Owen shook his head. “We don’t know.”
Damn it.
“He didn’t do this on his own,” Rogan said. “Vincent isn’t one for elaborate schemes. He prefers brute force. Someone is pulling his leash. Someone with enough power to keep him in check.”
“I agree with you,” Owen said.
“So you know who that is?”
The patriarch of House Harcourt drew himself up straight in the chair. “Do you think that if I had any idea where my son is or who he is with, I wouldn’t have taken steps? We don’t serve other Houses. We stand on our own. Do you think I would allow my heir to fall under the influence of another Prime?”
“Alexander Sturm,” Liam said.
Everyone looked at him.
“He’s with Alexander Sturm. Sturm has a collection of medieval swords. He owns an Oakeshott XIIIa sword, a Grete War Sword. It’s a precursor of a Scottish claymore. The one Sturm has is supposed to be the true sword of William Wallace. Vincent sent me a picture of him with it two days ago.”
Owen and Rogan swore.
Chapter 8
I sat in an armored carrier. Outside, Rogan’s ex-soldiers were loading the grinder’s cylinders onto the transport. It took twelve of them to safely lift and carry one. Rogan lingered with the Harcourts. Apparently, there were some papers to sign. We all had engaged in a massive slaughter, and now we had to formalize it. That part of House warfare never made sense to me. I’d never forget the moment when Rogan and Cornelius bargained over who would retain the right to kill Cornelius’ wife’s murderer and then drew up a contract spelling out their agreement. Even inside the vehicle, the air smelled like gore. If I bent forward, I could see the remains of the bodies.
Rogan climbed into the carrier and sat next to me, leaning against the bulkhead, his helmet off, his eyes closed. For a while we sat next to each other.
“Did you get the papers?”
He nodded. “They signed a no-retaliation agreement. They legally acknowledge that they were at fault and promise to not pursue the matter further.”
“Is it going to stick?”
“Yes. If they break it, the sanctions from the Assembly will be severe.”
I nodded and looked away.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“No.”
“Tell me.”
“Do you think they made these monsters up out of nothing, or is there an actual place, another world, they pulled them from?”
“Nobody knows.”
“So much death, Connor. For so little.”
He reached over and squeezed my hand.
“Is that how people will see me?” I asked. “An abomination.”
“That’s how they see your grandmother. About two decades ago Victoria Tremaine went on a rampage,” Rogan said. “It was before my time, but I asked my mother and she remembers it.”
I glanced at him.
“What?”
“Your mother? I thought you were estranged?”
He frowned. “No. I talk to her every week.”
“Why isn’t she . . . involved in all of this?”
He shrugged. “She doesn’t want to be. My mother survived more assassination attempts than several heads of state put together, played the House politics, and after my father died and I came back to take over, she decided that she was done. Can you blame her?”
I glanced at the bloody pile of animal body parts. “No.”
“As I said, my mother remembers your grandmother’s reign of terror. Victoria Tremaine cut a wide swath through the Houses. Primes would disappear and then turn up babbling like idiots, their minds fried. People would be snatched off the street, hauled before her, and interrogated. Those who survived called it mental rape. It took them a long time to recover. Some never did. My mother thinks Victoria must’ve made a deal with the feds, because they let her go on unchecked for far too long. Rumors said she was looking for something, but nobody who’d managed to escape her claws was in any shape to talk about it.”
“She was looking for my father.” The timing was about right.
“I think so.” Rogan stretched his shoulders. Something popped in his chest. He grimaced. “You’re not Victoria, Nevada.”
“But I am. Did you see how they looked at me?”
“Yes. They are afraid of you.”
“Terrified. They are terrified and disgusted.”
He grinned, a dragon baring his fangs. “Yes.”
He didn’t seem upset by that. I’d terrified the Harcourts. I was the terrible abomination, and they were willing to spill their darkest secrets just to keep me out of their minds.
Oh.
“Is it going to get around?”
“Possibly. Your name was on the Verona Exception packet.” He looked unbearably pleased with himself.
It would get around. By tonight, the movers and shakers of Houston would know that future House Baylor took their root from Victoria Tremaine. The number of Houses who were considering taking us down once our grace period was done just got cut by a good percentage.
“She will be livid. Now everyone will know that we’re rebelling against her.”
“Livid, yes. Also proud,” Rogan said. “You walked in and made a combat House with four Primes submit without lifting a finger. Your grandmother will quite enjoy that.”
He looked like he was enjoying it too.
I leaned closer to him. “What about you, Rogan? Are you afraid of sleeping with an abomination?”
He smiled, his blue eyes light, raised his hand, and brushed a loose strand of blond hair from my cheek. “When we were at the lodge, and you were dancing in the snow, I kept wondering why it wasn’t melting. You’re like spring, Nevada. My spring.”
Rivera stomped up the ramp into the carrier. “We’re good to go, sir.”
“Move out,” Rogan said.
“Yes, sir.”
Rivera stomped out and barked, “Move out! We’re done here.”
I pulled my phone out. Dead. I should’ve charged it this morning. There goes my intelligence gathering.
“What’s the deal with Alexander Sturm?” I asked, as the transport began to fill with people.
“He’s a Prime,” Rogan said.
You don’t say. “What sort of magic?”
Damn it.
“He didn’t do this on his own,” Rogan said. “Vincent isn’t one for elaborate schemes. He prefers brute force. Someone is pulling his leash. Someone with enough power to keep him in check.”
“I agree with you,” Owen said.
“So you know who that is?”
The patriarch of House Harcourt drew himself up straight in the chair. “Do you think that if I had any idea where my son is or who he is with, I wouldn’t have taken steps? We don’t serve other Houses. We stand on our own. Do you think I would allow my heir to fall under the influence of another Prime?”
“Alexander Sturm,” Liam said.
Everyone looked at him.
“He’s with Alexander Sturm. Sturm has a collection of medieval swords. He owns an Oakeshott XIIIa sword, a Grete War Sword. It’s a precursor of a Scottish claymore. The one Sturm has is supposed to be the true sword of William Wallace. Vincent sent me a picture of him with it two days ago.”
Owen and Rogan swore.
Chapter 8
I sat in an armored carrier. Outside, Rogan’s ex-soldiers were loading the grinder’s cylinders onto the transport. It took twelve of them to safely lift and carry one. Rogan lingered with the Harcourts. Apparently, there were some papers to sign. We all had engaged in a massive slaughter, and now we had to formalize it. That part of House warfare never made sense to me. I’d never forget the moment when Rogan and Cornelius bargained over who would retain the right to kill Cornelius’ wife’s murderer and then drew up a contract spelling out their agreement. Even inside the vehicle, the air smelled like gore. If I bent forward, I could see the remains of the bodies.
Rogan climbed into the carrier and sat next to me, leaning against the bulkhead, his helmet off, his eyes closed. For a while we sat next to each other.
“Did you get the papers?”
He nodded. “They signed a no-retaliation agreement. They legally acknowledge that they were at fault and promise to not pursue the matter further.”
“Is it going to stick?”
“Yes. If they break it, the sanctions from the Assembly will be severe.”
I nodded and looked away.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“No.”
“Tell me.”
“Do you think they made these monsters up out of nothing, or is there an actual place, another world, they pulled them from?”
“Nobody knows.”
“So much death, Connor. For so little.”
He reached over and squeezed my hand.
“Is that how people will see me?” I asked. “An abomination.”
“That’s how they see your grandmother. About two decades ago Victoria Tremaine went on a rampage,” Rogan said. “It was before my time, but I asked my mother and she remembers it.”
I glanced at him.
“What?”
“Your mother? I thought you were estranged?”
He frowned. “No. I talk to her every week.”
“Why isn’t she . . . involved in all of this?”
He shrugged. “She doesn’t want to be. My mother survived more assassination attempts than several heads of state put together, played the House politics, and after my father died and I came back to take over, she decided that she was done. Can you blame her?”
I glanced at the bloody pile of animal body parts. “No.”
“As I said, my mother remembers your grandmother’s reign of terror. Victoria Tremaine cut a wide swath through the Houses. Primes would disappear and then turn up babbling like idiots, their minds fried. People would be snatched off the street, hauled before her, and interrogated. Those who survived called it mental rape. It took them a long time to recover. Some never did. My mother thinks Victoria must’ve made a deal with the feds, because they let her go on unchecked for far too long. Rumors said she was looking for something, but nobody who’d managed to escape her claws was in any shape to talk about it.”
“She was looking for my father.” The timing was about right.
“I think so.” Rogan stretched his shoulders. Something popped in his chest. He grimaced. “You’re not Victoria, Nevada.”
“But I am. Did you see how they looked at me?”
“Yes. They are afraid of you.”
“Terrified. They are terrified and disgusted.”
He grinned, a dragon baring his fangs. “Yes.”
He didn’t seem upset by that. I’d terrified the Harcourts. I was the terrible abomination, and they were willing to spill their darkest secrets just to keep me out of their minds.
Oh.
“Is it going to get around?”
“Possibly. Your name was on the Verona Exception packet.” He looked unbearably pleased with himself.
It would get around. By tonight, the movers and shakers of Houston would know that future House Baylor took their root from Victoria Tremaine. The number of Houses who were considering taking us down once our grace period was done just got cut by a good percentage.
“She will be livid. Now everyone will know that we’re rebelling against her.”
“Livid, yes. Also proud,” Rogan said. “You walked in and made a combat House with four Primes submit without lifting a finger. Your grandmother will quite enjoy that.”
He looked like he was enjoying it too.
I leaned closer to him. “What about you, Rogan? Are you afraid of sleeping with an abomination?”
He smiled, his blue eyes light, raised his hand, and brushed a loose strand of blond hair from my cheek. “When we were at the lodge, and you were dancing in the snow, I kept wondering why it wasn’t melting. You’re like spring, Nevada. My spring.”
Rivera stomped up the ramp into the carrier. “We’re good to go, sir.”
“Move out,” Rogan said.
“Yes, sir.”
Rivera stomped out and barked, “Move out! We’re done here.”
I pulled my phone out. Dead. I should’ve charged it this morning. There goes my intelligence gathering.
“What’s the deal with Alexander Sturm?” I asked, as the transport began to fill with people.
“He’s a Prime,” Rogan said.
You don’t say. “What sort of magic?”
