Chapter 21
The water is still on my skin when we enter War's chambers.
Not literally. I dried. I dressed. I watched her dress—watched her pull fabric over skin I had my hands on—and I didn't drag her back into the bath and finish what I started.
Progress.
Renan is already here. He's sprawled across one of Caius's chairs, boots on the armrest, and when he sees us enter together, his eyebrows climb. His mouth opens.
"Don't," I say.
His mouth closes. The grin stays. Wide. Delighted. The bastard can smell trouble, and he likes the scent.
Iowyn moves past me into the room, and my brain splits down the middle. Half of it notes the layout—Caius standing by the window, Renan to the left, two exits, fire in the hearth. The other half notes she's four steps away from me and Caius is looking at her.
Not wrong. Not inappropriate. He's War; she's a new variable in his space. Of course he's looking.
I still want to step between them. Put my hand on the back of her neck. Make it clear that if he keeps looking, I'll—
"Discord." Caius's voice is low and rough. Centuries of shouting over battlefields. "You're late."
"I was busy."
"Were you." His eyes move to Iowyn. Stay there.
His head tilts one way, then the other, like he's trying to get a better angle on something confusing.
"You brought someone. She's standing very still.
Excellent posture—I noticed immediately.
" He looks at me. Back at her. At me again.
"Is she a problem? I can kill her. It's not an inconvenience. I'm already standing."
"She's not a problem."
"Are you sure?" He pats his hip. "I brought my gladius. I bring it everywhere. Renan, you've seen it. Tell him I have it."
"He has it," Renan says, grinning.
"See? So if she's a problem—"
"She's not a problem, Caius."
He considers this. Nods slowly. "Good. I wasn't looking forward to the cleanup.
Blood on marble gets in the grooves. You have to scrub.
" His nose wrinkles. "I don't like scrubbing.
It's beneath me. Not morally—physically.
I have to bend down and my knees make sounds now.
Unpleasant sounds." He stops, refocuses. "Why is her hair damp?"
"It's not damp."
"It looks damp. The light is doing something.
" He squints at Iowyn, then shakes his head.
"No. You're right. It's dry. I was looking at it wrong.
" He adjusts his stance—wider, more commanding—and the tangent ends as abruptly as it started.
"Coin called the Concord. Faith agreed within the hour. We convene at sundown tomorrow."
Tomorrow.
My hand flexes at my side. I can still feel the heat of her skin under my palms. The way she shivered when I washed the soap from her hair, head tipped back, throat exposed. Tomorrow I have to sit across from Senna and pretend I'm not—
Iowyn shifts her weight. The floorboard creaks.
I lose three seconds to her hip. The cant of it. The fabric pulling tight across her thigh. My hands were there in the bathhouse, gripping hard enough to make her gasp.
I want to do it again right here. In front of Caius and Renan and anyone else who wants to watch.
When I surface, Caius is studying me. Not the way Renan does, where amusement barely covers concern. This is different. He's noticed I'm wrong, and he's storing it for later.
Let him store. He'll never guess what's actually happening, because what's actually happening is insane.
"The situation," I say. "What does Coin want?"
"Stability." Caius moves to the table where a map of the districts is spread. "Senna's pushing for formal accountability measures. Incident reports. Oversight committees."
"She wants to put leashes on us."
"She wants to stop the bleeding before it becomes a hemorrhage.
Five territorial disputes in the last month.
Two ended in bodies. The mortals are noticing.
" He pauses, frowning at the map. "Do you know what would solve this?
If I killed Senna. I'm not saying I should—I'm saying it would work.
Mathematically. One death, no more Coin problem.
" He taps his temple. "I've done the calculations.
Up here. I don't write them down because the ink smears. "
Iowyn is by the door. Face neutral. But I can see her memorizing—the map, the positions, the tension between the words. She's learning.
I want to drag her out of this room by her hair and teach her other things. Things that have nothing to do with politics.
"Faith?" I ask.
"Order and restraint. Veritas wants explicit boundaries on each House's operations. No more grey zones, no more creative interpretations."
"He wants us caged."
"He wants predictability." Caius's jaw tightens.
"After the mess with the Veran family, he's not wrong to worry.
I warned him. Three times." He holds up three fingers, looks at them, adds another.
"Four. There was a fourth—I was eating. Lamb, I think.
Or goat." He pauses, makes a chewing motion.
"No, lamb. The texture was different. Goat has more resistance when you bite down. "
"Caius."
"The point is, I warned him. I said, 'Veritas, this will end in blood.' And he said, 'Not everything ends in blood.' And I said, 'Name one thing.'" He spreads his hands. "He couldn't. Because everything does. Eventually. That's not pessimism—that's logistics."
Renan's gaze slides to me. His grin sharpens. He was there when I handled the Veran situation. He enjoyed it.
"What does War want?" I ask.
"Clarity and readiness." Caius's fingers trace the border between War's territory and Coin's. "If we're going to fight, I want to know who we're fighting and why. If we're going to have peace, I want terms I can enforce."
He's tired. It shows in the set of his shoulders, the way his thumb presses into the table's edge. War has been managing this for weeks—the slow slide toward something ugly.
"Discord wants truth and responsibility," I say. "I assume that's the position you've already decided for me."
Caius's mouth twitches. "I assumed you'd want the other Houses to admit what they've been doing in the shadows."
"How well you know me."
Iowyn shifts again.
My attention goes to her. No transition. One second I'm looking at Caius, the next I'm looking at her, and the political conversation becomes static. She's not in danger. She's standing by the door, arms loose at her sides, face calm.
But Renan glanced at her when she moved.
"The Concord will be at the Neutral Hall," Caius says.
"Faith is hosting. Standard rules—no weapons in the inner chamber, all parties seated before discussion begins.
" His hand drifts to his gladius and rests there.
"I could just kill her at the Concord. During her opening remarks.
Very efficient. I wouldn't even enjoy it—purely functional.
Administrative killing." He tilts his head. "The best kind."
"No."
"One person. Maybe two. Three at the outside." He considers. "Four would be excessive. I have limits."
"We'll need to coordinate our positions," I say. "War and Discord have aligned interests here. Coin will try to isolate us, use Faith as a moderating influence."
"Senna's not subtle."
"Senna doesn't need to be subtle. She controls half the commerce in the districts. She can afford to be direct."
I nod. My fingers are pressing into my thigh hard enough to bruise.
"I'll attend," I say. "And I'll bring her."
Renan's boots hit the floor. He leans forward in the chair, elbows on his knees. Finally. Something fun.
Caius turns to look at Iowyn—really look, not the glance from before. She meets his gaze without flinching.
"Her," Caius repeats. He says it like he's tasting the word, deciding if he likes it. "You're bringing her."
"Iowyn. She comes with me."
"The Concord is for House representatives and their chosen advisors. She's—"
"She's what?"
Caius stops.
"Please." I tilt my head. "Finish that sentence."
His mouth opens. Closes. He looks at the ceiling, lips moving slightly as he works through options and discards them. His hand is still on his gladius—not threatening, just thinking.
"I had four endings to that sentence," he says finally.
"You ruined all of them. They're gone now.
" He sounds genuinely mournful. "One of them was good.
It had structure. It had rhythm. I was going to emphasize the second syllable—" He demonstrates with his hand, a downward motion like a blade.
"Like that. For impact. Now it's just...
" He makes a deflating sound. "Nothing. You gave me nothing to work with. "
Renan's watching me with his mouth open, teeth visible. He knows what's happening. He knows what comes next if Caius picks the wrong word.
Iowyn hasn't moved. Hasn't reacted. But her fingers have curled at her sides—tight, like she's bracing. I want to cross the room and uncurl them. Press my mouth to her palm.
"Discord doesn't typically bring guests to Conclaves," Caius says.
"Discord doesn't typically do anything. That's the point."
"If the other Houses perceive this as a provocation—"
"So what?"
Caius goes quiet. He's reworking his picture of me. I can see it behind his eyes—Discord reshaping itself into something he didn't expect.
"If she's coming," he says, "she needs to understand what she's walking into."
"She understands."
"Does she?" He looks at Iowyn again. "The House heads will see a mortal woman walking beside Discord. They'll see a target. A weakness. Something to leverage."
"Then they'll see wrong."
"Will they?"
Iowyn speaks for the first time. "They'll see what Lord Discord wants them to see."
Her voice is steady. Calm. Not deferential—she's not performing for Caius's benefit. She's stating a fact.
My cock twitches.
Unhelpful.
Very unhelpful.
Caius looks at her for a long moment. His eyebrows climb. Keep climbing. He takes a step toward her, then another, circling her slowly. Assessing.
"She talks," he says, and the delight in his voice is genuine.
He turns to me, gesturing at her with both hands.
"She TALKS. Koshin. Did you know she could do that?
Of course you did—you brought her. But did you know she'd be good at it?
" He turns back to Iowyn, studying her like she's a weapon he wasn't expecting to find. "Say something else."
Iowyn stares at him.
"Anything. A threat. An insult. Tell me my stance is wrong." He pauses, adjusts his stance demonstratively. "It's not—my stance is perfect—but I want to see how you'd approach it."
"Caius."
"I'm testing her. This is a test." He's still circling, still watching.
"I need to know if she'll panic when Senna starts—" He gestures broadly.
"You know. Senna-ing. All the words. The implications.
The looking down her nose. Very effective.
I've considered killing her for it. Multiple times.
" He pats his chest, then frowns. "I have a list. Not on me—at home. In a drawer. Organized by method."
Whatever's in my face makes his expression shift. Just slightly. Just enough that I know he's adding this to his list of things to worry about later.
"Tomorrow at sundown," he says. "Faith's Neutral Hall. I assume you can manage not to start a war before we get through the agenda."
"No promises."
He nods, accepting this. His face shifts—serious, then pensive, then briefly alarmed.
"The seating chart," he mutters. "I had a seating chart.
It was beautiful. Symmetrical. Color-coded.
" He holds up four fingers and stares at them.
"I used four inks. FOUR. Now there's an extra person.
That's an odd number. Odd numbers don't balance.
" He looks at me. "I'll have to kill someone to make it even again. "
A pause.
"That was a joke. I think. I'm not sure anymore. The line gets blurry."
He looks at Iowyn. Back at me. Something shifts in his face. The tangents stop. The voice drops.
"If someone touches her at the Concord," he says, quieter now, almost gentle, "I won't wait for you. I'll just start. We can discuss the politics after. During the cleanup." He nods once. "I'm good at multitasking."
"I know."
"Good." He's already moving toward his desk. "I'm going to redraw the seating chart. Five inks this time. One for blood." He pauses at the door. "Hypothetical blood. Aspirational."
He points at Renan without looking.
"Your posture is terrible. Fix it. You look like a question mark."
And then he's gone.
"Renan," I say. "Walk with me."
I don't wait for a response. I move toward the door, and Iowyn falls into step beside me—not because I told her to, but because she knows.
Renan follows. His silence is the loud kind. He's waiting for something to break.
We make it three corridors from Caius's chambers before he does.
"You're bringing her to the Concord."
"Yes."
"Where every House head in the city will be staring at her."
"Yes."
"Where anyone who wants to hurt Discord can look at her and see exactly how to do it."
I stop walking.
Iowyn stops a beat after. She's looking at us—at me—and I can't read her face. Curious. Maybe something else.
"Renan." My voice is very quiet. "What exactly do you think will happen if someone tries to hurt her while she's standing next to me?"
He doesn't answer. Doesn't need to.
The answer is: I will unmake them. I will tear them apart with my bare hands and I will enjoy it. I will make it last. I will make sure they understand exactly why they're dying before I let them finish.
The answer is: I'm bringing her because I can't function if she's somewhere I can't see.
The answer is: this is not about her safety. This is about mine.
Renan's quiet for a moment. Then the smile comes back—slow, wide, all teeth.
"So when it goes sideways," he says, "do I get to break things?"
"When?"
"Don't bullshit me, brother. You're walking into a Concord with her on your arm. Coin's going to lose his shit. Faith will clutch his pearls. War—" He laughs, short and sharp. "War's going to love it."
"Probably."
"So." He rolls his shoulders. Cracks his neck. "When it falls apart. When someone says the wrong thing about her. When you stop pretending to be civilized." His eyes are bright. Hungry. "Do I get to help?"
I look at him. My best friend. My feral, broken, loyal-to-the-bone best friend who would follow me into any hell I chose and ask only if he could set it on fire first.
"Stay close," I say. "Watch her back."
"And if someone touches her?"
"Then don't leave anything for me to clean up."
His grin splits wide. "Now you're speaking my language."
He scrubs a hand over his face. When he looks at me again, the manic edge softens into something else. Recognition. One predator to another.
"You're fucked," he says. Almost fond.
I look at Iowyn. She's close enough to touch.
"I know."