Mircea had been under a lot of stress lately—hell, we both had. That was the thing about war. It didn’t wait until you were ready, or rested, or in the right frame of mind—if there was one for dealing with the kind of crap this conflict had thrown up. It just came on and on, fast and furious and unrelenting, and you had to either meet it or die.
So we’d met it, time and again, somehow. But everyone had limits, right? I knew I did; I’d felt the strain every second of this last month or so. And I knew that Mircea had, too, despite the immense power he wore like armor, as if it could shield him from all dangers.
But that doesn’t work when everyone else is as powerful as you, does it?
Or more so.
“Are you in the habit of laughing at a consul, Senator?” the prince snapped, his voice echoing around the room.
And, suddenly, it clicked: I did know him. The handsome maybe prince was Parendra, consul of the South Asian Durbar, the Indian version of a senate. I’d seen him once before at an auction, the same one where I’d encountered Ming-de and her little pet, but it had been a while. I hadn’t immediately recognized him, since we’d never actually spoken, but I would have now even if he hadn’t said anything.
The power pouring off him was enough to lift the hair on my arms, even this far away.
“My apologies,” Mircea said, still looking amused. And unafraid, despite the fact that he was probably seconds away from a formal challenge.
What the hell?
“Not good enough!” Parendra snarled, getting to his feet so abruptly that the heavy chair he’d been using went flying.
It crashed down, making me and half a dozen other people flinch. But not Mircea. “I thought you were joking,” he said, not looking particularly concerned. “I also thought we were all equals here.”
“Equal—what? Are you mad?” Parendra looked like he thought Mircea might genuinely be losing his mind. Marlowe apparently shared that view, because he was gripping the table edge hard enough to indent the surface around his fingers.
“No. But since it has arisen as a discussion point, let us discuss it,” Mircea said calmly. “It has come to my notice that some of my orders pertaining to troop allocations have been ignored or countermanded by some of the people in this room.”
“What of it? I need my people—”
“I wasn’t finished yet.”
It was said quietly, but the effect was electrifying. If I’d thought the room was quiet before, it was nothing to this. Vampires didn’t need to breathe, but I didn’t think even the humans and weres were doing so at the moment.
“Shit,” I heard someone say, very quietly, but couldn’t seem to turn my head to see who. It felt like I was riveted in place, wondering if I was supposed to do something, and if so, what? Because, yes, the Pythia was expected to help keep the peace between leaders in the supernatural community, but I suddenly realized that no one had ever bothered to mention how.
I suddenly realized that very clearly.
“This body voted to put me in charge of this war,” Mircea continued.
“Of the army—”
“And is that not what is going to be fighting the war? But it can’t if my orders are overridden or ignored. Or if I am treated as someone of a lesser rank than you, so that your people are constantly torn between whether to listen to my commands or yours. In battle, that can cost lives, even lead to defeat. The rest of the time, it undermines authority and eats away at morale. This must stop.”
“How?” Parendra sneered. “By putting you on the level of a consul?”
“Or you on a level of a senator. It matters not to me—”
“You dare!” I thought Parendra was going to go over the table.
I think Marlowe did, too, because he was on his feet suddenly, but Mircea cut him off with a gesture that clearly said, “I don’t need the help.”
“Yes, I dare,” Mircea said evenly. “It is either that or lead this army to destruction, and that I will not do. Once this war is over, I will resume my former rank, and be grateful to be alive to do so. But for now, and for the duration of the conflict, I rank on a level with the rest of this new senate of ours. And where the army is concerned, I rank above it.
“Or you can get yourself another general.”
* * *
* * *
“You son of a bitch!”