Ray’s guys were all lined up below, ready to follow me into the ceremony, because apparently you were supposed to bring your family to these things. And I guess one’s family wasn’t supposed to pick their noses or scratch their asses. Because Burbles, looking frighteningly like a drill sergeant suddenly, smacked the offenders’ heads together.
Weirdly enough, they almost looked pleased about it, straightening up and throwing their shoulders back proudly.
Vamps, I thought, and shook my head.
“How is Raymond?” Mircea asked, watching the farce.
“Recovering. He’s upset he’s going to miss this. I promised to take lots of pictures.” I gestured at the one little camera ball we’d managed to save, which was snapping away happily. And the next moment, it had something worth the effort.
“What is that?” I asked, leaning over the railing for a better look.
The great concourse of the consul’s ballroom fell silent as four different delegations came in from four different directions. One was headed by Caedmon, with a great glowing cohort of velvet-clad, blue-robed fey. I saw Soini in the lineup, who saw me, too, and looked like he wanted to wave, but that wouldn’t be dignified. He flashed me a grin instead.
The second group was headed by Olga and her trolls, which she’d picked up even more of along the way. “The local Dark Fey community has elected her as spokesperson,” Mircea murmured. “After the recent demise of two of their more prominent leaders.”
“She’s good at that,” I murmured back.
The third group was led by the consul, with a glittering stream of vampires—dressed to the nines, of course. As usual, she’d arranged to outshine everyone else. Caedmon’s attractive but understated robes paled in comparison, and even the trolls’ more exotic attire faded into the background. But she’d forgotten one little thing.
There was a fourth group at this party, and they didn’t use the doors.
“What the hell?” I said, as some of what I assumed were Claire’s relatives flew in and circled around the room, before coming to rest in front of a table. And changing, as they stepped down to earth, with perfect fluidity from one form to another.
The fluttering cloths they’d worn around their scaly necks transforming into robes that swirled around their human bodies before settling into place, as effortlessly as everything else they did. It kind of left everyone else’s attempts in the dust.
“They are here to sign a treaty,” Mircea told me. “For a long time, the animosity between Dark and Light Fey has made it difficult to negotiate any kind of an alliance for the war. The Dark Fey are tired of being cannon fodder in Light Fey conflicts, and they didn’t trust Caedmon—”
“I noticed.”
“—who has become so secretive over the years, that I doubt he trusts anyone,” Mircea added, without a shred of irony.
For once, I didn’t call him on it.
“So what changed?”
“You did.”
I looked up. “What?”
“Your status as vargr is revered among the Dark Fey; you’ve proven yourself to Olga, someone they respect, many times; your roommate, Claire, has vouched for you to her father; and now you have fought and bled for them—and for the souls of their people. They’ve decided that your side is the right side. And the bones showed them that they couldn’t sit on the sidelines in this conflict. This is a struggle for the soul of Faerie; they have to be in it, too.”
“But . . . I don’t want to be the reason someone goes to war.”
“You’re not. You’re just the reason they’re doing it now, as part of a unified force, while we have our best chance to win. It’s also why you’re our new liaison to the fey.”
Caedmon looked up at me suddenly, almost as if he’d heard. I narrowed my eyes at him. Why did I have the feeling he’d had a hand in that? Probably because he’d threatened to do it before.
He was up to something; I knew it. But right then, I didn’t care. And I cared even less a moment later, when Louis-Cesare appeared below, in his glittering best, and our families lined up together as one.
I started to go down to join them for the big procession, but Mircea caught my arm. And, very strangely for him, he looked almost uncertain. Off-balance. Like everything that had happened lately had thrown him a little, too.
“I wanted to ask . . . if you are all right?”
I started to make one of my usual flippant remarks, but the intensity on his face stopped me. “Yes. Shouldn’t I be?”
“After everything?” He shook his head. “I don’t know. So much has changed, in such a short time. Louis-Cesare, the Senate, Dorina . . .”
He stopped, like he wanted me to tell him that I could handle it, that I was okay. Maybe that both parts of me were. And, for once, I thought I could oblige.