Blay found himself envying the couple a little. Not about the familial estrangement, for sure. But God…to be able to be seen with your mate in public, show your love for them, have your relationship respected by everyone else? Heterosexual couples took that for granted because they never knew anything different. Their unions were sanctioned by the glymera, even if the pairs were not in love, or were cheating on each other or were otherwise a fraud.
Two males?
Hah.
Just one more reason to resent the aristocracy, he supposed. Although in reality, he had the sense he wasn’t going to have to worry about being discriminated against. The male he wanted was never going to stand beside him in public, and not because Qhuinn gave a shit about what people thought. One, the guy wasn’t demonstrative like that. And two, sex did not a couple make.
Otherwise that bastard would be engaged to half of Caldwell, FFS.
Oh, what was he saying.
He was long over that Qhuinn pipe dream thing.
Really.
Totally—
“Shut it,” he muttered to himself as the last of the Council arrived.
Rehv didn’t waste any time. Every second that Wrath was in front of this group, the king was not only mortally exposed, but also running the chance that his blindness would somehow be ferreted out.
The symphath king addressed the Council, his purple gaze scanning the crowd, a sly smile on his face—like maybe he was enjoying the fact that this group of know-it-alls had no clue that a sin-eater was leading them. “I hereby call this meeting of the Council to order. The date and time are…”
As the preamble continued, Blay kept his eyes busy, checking out the backs of the males and females, where the arms and hands were, whether anyone was twitchy. Naturally, the group had turned out in black tie and velvet, with jewels on the females, and gold pocket watches on the males. Then again, it had been a long time since they’d been together formally, and that meant that their desire to compete with one another for the social upper hand had no doubt suffered from grossly insufficient airtime.
“…our leader, Wrath, son of Wrath.”
As polite applause sounded, and the crowd straightened in their chairs, Wrath took a single step forward.
Man, blind or not, he certainly appeared to be a force of nature: Even though he wasn’t dressed in some kind of ermine-trimmed robe, the king was irrefutably in charge, his massive body and long dark hair and black wraparounds making him more menace than monarch.
And that was the idea.
Leadership, especially when it came to the glymera, was based in part upon perception—and no one could deny that Wrath looked like a living, breathing representation of power and authority.
And that deep, commanding voice didn’t hurt, either.
“I recognize that it has been a long time since I’ve seen you. The raids of nearly two years ago decimated a lot of your families, and I share in your pain. I, too, lost my bloodline in a lesser raid, so I know exactly what you’re going through as you try to get your lives back on track.”
A male down in front shifted in his chair….
But it was only a change in position, not the prelude to a weapon coming out.
Blay eased back on his stance, as did several others. Goddamn, he couldn’t wait to get through this meeting and have Wrath back home safe.
“Many of you knew my father well, and remember his time in the Old Country. My sire was a wise and temperate leader, a gentlemale of logical thinking and regal bearing who occupied himself solely with the betterment of this race and its citizenry.” Wrath paused, those wraparounds making a circle of the room. “I share a few of my father’s characteristics…but not all. In fact, I am not temperate. I am not forgiving. I am a male of war, not of peace.”
At this, Wrath unsheathed one of his black daggers, the dark blade flashing in the light of the crystal chandelier overhead. Out in front of the king, the crowd of highfliers reacted with a collective shiver.
“I am very comfortable with conflict, be it of the legal or mortal kind. My father was a mediator, a bridge maker. I am a grave maker. My father was a persuader. I am a taker. My father was a king who would willingly sit at your dinner tables and converse with you about minutiae. I am not that male.”
Yeah, whoa. The Council had no doubt never been addressed like this. But Blay couldn’t disagree with the approach. Weakness was not respected. Moreover, with this group, law alone probably wasn’t going to keep Wrath’s throne stable anymore.
Fear, on the other hand?
Much better chance.
“My father and I do have one thing in common, however.” Wrath angled his head down, as if he were staring at the black blade. “My father caused the deaths of eight of your relations.”
There was a collective gasp. But Wrath didn’t let that slow him up.
“Over the course of my father’s reign, there were eight attempts on his life, and no matter how long it took, whether it was days, weeks, or even months, he made it his business to find out who was behind each…and he hunted the individuals down personally, and killed them. You may not have heard the true stories, but you will know of the deaths—the perpetrators were beheaded with the tongues removed. Surely, as you cast your mind back, you can recall members of your bloodlines who were interred that way?”
Fidgeting. Lot of fidgeting. Which suggested memories had been jogged.
“You will further recall that those deaths were attributed to the Lessening Society. I say unto you now, I know the names, and I know where the graves are, because my father made sure I memorized them. It was the first lesson in kingship he ever taught me. My citizenry is to be honored, protected, and served well. Traitors, on the other hand, are a disease to any lawful society and need to be eradicated.” Wrath smiled in a purely evil way. “Say what you will about me, I studied well at the foot of my father. And let us be clear—my father, not the Brotherhood, was the one who attended those deaths. I know because he beheaded four of them in front of me. That was how important the lesson was.”
Several of the females moved closer to whatever male happened to be seated beside them.
Wrath continued. “I will not hesitate to follow my father’s lead in this. I recognize that you all have suffered. I respect your trials and I want to lead you. I will not, however, hesitate to treat any insurgency against me and mine as the act of a traitor.”
The king lowered his chin, and appeared to glare out from behind the wraparounds, to the point that even Blay felt a frisson of adrenaline.
“And if you think what my father did was violent, you haven’t seen a goddamn thing yet. I will make those deaths look merciful. I swear on my lineage.”
FIFTY-TWO
On some level, Assail could not believe he was walking into a restaurant. For one, he didn’t frequent human haunts as a rule, and two, he had no interest in eating in the dive: The air smelled like fried food and beer, and from what he saw on the trays of the waitresses, he was uncertain whether the entrées were graded safe for non-animal consumption.
Oh, look. Across the way, there was a stage that had a wall of chicken wire in front of it.
Classy.
“Well, hello, there,” someone purred at him.
Assail cocked an eyebrow and glanced over his shoulder. The human woman was dressed in a tight shirt and a pair of blue jeans that had clearly been stitched onto her legs. Hair was blond and stick straight. Makeup was heavy, with the lipstick shiny enough to qualify as an exterior oil paint.
He’d rather spoon his own eyes out then engage in any fashion with the likes of her.