The Secret
Page 83
“It will not be for long. I have seen it.”
“Was this your aim?” Vasu asked, his head cocked to the side. “A blending of Irin and Grigori magic? My brother, you have more heretical tendencies than I gave you credit for. My apologies for doubting you.”
“I hate to disappoint you, Vasu. But I believe this serves the will of our Master.”
Barak asked, “Why?”
“Azril returned the scribe.”
Barak and Vasu said at once, “His Will be done.”
“He desires unity?” Barak asked.
“If He did not, I would not have seen our triumph over Volund. Would not have seen our return.”
“Redemption,” Barak whispered, “was never my goal.”
“But if it allows us to return,” Jaron said, “I am willing to play on the side of the light.”
Vasu crouched on the ground and drew his fingers through the snow, writing words that would disappear in moments as the snow began to fall.
“Svarog’s children have routed your son,” Vasu said, staring at the crystalline flakes. “They will be here in days.”
Barak said, “Grimold’s get have been here for months, playing quietly while Volund chased the Irina from his territory. Svarog has called his sons. They will drag themselves here—screaming in rebellion, perhaps—but they will come.”
Vasu said, “Two armies are aligned against us, Jaron. Are you content to let your sons stay in hiding?”
“My sons have other tasks now. I do not need my army. I will take the Irin as my own.”
“The Irina are here,” Barak said. “Volund is foolish to underestimate them. They have no authority that constrains them as the scribes do.”
“And we will use that to defeat him,” Jaron said, brushing drifts of snow from his bare arms. The glyphs that marked his skin glowed with a faint silver light. As his daughter’s magic had transformed with her bonding to the scribe, he felt his own powers changing. Melding into something he could not predict. A rush of emotion had reached him the night of their union. Feelings he had not experienced for thousands of years.
He found the experience disconcerting.
And if he had found it disconcerting, he could not predict how Volund would feel when he lowered the shields around Ava. Whatever strange magic their union had worked would hit his enemy full force the moment he could feel her blood.
Volund would be unbalanced, and Jaron would strike.
It would not be long now. The singers had returned. The scent of magic in the city had shifted.
“He knows we’re here,” Barak said. “How long must we wait? Their numbers grow by the hour.”
“Not long,” Jaron said. “Soon the council will be complete, and we will reveal ourselves.”
Vasu looked up from the snow, a smile on his face. “Then we demons shall play at being heroes, and Death will visit us again.”
Chapter Twenty-one
IT WASN’T, MALACHI MUSED, a traditional end to a mating feast. But it seemed oddly appropriate for him and Ava.
Kostas and the Grigori who seemed to be his lieutenant, Sirius, were sitting across the dinner table from Damien and Sari. Orsala was on their right, and Gabriel on their left. Maxim sat next to Kostas, and Ava and Malachi had taken a spot at the end of the table, bridging the gap. Rhys and Leo stood in one corner with Renata and Mala. Both sides eyed the other with distrust, while the rest of the guests had joined the free Grigori soldiers outside.
The scent of sandalwood filled the air, and Malachi knew every scribe in the room struggled to restrain the ingrained instinct to kill the two men.
Gabriel was the first one to speak. “If this gets out, we will both be under censure, no matter what allies we have.”
“The world is changing,” Damien said.
“Not that much. This is too soon.”
“I agree with you,” Kostas said. “But this has been forced on us. Svarog’s forces are coming to Vienna. Grimold’s are already here.”
Ava asked, “How do you know?”
“I can spot the signs,” Kostas said. “If you look at police reports, there will be a slow build of attacks against indigents and prostitutes. The winter weather helps conceal it. Most will probably be written off by the human authorities because of the cold.”
“Are you sure?” Rhys asked.
Sirius answered him. “You can verify it with human authorities if you like, but I agree with Kostas. The Grigori here haven’t been attacking Irin targets. They wouldn’t dare. But Grimold is Volund’s lapdog. His people have been here since Volund lost so many of his children in Oslo.”
“We’ll look,” Sari said. “But that doesn’t solve the problem of your women.”
“Prague,” Ava said. “Can you contact Astrid?”
Sari and Damien exchanged a look.
“It is an acceptable risk,” Damien said. “But we must give them the option to refuse.”
“They won’t,” Orsala said. “There are children among them.”
“I thank you,” Sirius told her graciously. The man’s beautiful features were obscured by the obvious stress in the lines of his face. His accent marked him as Russian in origin, and he’d grown his hair and beard long. Malachi guessed it was to detract from the unnatural beauty of his race.
“The failure is mine,” Sirius continued. “They are my responsibility. I will accompany them and provide whatever assistance your people require.”
“Was this your aim?” Vasu asked, his head cocked to the side. “A blending of Irin and Grigori magic? My brother, you have more heretical tendencies than I gave you credit for. My apologies for doubting you.”
“I hate to disappoint you, Vasu. But I believe this serves the will of our Master.”
Barak asked, “Why?”
“Azril returned the scribe.”
Barak and Vasu said at once, “His Will be done.”
“He desires unity?” Barak asked.
“If He did not, I would not have seen our triumph over Volund. Would not have seen our return.”
“Redemption,” Barak whispered, “was never my goal.”
“But if it allows us to return,” Jaron said, “I am willing to play on the side of the light.”
Vasu crouched on the ground and drew his fingers through the snow, writing words that would disappear in moments as the snow began to fall.
“Svarog’s children have routed your son,” Vasu said, staring at the crystalline flakes. “They will be here in days.”
Barak said, “Grimold’s get have been here for months, playing quietly while Volund chased the Irina from his territory. Svarog has called his sons. They will drag themselves here—screaming in rebellion, perhaps—but they will come.”
Vasu said, “Two armies are aligned against us, Jaron. Are you content to let your sons stay in hiding?”
“My sons have other tasks now. I do not need my army. I will take the Irin as my own.”
“The Irina are here,” Barak said. “Volund is foolish to underestimate them. They have no authority that constrains them as the scribes do.”
“And we will use that to defeat him,” Jaron said, brushing drifts of snow from his bare arms. The glyphs that marked his skin glowed with a faint silver light. As his daughter’s magic had transformed with her bonding to the scribe, he felt his own powers changing. Melding into something he could not predict. A rush of emotion had reached him the night of their union. Feelings he had not experienced for thousands of years.
He found the experience disconcerting.
And if he had found it disconcerting, he could not predict how Volund would feel when he lowered the shields around Ava. Whatever strange magic their union had worked would hit his enemy full force the moment he could feel her blood.
Volund would be unbalanced, and Jaron would strike.
It would not be long now. The singers had returned. The scent of magic in the city had shifted.
“He knows we’re here,” Barak said. “How long must we wait? Their numbers grow by the hour.”
“Not long,” Jaron said. “Soon the council will be complete, and we will reveal ourselves.”
Vasu looked up from the snow, a smile on his face. “Then we demons shall play at being heroes, and Death will visit us again.”
Chapter Twenty-one
IT WASN’T, MALACHI MUSED, a traditional end to a mating feast. But it seemed oddly appropriate for him and Ava.
Kostas and the Grigori who seemed to be his lieutenant, Sirius, were sitting across the dinner table from Damien and Sari. Orsala was on their right, and Gabriel on their left. Maxim sat next to Kostas, and Ava and Malachi had taken a spot at the end of the table, bridging the gap. Rhys and Leo stood in one corner with Renata and Mala. Both sides eyed the other with distrust, while the rest of the guests had joined the free Grigori soldiers outside.
The scent of sandalwood filled the air, and Malachi knew every scribe in the room struggled to restrain the ingrained instinct to kill the two men.
Gabriel was the first one to speak. “If this gets out, we will both be under censure, no matter what allies we have.”
“The world is changing,” Damien said.
“Not that much. This is too soon.”
“I agree with you,” Kostas said. “But this has been forced on us. Svarog’s forces are coming to Vienna. Grimold’s are already here.”
Ava asked, “How do you know?”
“I can spot the signs,” Kostas said. “If you look at police reports, there will be a slow build of attacks against indigents and prostitutes. The winter weather helps conceal it. Most will probably be written off by the human authorities because of the cold.”
“Are you sure?” Rhys asked.
Sirius answered him. “You can verify it with human authorities if you like, but I agree with Kostas. The Grigori here haven’t been attacking Irin targets. They wouldn’t dare. But Grimold is Volund’s lapdog. His people have been here since Volund lost so many of his children in Oslo.”
“We’ll look,” Sari said. “But that doesn’t solve the problem of your women.”
“Prague,” Ava said. “Can you contact Astrid?”
Sari and Damien exchanged a look.
“It is an acceptable risk,” Damien said. “But we must give them the option to refuse.”
“They won’t,” Orsala said. “There are children among them.”
“I thank you,” Sirius told her graciously. The man’s beautiful features were obscured by the obvious stress in the lines of his face. His accent marked him as Russian in origin, and he’d grown his hair and beard long. Malachi guessed it was to detract from the unnatural beauty of his race.
“The failure is mine,” Sirius continued. “They are my responsibility. I will accompany them and provide whatever assistance your people require.”
