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“Can I say something that’s just the straight practical end of it?” Duncan shifted. “Supplies, security. This way, we give them enough to get them started instead of cutting into our own resources for the duration to keep them held humanely. Do the math,” Duncan suggested. “How many pounds of meat, grain, gallons of fresh water, medical supplies, and staff? I’ve been to those islands. Yeah, they’re pretty. You’ve also got sand fleas, snakes, a rainy season, and hurricanes. You’re going to have to plant your own crops, build your own shelters, hunt your own meat, fish, figure out how to live surrounded by miles of ocean.”
“How about security?” Mick asked.
“Merpeople, primarily,” Duncan told him, and Mick nodded.
“I can live with that. We’ve got to be better than they are. If they get one of us, they’ll kill us, or toss us in a hole until that killed us. We have to be better than that.”
“I might like it better if we talked islands in the North Sea.” Colin shrugged. “But Mallick’s right. Warm or cold, it’s no skin off ours.”
“Are we agreed?” Fallon looked around the table.
“What do we supply them with?” Troy asked. “How much, for how long? What if there are children?”
“We have most of that worked out. But we need to agree on the concept before we move to that.”
“You’re The One,” Troy pointed out.
“But I’m not alone in this fight. Everyone here has a voice.”
“Then mine’s in agreement.”
Agreement rounded the table until John puffed out his cheeks. “Maybe we can toss that North Sea idea in there.”
Fallon smiled. “Let’s see how this works first.”
They worked on logistics, with Kim and Chuck—the nerd and the geek—assigned to calculate how much in supplies would be needed per man. Her father, Travis, and other empaths would work together to determine which prisoners were most suited to the choice—with Arlys helping confirm through the records, and Rachel clearing candidates medically.
With an optimistic goal of moving the first five hundred within ten days, Fallon shifted to New York and battle plans.
With her new maps over the table, Fallon looked over in annoyance at the interruption when Ethan and Max burst in.
“Sorry,” Ethan said quickly, “but you need to come outside. There’s somebody here and . . . you need to see.”
With a hand on the hilt of her sword, Fallon reached the door with Duncan, and with Mick.
A woman stood in the snow-covered garden. Flaming red hair curled and spilled nearly to her waist. She wore a long white coat edged with fur at the collar and the cuffs, and looked like something out of a fairy tale with the icy sparkle of diamonds on her fingers, her ears.
She carried no visible weapon, but the two men flanking her—both in unrelieved black—had swords in sheaths crusted in jewels.
Fallon felt the pump of power that matched the confidence in the bold red lips, the emerald eyes.
She spoke with a charming lilt of France. “I bring you no harm, Fallon Swift. I am Vivienne of Quebec. I have come to offer you an alliance.”
Fallon watched her gaze shift to Duncan, to Mick, saw those jewel-toned eyes sparkle with flirtatious approval.
“May we speak? Perhaps we will leave our very handsome men, and have, you and I, a little tête-à-tête?”
“All right.”
“Fallon, hold on.”
Fallon patted Mick’s hand away from her arm. “It’s fine. Would you tell my mother I have a guest and ask if she wouldn’t mind bringing coffee to the living room?”
“How kind.” Vivienne walked—all but glided—over the snow. Fallon caught her scent—rich—assessed her beauty. Flawless.
Fascinated, Fallon led her around to the front of the house. “You’ve come a long way.”
“Yes. My escort Regis is a witch, so we do the snap.”
Flashed, Fallon thought. “You’re not a witch. A shifter.”
“You see quickly. I see also that you have two very handsome men in love with you. I have men in love with me. It’s pleasant, yes? I thought The One would be hard and—what is it—battle-worn? But you are very lovely.”
Fallon opened the door. “Please come in.”
“Ah.” As she walked inside, Vivienne looked around the entrance-way, toward the living room and the crackling fire. “How . . . cozy.”
“Should I take your coat?”
“Please, yes.” She wandered as she unfastened it. “I thought you would have more—fancy is the word? Yes, The One would live more grandly.”
“There are people still living in caves or whatever shelter they can manage. This is grand.”
“Bien sûr.” Beneath the coat she handed to Fallon she wore more white, a dress that skimmed down a curvy body to the ankles of white boots. “But The One is not people, no?”
“You’re wrong about that. Please, sit. Préférez-vous que je parle français?”
Vivienne’s eyebrows lifted as she let out a light, musical laugh. “Vous parlez très bien français.”
“Merci.”
“But I would like to speak in English. I wish to become more, ah, proficient.”
“All right.” Fallon turned, took the tray from Lana as she came in. “Mom, this is Vivienne of Quebec. My mother, Lana.”
“I am so pleased to meet with you, the mother of The One. I’ve heard many stories of you.”
“I’ve heard a few of you,” Lana returned.
“I am flattered. And you’ve troubled for me. Merci.”
She sat as Fallon set down the coffee tray.
“I’ll leave you two alone to talk.”
“No, stay.” Fallon took Lana’s hand. “Just us girls, right, Vivienne?”
“Delightful.”
“Milk, sugar?”
“Both, and the little cakes! I have no willpower against the sweet. I like the sweets and the pretty and the handsome men. Do you take both your handsome men for lovers?”
Fallon poured out the coffee. Sat. “No. Just one’s enough.”
“Me, I’m very greedy.” Vivienne took two of the frosted cakes as if to prove it. “I was a child when the Doom came, and there was hunger for some time after. My papa died in it, and Maman and I had to hide as I became. She feared for me, you see. And feared of me as well. I was only ten.
She was killed before my thirteenth birthday.”
“I’m very sorry.”
Vivienne acknowledged Fallon’s sympathy with a nod. “The ones you call Raiders. I was not quick enough to save her, but I killed them all. And it was then I vowed, an oath on my mother’s blood, I would no longer hide, no longer live hungry or cold or afraid.”
She sampled a cake. “I would make a place, I took this vow, where no one killed a girl’s mother. I used what I have to make what I needed. Now I have Quebec. Or enough of it for now. A fine house and soldiers. Lovers.”
She bit into a cake with a smile.
“Slaves?”
“No. One has no right to own another. Servants, yes, I have servants. But they are free, they are not forced to give service. They have food, shelter, clothing. I give them work if they want it, and they are free to stay or to go. We offer protection from the Dark Uncanny, the Raiders, and the rest. These are my people, understand me. I do not go hungry, nor do they.
“This is very good coffee, thank you. We don’t have so good the coffee. We have traded for some, but not so good as this.”
“We’ll give you some beans to take back with you,” Lana said.
“That is very kind and generous.” Delicately, she bit into a second cake, licked a bit of icing from her finger. “Maintenant, my rule may not be as yours, but still we fight the same enemies. You have won a great victory. I would offer you an alliance. I have two thousand soldiers. Almost,” she added with another smile.
“You offer an alliance after a great victory.”
“But yes. If you had been defeated, my soldiers, my people would have suffered with yours. My council and my generals advise that you are most likely to advance on New York within the year. Perhaps within six months. I would be your ally. I would give my allegiance to you. I do not give it lightly. And I’ve chosen the light,” she added. “Not so bright, it may be, as you, but the light.”
“And for your allegiance, your two thousand, what do you want in return?”
“Quebec.” Vivienne folded her pretty hands with their sparkling rings in her lap. “Safety for my people, my realm. The promise you and your soldiers will not invade or take from me what I’ve made. What I may make still. You go north, those who fight there may go more north. May covet what I have. So, an alliance. Promises. Terms. My people will fight with yours, and you will respect and help protect what is my country.”
