Xcor bared his teeth as he smiled. “Indeed.”
“You do not sound surprised.”
“I am not.” Xcor rolled his eyes. “Although naturally, I am bereft.”
Which was somewhat true: It was rather like losing a handy gun. Or, more accurately, a screwdriver. But those things could be replaced.
“Do you know who did it?” the caller demanded.
“Well, I believe you do, am I right?”
“It was the Brotherhood, of course.”
Another misconception, but again, Xcor was prepared to let it stand. “Tell me, are you expecting me to ahvenge him?”
“That is not my concern.” The stilted tones suggested the male was in fact worried about facing the same fate himself. “His family shall go after redress.”
“As is their right.” When there was nothing further coming, Xcor knew what was awaited and required. “I can assure you of two things: my confidentiality, and my protection. I can guess that you were at the gathering at Elan’s house in the fall. My position vis-à-vis the king has not changed, and I am surmising that this call places you in a sympathetic orientation to mine own views. Am I correct.”
“I am not one who seeks political or social power.”
Bullshit. “Of course not.”
“I am…worried about the future of the race—in this, Elan and I were aligned. I did not agree with the tactics he proposed, however. Assassination carries too many risks, and ultimately, it will not accomplish what is warranted.”
Au contraire, Xcor thought. A bullet through the brain fixed many things—
“The law is the way to bring down the king.”
Xcor frowned. “I do not follow.”
“With all due respect, the law is mightier than the sword. To paraphrase a human saying.”
“Your oblique references are a waste of words to me. Be specific, if you do not mind.”
“The Old Laws provide the power that Wrath wields. They spell out his unilateral dominion over all manner of our lives and our society, giving him free rein to act as he chooses, with a complete lack of accountability.”
Which was why Xcor wanted the job, thank you very much. “Go on.”
“There are no restrictions on what he may do, what courses he may take—in fact, he can also change the Old Laws if he so chooses, and alter the very fabric of our traditions and foundations.”
“I am well aware of this.” He checked his watch. Assuming he didn’t get stuck on this damn phone for the next two hours, there was still plenty of time left to fight. “Mayhap you and I should get together in person tomorrow evening—”
“There is but one caveat.”
Xcor frowned. “Caveat?”
“He must needs be capable of producing, and I quote, ‘a full-blooded heir.’”
“And this is relevant how? He is mated already, and no doubt in the future—”
“His shellan is a half-breed.”
Now Xcor was the one who fell silent—and Elan’s solicitor took advantage of the quiet: “Let us be clear with each other. There is human blood in the species. From time to time, there have been matings outside the race. One could argue nobody is truly ‘full-blooded.’ There is, however, a vital difference between a civilian straying into the human mating pool, and the king producing an offspring whose very mother is a half-breed—said offspring to inherit the throne upon his death.”
Throe leaned around the corner of the HVAC blower. “All is well?” he mouthed.
Xcor cupped the phone. “Take the others down to the streets. I shall join you apace.”
“As you wish,” Throe said with a brief bow.
As his fighter ducked away, the aristocrat on the other end continued. “There is disquiet among many members of the ruling class, as you are well aware. And I believe if someone comes forth with this, it will be far more effective at displacing Wrath, son of Wrath, than any attempt on his life. Especially after he made such a show of strength at the Council meeting the other evening. Indeed, many were frightened into a kind of submission thereafter, their wills conscripted unto his physical bearing, which was rather fierce.”
Xcor’s mind began to turn over the possibilities. “So tell me, gentlemale, in your mind, you would succeed him, no?”
“No,” came the strident response. “I am a solicitor, and as such, I value logic above all else. In this climate of unrest and war, only a soldier could lead the race—and should. Elan was a fool for his ambitions, and you have been taking advantage of this. I know because I saw you at his house that night in the fall—you were positioning him where you wanted him, even as he thought it was the other way around. I want change, yes. And I am prepared to make it happen. But I have no illusions as to my utility, and no interest in Elan’s outcome becoming my own.”
Xcor found himself turning in the direction of that mountaintop. “No king has been dethroned in this manner.”
“No king has e’er been dethroned.”
Good point.
As he stared to the northeast, where that strange disturbance in the landscape was located, he thought of the king there with his queen…and Xcor’s pregnant Chosen.
There was a time when he would have much preferred the bloodier path, the one that was marked with the satisfaction of ripping the throne away from Wrath’s dying hand. But this war of letters was…safer. For his female.
The last thing he wanted to do was raid where she ate, where she slept…where her condition was treated.
Closing his eyes, he shook his head at himself. Oh, how the mighty had fallen…and yet they would rise up nonetheless, he vowed.
“How would you suggest proceeding?” he said roughly.
“Quietly, at first. I must needs gather precedents for the manner in which ‘full-blooded’ has been construed in cases brought forth for decision. The advantage is that there has been a long-standing discrimination against humans, and it was even more pronounced in the past—when Wrath’s father was actually issuing proclamations and interpreting the law. That will be the key. The stronger the precedent, the more successful this will be all around.”
How ironic. Wrath’s own sire’s reading of the wording was going to be what brought the son down.
“The issue for us will be the king himself. He needs to remain breathing—and he needs to not recognize the weakness inherent in his reign and fix it before we can get things in order.”
“You will e-mail my associate the relevant passages, and then you will meet with me.”
“This will take a number of days.”
“Understood. But I expect your call promptly.”
As names were exchanged, and Xcor gave over Throe’s e-mail address, he began to feel a certain buoyancy. If this male was correct? Wrath’s kingship was going to be over without any more bloodshed. And then Xcor would be free to determine the future of the race: As far as he knew, Wrath had no direct family, so if he were removed, there was no one with a strong claim to the throne. Although that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be relations coming out of the woodwork.
Interlopers he could deal with, however. And with the support of the Council? He was willing to bet he could become a populist leader—provided everyone got in line.
Wrath wasn’t the only one who could change the laws.
“Do not waste time with this,” Xcor said. “You have a week. No longer.”
The answer that came back at him was gratifying: “I shall proceed with all haste.”
And wasn’t that a lovely way to end a phone call.
SEVENTY-FOUR
The tunnel that connected the mansion with the training center was cool, dim, and quiet.
As Qhuinn walked through it, he was by himself and glad of it. Nothing worse than being surrounded by happy people when you felt like death.