Chapter Text
For the second time in a night, the room was stunned into absolute stillness. The most fearsome representatives from sovereign nations stood with their jaws flapping in the wind as our melodrama unfolded. It had to be a red-letter day. How many centuries had it been since a gathering of gods and monsters had gone so spectacularly awry?
"What is the meaning of this?" Councilman Cristos snapped, rising to his feet. The other members of the Senior Council followed his lead, adopting defensive postures without thought.
"Call off your guard dog, Cristos," Marcone said in that same deadly tone. "I would hate to make an enemy of the White Council at this juncture, but if Warden Rameriez continues toward my vassal I am within my rights under the accords to defend her."
"Vassal?" Rameriez echoed, scowl still fixed in place. "She's a fugitive!"
"And Chicago has no extradition agreements with the White Council. Whom I see fit to employ is none of your concern. Do you truly think now is the time to throw a gauntlet at my feet? This was exactly the sort of division the titan wished to inspire. What does her relative morality have to do with her ability to be useful? Do you truly think it is wise to throw away a capable fighter while the enemy is at the gates?"
Cristos assessed Marcone's expression intently but broke eye contact before he fell into a soulgaze with the Baron. As far as I could tell, he saw no bluff in Marcone's eyes. He made a sharp, almost military gesture, and Rameriez took a grudging step back the way he'd come, sheathing his weapon.
"You are correct," Cristos said, pulling a face as though the words tasted bad. "We cannot afford a schism at this point in time. But should we prevail against Ethniu, the Council will be speaking to you about this, Baron."
Marcone showed his teeth. It had a distinctly lupine flavor, a wolf about to tear into the haunches of a doe. "I'm looking forward to it, Councilman."
There was a scuffle and I turned in time to watch Carter LaChaise and his retinue of ghouls move for the exit. Marcone lowered his weapon and eyed their retreating backs.
"LaChiase," he called in a voice that carried. The eyes of the room fell on the ghouls and they reacted visibly to the collective scorn. "Where are you going, sir?"
LaChaise jabbed a claw-tipped finger at the ruin of the back wall. Dust still floated in an opaque haze over the spot where Mab had disappeared.
"You heard that monster," he said, his drawling New Orleans accent growing thicker as he spoke. "You saw what she did.”
“Yes," Marcone said, once more adopting the facade of a patient diplomat. But I'd seen the crack in the mask. So had everyone else. "I also saw your signature at the bottom of the Unseelie Accords, I believe.”
“And?”
“And, as I demonstrated earlier when Summer's territory was threatened, the mutual defense in the case of an aggressor nation is stipulated therein.”
No one bothered to point out the flaw in his logic. That I stood accused of denying the Svartalves their due justice under the accords. Every mind was occupied with the pressing threat. If we survived, there'd be fallout for Marcone, but until then, people took him at his word.
“Mab was the Accords,” LaChaise spat. “You saw what the Titan did to her.”
“And so I did,” Marcone replied.
“If she can do that to Mab, what chance do any of us have?” LaChaise asked. He looked around at the rest of the room. “All of us signed because all of us fear Mab. Do any of you think you can stand up to Corb and Ethniu when even Mab gets swatted down like an insect? Let the mortals throw away their lives for this city. It's no business of ours. We survived before the accords and we can do it again."
“Baron Marcone is correct,” Etri said, shooting a dirty look my way. It was the only acknowledgment he gave me. “You are signatories of the Accords, as are we all. You are obligated to come to Mab’s defense."
"And the titan?" LaChaise demanded. "Did you see what she was wearing?
"Titanic bronze," Etri murmured.
"What's that?" I asked, unable to help myself. I immediately regretted speaking. All eyes fell on me once more, and I wanted to sink into cringe right out of existence.
"An alloy of Olympian Bronze and Mordite. It's complex beyond even the ken of my people. Only the Hundred-Handed ones knew the secret of forging it. Merely physical force can do little against it. Even our most potent magics would be hard-pressed to scratch it, let alone deal a mortal blow. It would take energy of a divine nature to strike her down."
Motion drew our attention to the hole Mab had disappeared through. She emerged, shoulders deformed by their impact with the wall. She reached up and casually shoved one shoulder into its socket. Her eyes were bright with fae light, shifting in a mad swirl of color around her slit pupils. It was mesmerizing to watch the shift from glacial blue to catlike green and finally a purple so deep it almost appeared black. She settled on the ground with a grace that belied her condition. And her eyes were only for me.
"A sufficiently infernal source would also suffice," she said quietly.
Marcone stiffened and took a step closer to me, interposing himself between me and Mab. The Queen of Air and Darkness stopped a few feet shy of him and gave him a reproving look.
"Move aside, Baron. This decision is not within your purview and you know it."
Marcone's jaw set stubbornly. He met Mab's gaze squarely and didn't blink.
"Concessions," Marcone said.
"Pardon?" Mab asked, tone absolutely arctic. It had probably been a few millennia since a mortal gave her firm suggestions, let alone made demands of her.
"You cannot simply make demands of my vassal without incurring a debt, your highness," Marcone replied, shedding her displeasure with ease. "What you ask of her is unjust, given her history."
"It is necessary," Mab insisted.
I tried to make sense of the words, but the vowels sounded unnecessarily long. I couldn't make sense of them, no matter how hard I tried. Somewhere in a rational corner of my mind, I knew that I didn't want to know.
"You ask her to invite another being into herself. Essentially, you are asking her to quarter a soldier for your fight, knowing it will do her harm. You. Owe. Her."
Mab shivered, reacting to the words like they'd been a light, compelling caress instead of a statement of fact. Her eyes closed briefly. When they opened she gave Marcone a stiff nod.
"Margaret Carpenter, Knight of Chicago will enjoy the full protection of Winter. Any who'd seek to gainsay that will face my personal displeasure."
Her gaze swiveled like a gun turret to the White Council's representatives. Some of the younger wardens flinched, dropping their gaze automatically. Cristos fared only a little better. He swayed once before returning her stare. His jaw ticced once before he nodded.
"And Summer's protection," Lily added, stepping from the crowd. Light had gathered beneath her skin flickering in time with her breath like a firefly. She evoked a lazy summer night on the patio watching the stars. "Miss Carpenter has been a friend to Summer thus far. We will not allow harm to come to one of our own."
"I don't understand," I mumbled. The words came out slowly as though I were sounding them out. But I could feel awareness slowly creeping in, and a lead weight dragged my stomach down to my toes.
"A Knight of the Sword might cut Ethniu in twain," Mab said, still regarding me with bright eyes. "As could a Knight of the Coin."
Oh. Oh God. They wanted me to summon Lasciel.
And if I didn't, everyone I knew and loved was going to die. A wail bubbled up in me but i was too appalled to voice it.
I couldn't help myself. I turned and ran from the room, tears stinging my eyes and a scream trapped in my throat.