Chapter 28

T hey stream out of the doorways, clad in white robes with deep cowls and wide, thick, black leather belts cinched around their waists. They seem to float rather than walk to their respective seats on bare marble benches. Eleven-robed figures, their faces hidden within the hoods, regarding me in silence.

Wincing, bleeding, gasping around broken ribs, prana a guttering flame in my belly, blood thin and sluggish in my veins, I rise to my feet and square my shoulders.

"Maeve Sparrow. Welcome to the Tribunal." The voice is masculine, smooth and powerful, accented in a way I cannot pinpoint.

I lift my chin. Turn my gaze, silent and furious, from hidden face to hidden face. I can feel Aeldfar on my left, second row in the back.

"Remove your hoods," I command. Fury sizzles in my veins, burning hot.

Caleb and Caspian move up to stand at my sides, Caleb on my left and Caspian on my right. I join hands with them and soak up their prana, refilling my reserves enough to feel in control and powerful once more.

"Who are you, child, to command us —" The same male voice begins, snapping with arrogance and condescension.

There is no thought, only reaction. My prana bursts out of me in a vicious wave, becoming eleven forks of lightning that strike each of the eleven seated figures. Their robes burst into flames and are consumed in an instant, and then I wrap them in power and squeeze , taking a page out of Zirae's playbook.

After Zirae, this feels like child's play—they each resist in their own way, in vain. Only Elias does nothing to resist.

Now naked and singed, muscles tensed and straining against my stranglehold, gasping, all their eyes are fixed on me.

"This so-called Tribunal is no more." I turn my eyes from face to face. "Zirae is not dead, yet, and I will not rest until he is in pieces." I let go of my mates' hands and step up onto the dais. "You now have a choice. I have provided this choice to every fae, vampire, and shifter I have encountered on my path to this vile, grandiose, self-important chamber."

I release them, pausing, turning my gaze around the room from one set of eyes to another, daring them to lash out. I summon the Mark of Fealty holding it in my hand for a moment so they can see it, recognize it for what it is, and digest its meaning and import.

"Look beyond me." I point to the gathered crowd of immortals. "They have taken my mark voluntarily. I invite you each to do the same. if you choose not to…" I shrug. "So be it. Go your own way. Live your life as you see fit. But if you turn against me, I will drain you of rakta and prana and bury your corpse in an unmarked grave, and you will be forgotten. You are each hereby stripped of authority and banned from sitting on any council which may be formed in the future."

I send the mark floating across the room, a swirling golden-white orb the size of a bowling ball. I follow it with my eyes as it pauses in front of a stunning woman who could be forty, or seventy, with long thick black hair and golden-brown skin, one eye silver and the other black.

"Ch'aska," I say, holding her eyes. "How do you choose?"

Her eyes flash. "Death or fealty to the Once-Mortal Queen?"

"A reductive summation," I say, " but in essence, yes. Although you would only choose death if you stand against me."

"I do not fear you, child." Her chin lifts. Her eyes glow amber.

"I do not ask you to fear me. I am not Zirae. Ruling through fear is the province of the weak. I am not weak."

"None would call Zirae weak," comes a thin, razor-sharp, venomous voice from the vampire section. The speaker is a male, with tightly curled black hair, brown skin, and a golden torque around his neck, inlaid with gemstones of all colors and cuts, each the size of my thumb.

" I call Zirae weak," I snap. "He is old, yes, and a skilled, powerful glamourworker. That is not the weakness to which I refer, Toresh."

"None of us will bow the knee to the likes of you," growls the vampire next to Toresh—another male similar in appearance, but with longer, less curly hair and skin of a lighter shade of brown.

"I do not ask you to bow the knee. I did not speak the prophecy—I hadn't even heard of it until I was dragged here, to this awful place. I do not call myself the Once-Mortal Queen." I gesture behind me. "They do."

Another stunningly, achingly beautiful woman with long glossy black hair and a figure wars are fought over speaks next. "What do you want, child?"

"First, I am not a child. Your age does not make you wise and experience does not give you authority." I hold her eyes, and I do not blink or look away. "I want many things, Salome. I want you, all of you, on my side as we face what comes next. I want our kind, immortals, to have a place in human society. No more hiding. No more lies. No more false histories. No more masks. I want us to bear children, and to raise them in peace and love and freedom."

"Your desires are noble, Maeve, if I may call you that," says Nomkhubulwane, a tall, exquisitely beautiful Black woman with a shaved head and several large gold hoops in her ears and bejeweled rings on her fingers, as stunning and intimidatingly gorgeous as Ch'aska and Salome, wrapped in a colorful, sleeveless, dress-like garment. "But you are misguided at best." Her African accent is musical, her voice rich and lilting.

"I am not. I am well aware of what it will take to get there—that is to say, I am aware that none of us knows exactly what lies ahead, only that it will be difficult and bloody before it gets better. I know you fear the dilution of Primi Blood."

"You know NOTHING !" This is a tall female vampire built like a warrior, her white-blond hair plaited in twin braids down her back.

"Then enlighten me, Freya, please."

"First, you will return our robes to us," she snaps. "I will not sit here being leered at."

I tilt my head. "Oh? You take issue with being stripped naked against your will? I don't remember you coming to my cell to provide me with clothes while I was mage-cuffed, held prisoner, tortured, kept away from my bloodmate, and had my child ripped out of my womb."

She pales—quite a feat for a vampire. "I was not aware of these things, I promise you."

"Yet you claim power and authority over all immortals?" I shout, lunging across the room to put my face in hers, leaping from the dais to the rim of the balcony. "You do not know what goes on in this one pathetic little corner of the world, yet you sit in judgment, murdering your own people for following biological imperative while denying them the option that would allow them to procreate without causing the death of innocent mortals."

She lifts her chin. "We are following the Treaty. We are protecting our people. Execution is not murder."

"Yes, it is . It is exactly murder. It is murder when you neither have nor deserve the authority to decide whom to execute. The people, our people, immortal people, did not give you these seats. You took them. You assumed because you have lived long lives that you deserve authority. That is your hubris. But please—enlighten me, since you claim I know nothing."

She stares at me, jaw working. "They would have kept killing us. The Treaty was the only way to stop the war."

"Bullshit!" I shout. I slap my chest. " I am proof. I am the alternative you had—have always had." I turn and point at Aquilia and Theris. "They are the alternative. It has always existed and I think you know it very, very well."

"It isn't an option!" She shouts back. "It wasn't then and it isn't now. That's why you were in that cell, and that is where you belong even now, you upstart child ."

"And why, pray tell, is it not an option? Explain it to me. Use very small words. Pretend I am as stupid as you ."

Aeldfar speaks up. "Insulting our intelligence is not the way to get us on your side, granddaughter."

I whirl on him. "I do not need you on my side , Aeldfar. I want you out of my way. I do not need you. You are relics of a world that has passed you by while you squat here in your little mountain, assuming in your ignorance and arrogance that you know best. Change is upon us. It has begun. You cannot stop it. you have no authority and no power." My rage is not quenched by my newfound love for my grandfather.

"Aeldfar?" This is from the other female fae—short, delicate, slender, sharp-featured with glossy black hair in ringlets hanging down her chest to not quite obscure her small high breasts. "A familiar term for someone you have claimed was a relation by blood alone."

I meet his eyes. "Do you deny me, Grandfather? You visited me. You gave me hope. You offered me advice. You hoped we could become closer, in time. Does Isis lie?"

He swallows. "I played both sides, I admit. I am new to this council and young, in their eyes. I could not expect them to understand my guilt and shame, nor my hope for love from you."

"My son was her father!" Salome screeches, stabbing a finger at Aquilia. "I made the same choice you did, and have suffered for it, same as you!"

"And we were WRONG !" Aeldfar roars. " I was wrong! I should rather have accepted my death at this council's hands than subjected my daughter, my—my precious Eliza to…to what we put her through. My granddaughter has the right of it. We are the monsters."

"There is something I would like to understand," I say. I picture a throne in my mind, an elaborately carved marble chair with a high back in the shape of a pair of curved fangs, the armrests carved into snarling wolf's heads. I flourish my hand, conjure the chair onto the center of the dais, and sit. "Why commission the experiment, see it succeed, and then suppress the results? Every subject is dead. I should be dead, but I'm clearly far more powerful than you anticipated. And they—" I gesture at Aquilia and Theris, "are only alive because some of you kept them as pets and sex slaves."

"That is a lie," snaps the other female vampire, Almalfia, a short, voluptuous woman with a wild mane of brown hair and pale ivory skin. "He is more than half mad. You cannot believe anything he says."

Theris bounds into the room in leopard form, prowling past me to leap up onto the balcony, perching on the lip with the ease of a feline, a vicious snarl rattling the room.

"If it was voluntary, then why was he kept in mage-cuffs, unblooded, and unable to shift?" I cross one thigh over the other and lounge back in the chair—the hideously uncomfortable chair. I should have conjured a La-Z-Boy. "If you speak the truth, then you have nothing to fear from Theris."

He is crouched, tensed, ready to pounce.

She leans back in her chair in an attempt to get away from him. "Call him back, Maeve."

I shrug. "I do not command him. The only authority I have is that which those who follow me choose to give. And as I said, if your treatment of Theris was fair and compassionate, then you'll have nothing to fear."

She shoots to her feet and bares her fangs. "Come, then, Secundus, and meet your—"

That's as far as she gets. Theris swipes once with his paw, ripping her head off her shoulders and hurling it across the room to smack with a wet crunch against the far wall. He seizes her collapsing corpse in his jaws and thrashes it side to side, flinging blood and limbs. With a few swift crunching gulps, he devours her body whole.

"Stop him!" shrieks Isis, the Babylonian elder fae. When Theris bounds the width of the room in a single easy leap to land in front of her, she curls into a ball, stammering and begging. "I taught you, Theris. Was I not a generous lover to you? We spent many hours conversing, and laughing. Please, Theris. I'm sorry. I'm—"

Crunch . The lower half of her corpse topples sideways and slumps to the floor while he chomps on the upper half. A few moments later, only bloodstains remain.

He licks his bloody jaws clean, leaps off the balcony, pads over to me, and sits behind me.

I look around the room. Glance over my shoulder at Aquilia, back in human form, watching all this with a curious expression. "You all knew what he did to her. And none of you did a single fucking thing to stop it." I cast my accusing glare at my grandfather, who ducks his head, glittering, white-glowing tears on his cheeks. "You all deserve the same fate as Isis and Amalfia, at her hands. Or beak, as the case may be."

Aquilia stalks forward, arms and shoulders rolling and moving restlessly, ceaselessly. Her head tilts to one side, and she seems to be peering at them with one eye. She glances at me. "Eat souls?" She rasps. "I could taste their memories. Many memories. Old ones full of much power."

"This is madness!" This is an outburst from the voice who first spoke—Hagones, the Seneca, a Native American male shifter with thick, jet-black hair in a warbraid. "If this is the justice our people can expect from you—"

I surge out of my chair and let my power seethe within me, summoning a pillar of air beneath my feet to lift me off the ground. "Justice? You speak of justice? Yes! I do call that justice. And if Aquilia, my sister in suffering, chooses to devour your soul, then so be it. It will be justice indeed for your crimes."

He lifts his chin. "I am no innocent, I admit. I knew what went on. I knew what Amalfia and Isis did to Theris. I knew what Zirae did to her. But I also have tried to do good. To protect my people. Our people. The mortals are capricious and fearful. They will never accept us." He stands and spreads his arms out, palms up. "I accept my fate. I know who I am. I know what I have done, good and bad. I am no angel, but nor am I a demon."

I glance at Aquilia, and then Theris. "You fear us. That's it, isn't it? That's why you shut the program down the moment you found out what we could do—that Secundae are more powerful than Primi."

Aeldfar stands, chin lifting. "Yes. You are correct. There have been Secundus children born at various points throughout history. Of course there have. How could it not happen? But in each case, the child hasn't survived to adulthood. Accident? I think not. They were feared. They were…outcasts at best, hated for being, well, like you—not wholly one thing nor wholly another. They didn't fit. And yes, the reports I have read all claim that children of mixed immortal blood are more powerful than either parent. But the cases are rare and few, and the lesson is forgotten until the next Secundus comes along. And then this council became desperate. Our numbers are few indeed, and our time is short. A hundred years, to mortals, seems a long time, but when you've lived for millennia, a century is the blink of an eye. Even so, memories fade. Lessons of the past are forgotten. How bad could it be, to breed Secundus children? We can control them." He looks around the room at his compatriots in guilt. "At that time, I was an unofficial member of this council and head of the research efforts. I was told, in no uncertain terms, since the inception of the IRRC, that cross-race breeding was off the table. It will not be considered. And then, finally, it became abundantly clear that our fate as immortals was written in stone: extinction, and sooner rather than later—a century, or less, and probably less, because the rate of suicide due to age-sickness was increasing with every decade. Elder immortals are fewer every year. No new children are being born, and haven't been in two and a half centuries. Or, legitimate, legal, and registered ones, at least. Humans will procreate, of course, no matter the consequences."

"Yes, and you killed them for it," I say.

"Would you rather the mortals start connecting the dots and another Mortal War break out?" Hagones asks. "The Treaty was signed. We were obligated to keep the terms."

"You should not have accepted the terms in the first place! You should have encouraged cross-race propagation rather than damn our people to a slow death!" I shout.

Hagones shakes his head. "You don't know. You weren't there . I watched my people, the Seneca, die out slowly, hunted and displaced by white men who took our land and now kill the earth. And then my other people, immortals, were dragged into a war of extinction we didn't want. That war would have meant the end of immortals. It was spreading. Not just here on this continent—all across the globe. Your histories don't speak of it, but it is true."

"That may be true, but it doesn't explain why our parents, your children , were subjected to illegal and immoral experimentation against their will and then killed for it. It doesn't explain why you sent your soldiers after me, why you took Caleb's pack prisoner to force him to capture me because no one but either another Secundus or a Prime could come close to challenging me."

Silence.

I scan the faces. "If there is an explanation for all that, I'd love to hear it."

Only Sinoa has not made his thoughts known, yet. Till now. He stands, dark eyes shimmering with amber light. He is a gargantuan man, over six and a half feet tall, broad and solid and dense with muscle, his dark golden skin covered in traditional tattoos from wrist to ankle and around his mouth. "Fear. It is the answer you seek and well you know it. We have long known what it means when a Secundus is born: it means our ways are no more. You are more powerful than we—and we are Primi. We are elders. We have walked the earth from the dawn of humankind. It is not so easy a thing to give that up. A race of Secundus children? It is frightening. What will come of us? We will be forgotten. We alone know the true history of humanity. I sailed with the first of my people into the unknown seas in little wooden canoes. I discovered the islands my children now inhabit. Who will remember that when I am gone? Those of pure blood will die and all that will remain will be…" he trails off, shaking his head. "I know not what."

"Sinoa, you're missing it. You're missing the entire point. I don't know the true history, it's true— I was raised mortal. But it wasn't all that long ago I sat through world history classes. And you know what I learned? Change is the one constant in this world. And guess what? Change is hard. We are a brutal, bloody, violent race, we humans. We kill for sport and pleasure. We hate those we do not understand. Hagones is the last of his kind, or nearly. My people, white people, eradicated them—and how many other tribes? I certainly don't know. It's the same everywhere: one people grows stronger and all others die out; they intermarry, and old ways are forgotten. You can't stop it, Sinoa. Neither can I. No one can. All we can do is change with it. Adapt and overcome. But you know something? You have an advantage. You are immortal. Barring age-sickness, you will live to watch this next chapter in human history, Sinoa. What story will you tell?"

I look from face to face.

"You know the history, as you said. Will you tell it? Will you step forward and correct the false history as it was taught to me? And as to being forgotten…that's up to you. What if, instead of murdering my mother and imprisoning my father, I was conceived out of love, by choice, raised by a fae mother and vampire father? What if my mother read fae stories to me at night? What if my father taught me how to take blood with compassion and consideration, and how to prey, if I must, on those who would hurt others? What if my father told me of the vampires of old as we hunted in the night? What if I was raised to know my heritage on both sides? What if I was raised to know and respect my cultural heritage as a fae and a vampire? What if, in generations to come, we create a culture for vaer, aeshir, and fomori, as well as fae, vampire, and shifter? And yes, in time, you Primi will be fewer and fewer. But what if we encourage these next generations to revere you as elders, to respect your wisdom and experience? It won't all be like that, of course. Some overpowered Secundus will go rogue and do horrible things. But mortals do that. Primi do that. It's a human thing."

Silence, again.

But, I'm not done. "The other title I've been given is WorldBreaker. I've been here, inside this mountain, since the events in New York, but I'm given to understand change is already underway. I didn't intend to start anything, to set anything in motion. But apparently, I did. Now all that's left to us is to try and guide it. To be agents of positive change, to encourage acceptance, inclusion, and compassion wherever and however possible. That's what I will do. If you care to join me, I welcome you. Or you can continue to hide here in the mountain like scared, petulant little children who've had their favorite toy taken away." I rise from the stupid uncomfortable throne and scan their faces one last time. "Either way, the age of the Immortal Tribunal is at an end. The Immortal Reproductive Research Council is hereby dissolved. If I hear of any attempt to exert control or claim authority by any of you, you will answer to me and those loyal to me and my cause. Choose your path, elders. Work for the good of all immortal kind, or be left behind." I step down from the dais, speaking as I go. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to."

Caleb and Caspian fall in beside me, my coven behind me, Aquilia and Theris both in human form behind them, the pack next, and then the rest of my band trailing behind in a long line.

Once I'm out of sight and earshot of the Tribunal chamber, I collapse against a wall, panting hard.

Caleb pulls my face against his chest and Caspian leans in beside him, nuzzling my throat.

"You were fucking magnificent," Caleb rumbles.

"Damn right you were," Cas agrees.

"It's Mom. I think the more I…use her spirit, the more of her I can—I don't know…access. Aeldfar may be able to tell me. It's like words just…came out by themselves. I felt them to be true as I said them, but…gah, I don't know." I look up at Caleb, and then Caspian. "I feel like an imposter, sometimes. Who am I to speak to them like that?"

"You proved who you are. You nearly killed Zirae singlehandedly. And the Tribunal didn't even try to interfere—they just watched. You are no imposter. You're the real fucking deal," Cas says, kissing my temple. "And I'm proud of you."

I rest my head against his shoulder with my eyes on Caleb. "Get me the fuck away from this mountain. Please."

Alistair wraps a tendril of my hair around a finger. "Hesperion has taken it upon himself to anticipate your needs. A pair of helicopters are ready down in the staging area. He, Sorren, and Raphael are organizing your forces. Eventually, you'll need a base of operations, but for now, this will have to do. It's fortified, well-stocked, and unknown to mortals. Our numbers will grow as other immortals flock to your cause—and I think the few remaining soldiers once loyal to the Tribunal will take your mark, now that Zirae is out of the equation—for now, at least." He brushes my mind with his. "You've been through a lot. You need to rest and recover. And, honestly, so do we."

I smile at him. "I'll have to thank Hesperion." I sigh. "Where do we go? And where is Andreas?"

"No one has heard from him since New York. But I suspect he's around, biding his time, and waiting for you. He is a powerful, resourceful fae, Maeve. He will be fine." Alistair looks away briefly, and then back to me. "As for where to go? I have a thought."

I reach out and take his hand. Rub his knuckles with my thumb and touch his mind with mine, sending secret hints of pleasure across the link. "Well? Don't keep me in suspense, Alistair. I'm sick of this fucking mountain."

"My ancestral home—my family seat. It's…more of a museum than a home these days, as I haven't been there since, oh god, I think it was some months before Waterloo. I pay a staff to keep the old place running and kept up. There's plenty of room for everyone."

I glance at Caleb's pack—my pack, now—watching from a distance. "Everyone?"

He follows my gaze. "Of course." He grins. "There's a forest, too. Lots of deer and such. Good hunting."

Callahan's eyes light up as he crosses the hallway closer to Alistair. "You had me at ‘forest,' vampire."

"You are most welcome, shifter." He extends his hand. "I'm Alistair, by the way. I don't think we've formally met."

Callahan hesitates, and then shakes his hand, warily at first, and then with increasing vigor. "Callahan." He lifts his chin. "You were at Waterloo?"

Alistair nods. "I was an aide to the Duke of Wellington."

Callahan grins. "Well excuse me," he says, his voice teasing and sarcastic. "I was but a lowly grunt."

Alistair winks at me and then he and Callahan walk away together, trading stories and discussing tactics.

"Maeve?" Grandfather's voice. Soft, hesitant. "May I have a moment, please?"

I let out a breath and turn to face him. He stands in the doorway of the council chamber, clothed in a gray pinstripe three-piece suit—glamoured, I assume, or retrieved from his chambers. He closes the space between us and stops within arm's reach. "Maeve…Granddaughter, I…" he swallows hard, shakes his head.

I regard him silently for a moment and then let a smile cross my face. He frowns, confused—and then I step into his personal space and wrap my arms around his waist. "I love you, Aeldfar."

His arms circle my shoulders and squeeze hard. "I love you, sweet child. You have earned my loyalty and devotion—regardless of our shared blood. I will spend the rest of my life serving you, if only in a futile attempt to make up for all the mistakes I've made."

I shake my head against his chest. "What I said in there, Aeldfar—I do want you with me. I want you on my side. I do need you. I just…I couldn't act like you aren't just as guilty as the others."

"You could not, and nor should you have. I would have been disappointed if you had." He pulls me back to look at me, stroking my hair out of my face and tucking it behind my ear. "You will make a marvelous queen."

I shake my head. "I don't know what I'm doing most of the time."

He laughs. "A little secret I'll let you in on: no one knows what they're doing. We're all just making it up as we go along."

"I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse," I laugh.

"Well, I hope it makes you feel better to hear that you are doing everything right. The Tribunal—or rather, the former members of it—will all join your cause. They will take some convincing, especially Horeb and Toresh. But the fact that they did not interfere in your battle against Zirae says all there is to say. They feared him." His eyes harden. "He is still a threat, Maeve. You grievously injured him, but he will heal, and he will come for you."

"I know," I say. "I anticipate it."

He nods. "Good. Now." He straightens and steps backward, his posture rigid and formal. "What are your orders for me, my queen?"

I consider. "The elders. I need you to be my voice among those who only respect age. Convince them to join us."

He nods, once. "It will be done."

I close him in a hug again. "I'll see you soon, yes?"

"As soon as I can."

"One more thing—Andreas. I need you to find him and make sure he's okay. And…use him. He…he was there for me when I needed him—more than once. He can show you the video, also. Tell him I said you could, if he questions it."

He sighs, nodding. "He and I are long overdue for a conversation." He brushes my cheek with a thumb. "Farewell for now." He turns and leaves.

I watch him go, and when he's out of sight, I turn back to my mates. I take Caleb's hand and Caspian's, and we head back down the mountain.

This time, there aren't any fucking wards, thank the gods and the Blood.