“Shadow’s pitch, look at her eyes,” said Arman. His House was the only warded place with allies on both sides of the dispute against Order. And this room seemed to be located off the main ballroom, where the murmur of voices waited.
“It’s a good look,” Mason assured her.
Cari gave him an exasperated groan and turned in question to Kaye. At least she was a flash of vibrant color—fiery hair, porcelain skin, a sculpted red gown that screamed sex and power.
“Your eyes are all black, even the whites, like a fae’s,” Kaye answered. “It’s frightening, which can only help us. You are still helping us, right?”
“My conditions?”
“Met,” Kaye said.
Cari gave a Dolan smile. “Then you have my full support.”
Kaye’s gaze went wary. “Would you be willing to do it in the old way?” She was asking, not demanding. And the way she was worrying her manicure said she was nervous. Kaye Brand, firemage, nervous. Interesting.
“The old ways are all the fashion lately,” Cari drawled. “You mean fealty.” Kaye wanted her to basically acknowledge Brand House as magekind’s sovereign.
Kaye gave a short nod. Mason’s brow tightened, disturbed. He was so handsome when he glowered. But the others in the room all seemed to have been prepped on this idea. Their eyes went shifty.
“Gutsy of you,” Cari observed to Kaye. The last House that had asked for fealty was Grey House, and Ferrol was dead. Martin, for one, would never bend knee. This was inviting open hostilities against Brand.
“We’ve got a fae queen eating human souls,” Kaye said. “This division among the Houses has to stop. Details will be worked out later, but I swear that for your cooperation, Dolan will be my First House.”
So second in line for hostilities. An honor and a noose.
Cari glanced over at Mason. “What say you?” Dolan would be his House too if they both had their way. And with Kaye’s help, they might just get it.
“I think you would be just as good as Kaye in the Seat,” he said. A deep breath. “But her connection to the Order via Jack Bastian has broader repercussions.”
“The Order is even now marshaling against the fae queen,” Jack put in.
The heavy subtext was that they were already fighting Dolan’s battles. Cari had no trouble admitting she’d need all the help she could get.
“I’d do this tonight, publicly?”
Kaye colored at the possibility of her acceptance. “It would have the most impact and at a very critical time.”
Cari cast her gaze down to the floor, which she didn’t see because her brain was working overtime. What would her father do? She shook her head no. She had to stop thinking of him. He was dead. This was her decision, and it would have far-reaching effects. If she did this, there’d be no ultimate glory for Dolan, but if Cari really wanted that, then she need only welcome Maeve. Maeve was all for Dolan glory.
She lifted her head again. Met Kaye Brand’s black gaze. “Is there a title I should use? Formal language? Secret woo-woo symbol I draw in the air?”
Kaye broke into a brilliant smile. “Thank you.”
Suddenly everyone was breathing deeply and looking at each other with tight smiles and jerked nods.
Kaye twisted a little toward Jack Bastian, but the angel was already there with a supportive hand to Kaye’s elbow. “Jack remembers how the ceremony went from way back in the day. He’s old.”
Her last words made everyone chuckle, the tension completely broken.
“Ironic that an angel has to remind magekind about its own oaths,” Mason said.
Surprised, Cari looked up over her shoulder. He’d somehow moved to her side in a blink. She liked that he was behind her. Liked the heat coming off him. Liked the stroke of his voice. Felt right.
“It appears I have something to memorize.” Cari squeezed Mason’s hand. He must be going out of his mind with this waiting. He had something better to do than listen to her recite lines over and over. “In the meantime, has Fletcher arrived yet?”
Mason let himself out of the side room where the others were settling in to an impromptu tutorial. The ballroom was full of mages in fancy clothes and cloying perfume. Gunnar Martin had a severe frown of disgust across his face and had worn a sword that Mason didn’t think was for ceremonial purposes. That was okay. Mason had come armed as well—he had the Martin House blade and Xavier’s weapon of the moment. Both were concealed under his tux jacket, along with his holster.
But Mason wasn’t looking for a fight. He was after a short stop, rib-high, whom he hoped was looking for him, too. Dad had saved the day. A grin from Fletcher was all he needed as reward.
Mason ducked around people, who felt the need to shove their palms into his for a shake, when they’d never deigned to recognize the stray in public before.
“Well done!”
“Congratulations!”
“An honor to meet you, Greatmage Stray.” That “greatmage” and “stray” should be put together boggled Mason’s mind. Like “esteemed” and “scum”—a laughable combination.
Alistair of Verity House actually bent his head to his ear and offered to claim him and Fletcher.
“Thank you, but I’m taken,” Mason said, disengaging himself. How utterly surreal.
If he could just find Fletcher—
There. On the far wall, next to Webb. Mason should’ve been looking for the old man.
The kid was all choked up with a tie. And at second glance, he didn’t look right in other ways either, though Mason couldn’t quite tell how. An ice pick migraine jammed into Mason’s brain. He’d thought it’d be pure joy to see Fletcher, but the intensity of the emotion remained as it morphed into acute alarm.
Fletcher’s eyes grew big and unblinking when he spotted him coming through the crowd, but he didn’t return Mason’s smile.
“Riordan,” Mason said, when he reached them. But he couldn’t help lower himself to kid height. He looked into his son’s black eyes, searching for the smartass inside. “You in there?”
Fletcher nodded.
But the drawn expression on his son’s face made Mason burn. It’d only been two weeks. He’d left Fletcher with Maria for longer and had come back to elaborate, life-threatening pranks.
Mason wanted to grab Fletcher and hug him, to lay his hands on that head, stroke his hair, check his ears, feel the bones, smell him, anything to assure himself that his son was whole. That his kid lived was suddenly not enough. Not nearly enough. Whole, damn it.
But Fletcher had been sensitive lately to displays of affection in front of other people. So Mason had to satisfy himself by squeezing his shoulders with his hands and standing to address Webb.
“Does he know?” Mason asked.
Fletcher’s face didn’t light with the knowledge of good news. They needed a private reunion, so Mason could shake the kid back into himself. As it was, he could only snag his son by the collar in case he had to wrench him away from Webb.
“If you were looking for a House,” Riordan said genially, “you should’ve mentioned it. I’d have been happy to claim you. Keep it all in the family, so to speak.”
Bald-faced lie, but Mason wanted to stay nice. They’d have to work together in the future. “Cari made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” Just wait until Fletcher heard.
“I’m very excited to begin planning the Umbra project with you,” Webb said. “I have some ideas—”
“—which, I’m afraid, will have to wait until later tonight. I’ve got to introduce Fletcher to Cari.” A lie of his own. Cari was busy. Mason wanted to grill Fletcher to get at what was wrong. The pressure of concern in his chest was getting unbearable.
“Certain—” Webb was saying.