Page 77 of Flames and Blood

“You’ve caused some trouble, Crowe,” she says.

“I have.”

“You kept two of my men after I wanted them back. You burned a month of Court time and a good deal of my standing to do it, and then you killed Ilmar Vex in a bedroom in front of witnesses.”

“That’s all correct.”

“Any one of those is a problem. Together they’re something else.” She turns her glass. “The Ivory League will want something. His people will want something else. I don’t yet know what either of those things is, and I don’t like not knowing.”

“Then hand me over.”

“Don’t be tedious.”

“I’m being practical. You didn’t officially sanction any of it. Nobody on your council has to carry me.”

“No,” she says. “Nobody has to.”

She lets that sit for a moment.

“The Court will handle it,” she says.

I look at her. “Say that again.”

“The Court will handle it. Whatever comes, it comes to my table first, and it stops there. You’re not standing in front of anyone alone.”

“I’m a Turned man on a job nobody authorized.”

“You are.”

“So why?”

She thinks about her answer, which she doesn’t often bother doing.

“Because I’ve had four hundred years of men explaining to me why they couldn’t do the difficult thing,” she says. “And this week I had one who did it without asking. That’s rare enough to be worth the trouble it makes.”

“That’s not much of a reason.”

“It’s the one you’re getting.” She finishes her glass. “Take her home, Crowe. Then come back and let me shout at you properly.”

“How long have I got before it starts?”

“Before what starts?”

“Whatever the League decides to do.”

“Weeks. Possibly months. They’re old, they’re slow, and they enjoy the part where you wait.” She sets the glass on the rail. “Two pieces of advice, then I’m finished with you tonight. Don’t go anywhere alone that somebody else suggested you go. And when you’re inside Aldrake territory, remember what you are. A Turned vampire in a dragon clan’s hall. Most of them will never have seen one.”

“They’ll have opinions.”

“They’ll have a great many opinions. Say less than you want to.”

“I always say less than I want to.”

“You say almost nothing, which is a different problem. I’ve given up on it.”

Odile is waiting at the bottom of the gallery stairs, red gloves on, arms folded.

“There he is,” she says. “The talk of the building.”