Chapter Thirty-Two #2
He looked at me, and somehow the dark bangs falling into his eyes made the very large and imposing man appear boyish. Specifically, like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar, because he hadn’t meant to say that. Something that did not improve my mood.
“Stop trying to protect me, damn it, and tell me what’s going on!”
“By the time Arnou’s forces reached Tartarus, the mages were already there,” he said, as if I didn’t know that.
“Yeah, because they didn’t listen when our boys told them what was happening.”
“Agreed, but that doesn’t change the fact that the Circle was there. So all the clan saw were a few hundred war mages crawling all over the place, battling the remaining Black Circle types, and ordering everyone around. Which made it look like they won the victory—”
“That’s bullshit!”
“Yes, but public perception isn’t about what happened, but about what people think happened.
And that story fits better with their prejudices.
Stories are being circulated about your bravery that day, but everyone already knew you could fight.
But the fact that our auxiliaries were there as well, that they played a major role… ”
He sat back against the footboard, and despite the hour, he looked tired. “I haven’t heard the name Fireborn since it was first announced.”
I stared at him. “But HQ—”
“The Circle was infiltrated, and not just the lobby. The bastards made it down to the lowest levels. Meaning we can’t even acknowledge that it happened without making our new allies look weak as hell, something that would lend fuel to the argument that we shouldn’t be partnered with them in the first place. ”
“But Sebastian knows—”
“I think so, but he’s chosen to ignore it, so he must agree that we can’t risk it.
Not now, when one of the main causes of the split in the Were world is over that alliance.
Anything that adds credence to Bleddyn’s arguments could result in other clans defecting to him, and that—” he shook his head, his face dark.
“So it never happened?”
“Not officially.”
“But we bled for that! Noah almost died for—”
“Goddamnit, Lia! I know! I know. And I hate this as much as you do. Politics,” it was bitter.
“I always left that shit to Sebastian, always hated it, found it stupid and boring, and—and now I need to be able to play that game, and I’m not sure how.
I’ve been paralyzed for days, caught up in an avalanche of smaller crises that never seem to end, and not knowing where to even start with the big ones—and I still don’t. And neither do you!”
No, I didn’t. I wanted to crawl back under the covers, curl into a little ball, and wait for all this to blow over. But I couldn’t.
And I did know one thing.
I sat back against the headboard and looked at him.
“If something happened and Arnou was mortally wounded, if their people were scattered and leaderless and desperately needed help, and another clan offered to come in and ‘organize’ things… what would they say? Even a close ally, what would they say?”
Cyrus looked shocked for a moment, maybe because I’d just equated Arnou with Fireborn, something most Weres would have considered insane. But it wasn’t. In fact, that was the whole point: we were both clans, both sovereign, both capable of solving our own shit.
Or if we weren’t, then this was all a farce, and we weren’t a clan at all.
He closed his eyes and pinched his nose, looking pained. “No one would offer,” he rasped. “Money, yes, food or medical supplies, certainly. But to have outsiders come in and order clan members about? It’s… unthinkable.”
“And why is it unthinkable?” I asked, crawling over to hug him, because he looked like he could use one.
“It would destroy Arnou’s honor. The clan’s prestige would take a huge hit, one that our people might never—” he stopped and his eyes opened, as it registered what he’d just said.
“Our” instead of “their.” And I could almost see him understand that he was, even in his own mind, still the heir of Arnou rather than the leader of Fireborn.
Of course, he’d turned to his old clan for help; of course, he hadn’t even questioned it.
He’d hated being vargulf, hated the stares and shuns and danger that came from being entirely alone in this world.
How wonderful it must have been to have his family back!
To have all the money, help, and support he had lost.
And Sebastian. The brothers had always been close, enough that Cyrus had risked everything to put him on the throne, believing that he was what the Were world needed right now. And maybe he was; I hadn’t seen anybody else who could do better.
But Sebastian would sacrifice our little “experiment” in a heartbeat if he thought it would help him win the war, or unite the clans, or probably for a dozen other reasons, because it was just a bunch of vargulfs, right?
But they weren’t just vargulfs to me, or to Cyrus. They were family. They were our clan, they depended on us, and they mattered.
And I guessed Cyrus was thinking the same, because his face flushed.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “What am I doing?”
“Trying to help—”
“Help who?” Dark eyes found mine, and there was bewilderment as well as pain in them. “What is this, some kind of… noblesse oblige… the prince of Arnou stooping to help out a bunch of vargulfs, look how honorable he is, how brave, how special?”
“Cyrus—”
“Is that all this has been? An ego trip? A way of showing how different I am from my brother, the consummate politician? How I actually care—”
“You do care!” I grabbed his arm. “You’ve helped so many—”
“Have I? If this all comes crashing down on my head, I haven’t helped anyone. I’ll be fine, welcomed home with open arms, the prodigal son returns, but they—” he broke off and just stared at himself in the dresser mirror for a moment, his expression saying that he didn’t know who he was looking at.
And then he transferred that look to me. “I never considered any of our people for leadership positions. Not that I rejected them, I never even thought about them to begin with. To me, they were people to be helped, projects to be taken on, charity cases, not—”
“Not clan,” I finished for him softly.
He shook his head.
I didn’t say anything else, as I didn’t know what would help.
I’d been born on the outside of the clan hierarchy: Were nobility through my mother’s blood, a legacy that was tainted by my father’s very human contribution.
And after I refused the bite, I was largely shunned and ignored, unless the elders were trying to persuade Mother to change my mind.
So I had grown up clan adjacent, but never a true part of it.
I couldn’t imagine how mind-wrenching this must be for someone like Cyrus, who had not only been part of a clan, but part of the clan, the one everyone else looked to for leadership, even before Sebastian’s election.
And younger brother or not, he’d been Were royalty since he drew his first breath.
I didn’t know if he could do it, could see the boys he’d rescued, not as projects but people.
And ones just as smart, just as capable, and just as worthy as any sons Arnou had ever produced.
I didn’t know if he could become the leader Fireborn needed, or if decades of privilege would form a wall too high even for him to scale.
After all, no other High Born had managed it yet.
He’d hung his head, lost in thought, looking more defeated than I’d ever seen him.
But after a few moments, he spoke. “I can answer your question,” he said hoarsely.
“If Arnou was in serious trouble, they would accept limited help from their allies. But their people would pick up the pieces, their people would rebuild, their people would choose new leaders. Their people, not those of another goddamned clan!”
His head came back up, and his eyes were narrowed and furious. “I have things to do,” he said abruptly, got up, and strode out of the room, leaving me lying on the bed and staring after him.
Well.
I guessed that answered that.