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“Sure, but I think Cyrus is right,” Blaz said, sliding the sword from the scabbard down his back and handing it to Gio, who inventoried the weapons checked at the door for these meetings. “It just doesn’t add up.” Two daggers joined the blade on the table. “Scandinavia? Sure. Wouldn’t think twice. But Northumbria?” He shook his head. “Historically, it’s unlikely to have so many.”
“But wasn’t Danelaw widespread by then? They were notoriously fair-pallored.”
“No.” I sighed. “Not yet. Hell, Alba wasn’t unified. England was barely a concept.”
“There’s an obvious answer, isn’t there?” Carr pressed as we followed suit, emptying our sheaths one by one. “The Aren Amadeus was already kicking, right?”
Blaz and I were already shaking our heads as we rounded toward the opposite side of the oblong table. People filed in behind us while a rumble of thunder vibrated the windows.
“The Commander was in the Byzantine empire, according to his people. It doesn’t line up.”
“If you ladies are done gossiping, we have a meeting to start,” Freya cut in, smirking up at Blaz even as he ruffled her hair. She all but launched herself around his waist, crushing him until a breathless laugh squeezed free. “Looking good, kid.”
“The new do is sexy as hell,” he said, tucking a strand of bright auburn hair behind her ear with far too much goddamn familiarity. What was it with my cousins and putting their fucking hands on my mate?
“You like it?” she asked with a flirtatious shrug that set my teeth on edge.
To keep from snarling, I reached into my pocket and fished out a strawberry candy. My stash was getting dangerously low with the war shredding the supply chain, but the smile on her face when my cousin mirrored it made the sacrifice worth it.
I walked away before I could start acting like a caveman, so I missed whatever the hell else my cousins said to her. Instead, I made the rounds.
Kingsley of Terramyst always looked like he smelled something foul. Kalma of the Earth Wielders still gave me the creeps—one stiff breeze and the woman looked liable to blow away. Tieran hailed from a nomadic hierarchy in the Yukon and somehow still managed to smile in the middle of a war. Ajéí and her mate always attended together, and the matriarch looked about as fed up with Reyna as I felt, which was oddly comforting. Sable, Zeke, Livvy, and Onyx—always the first to settle in like they’d found peace inside the chaos—were catching up over a thermos of what had to be Livvy’s homemade cocoa.
Lightning flashed beyond the windows, the sky ripping open to dump sheets of rain against the glass just as Sire Chase, Commander of the Eastern Seaboard’s water wielders, shoved through the doors. Rain already sluiced down his onyx skin in heavy rivulets. Three Canadian Commanders followed tight on his heels, though none looked nearly as thrilled with the weather.
“You aware there’s a monster storm rollin’ in?” New Jersey wrapped every blunt syllable as he flashed a bright smile.
“Welcome to the south,” I hollered back, smirking when he shook the water off in the foyer.
By the time my cousins took their places and Freya settled into the seat beside mine, seventeen hierarchies were accounted for.
The sky lit a livid purple as Freya called the meeting to order. As if on cue, the front doors creaked open and the reason for the storm strode through them in full Grayshellian armor.
Marcus Westerlund and Alec Carter flanked August, and the room fell preternaturally silent as the three bypassed Gio’s table and unceremoniously took their seats.
“Nice of you to join us,” Reyna said, not even bothering to paint a smile on.
“Good to see you,” Freya said to my right, dipping her chin in deference to both commanders. “I was just calling the meeting to order.”
August motioned for her to continue. Freya cleared her throat, irritation slipping through the bond before she snapped a leash around it.
“As I was saying, thank you all for being here. We know your time is in short fucking supply…” Freya continued through the agenda, but my shadows and I were busy feeling out the room—the ugly blend of anxiety and relief that The Great Commander had deigned to make an appearance. By the time she finished listing the items for debate, Alec had sunk back in his chair, something silver clutched in his fist like a lifeline while his eyes drilled a hole through the table.
Freya ran through the supply chain, Moros’ troop movements and our analysts’ read on them, the cities lost in our territories, the victories and losses of our overseas allies, and the retaking of Asheville without incident.
August was the first to speak up on that note, adding, “Grayshell’s seventh coven found me in Asheville.”
Silence dropped so hard over the room that the low roll of thunder afterward nearly jarred Blaz out of his skin.
“What?” Reyna demanded, her narrowed eyes already accusatory.
“They arrived during my sweep after we reclaimed the city. According to their coven head, they’ve been trying to track me while maintaining a foothold in their stationed territory. Asheville was the first report to reach them in real time. With no word on Aren and no way to receive orders down the line, they started tracking my movements instead. Saw the emblem on my armor in the reports and figured I was their best shot at reconnecting with the hierarchy.”
“Not hard to follow when you leave a bloodbath in your wake,” Reyna muttered. August didn’t dignify her with more than a raised brow, his eyes staying on Freya’s map.
“You got a problem with victories now?” Freya snapped back.
“Victories? No,” she spat, bracing her arms on the table. “Heinous war crimes? Yes.”
