefan said, without expression.
"Did Estelle do the same?"
He took a deep breath, blinked a couple of times, and relaxed in the chair. "Bernard seemed to have the seethe's best interest at heart," he said.
"Truth," Wulfe said.
"But Estelle, when she asked me to join her against you, Estelle just wanted power."
"Truth."
Estelle shrieked and tried to get to her feet, but she couldn't move away from Wulfe.