Chapter Seven
Ten years and six months ago...
Beth had a corner in the Audience Room all to herself.
It was right beside Saxton’s desk and slightly behind the two comfy armchairs that were positioned in front of the hearth.
Her seat was a generic office one, the kind of thing you’d find at any Office Depot, black with a mesh back that was contoured to offer lumbar support.
They’d had to take the wheels off because the spot she picked was off the big Persian carpet that took up everything but the sides of the room.
With those rollers on, the thing was like a luge sled on the floorboards.
“His name was given as Emile, in the honor of my grandfather.” Next to the male who was speaking, his full-grown son was positively beaming. “He is the first male born of his generation in the bloodline, and we are very proud of him, indeed.”
The three civilians standing in front of “Wrath” were outliers when compared to who usually came through the Audience House’s door.
Blond, light-eyed, and dressed with a precision and polish that was right out of the Ivy League, they were clearly members of the glymera: Father and son were in the Brooks Brothers navy blue jacket, pressed linen slacks and club tie they’d come out of the womb wearing.
Mahmen was in Chanel, but the discrete kind, without all the obvious interlocking C’s.
And their trio of identical smiles showed picket-fence perfect teeth.
Yup, it was Ken, Barbie and little Kenny, Jr.—
Beth frowned and rubbed her temples. Okay, that was a really bitchy way to think.
“And following his recent graduation from medical school,” the father continued, “he has been accepted as an intern under Havers, such that he may serve you and the species as a healer.”
She was surprised they didn’t spell out whatever Harvard/Yale/Columbia/Cornell diploma the son had gotten courtesy of the accommodations curriculum that had allowed him to attend virtually.
But maybe that would be considered too showy?
Hard to know what the glymera thought was okay.
The only thing she knew for sure was that whatever was outside the bounds of propriety and acceptability was judged hard.
Then again, where else would their golden boy go for his M.D.?
“Approach your King,” Rahvyn said in Wrath’s voice.
Usually, the people who came here were hesitant when they were invited to step up close. Some cried, most trembled and didn’t bother to hide it. Or couldn’t. Not these aristocrats. They were calm and relaxed. They did bow, though. Or rather, the males tilted their torso, and the female curtsied.
The respect was kind of nice to see, actually.
“Your deeds are worthy of note,” the image of Wrath announced in the Old Language.
“I hereby order Emile, son of Dresden, to be honored with a royal decree of recognition. May this worthy male continue to carry forth with honor the bloodline of his sire and his mahmen, and be of further service unto the species.”
With that, a replica of the black diamond ring every King had worn was presented.
One by one, they bent over the stone and pressed their foreheads to the gem, first the parents, then the son.
Other words were spoken, but she didn’t track them.
She was too distracted by the way the couple kept looking at each other, their eyes meeting and lingering, the smiles private and full of pride.
Wow. She didn’t mean to be prejudicial, but she really didn’t associate members of the glymera with that kind of loving emotion. It was nice to see—even though the connection between the two made her rub the cold, empty cavern where her heart had previously resided.
No forwarding address on the damn thing. Then again, she hadn’t really tried to find its new home.
“Thank you,” Dresden said. “We are very grateful. In our family, the old ways are still the proper ways, and this is certainly a night to remember.”
Another bows-and-curtsey combo. And then the family wafted out in a fragrant cloud of cologne and perfume.
Beth exhaled and was willing to bet no one else had to take a moment to gather themselves. That kind of communal composure recall was reserved for the gut-punch audiences. The lessers-killed-my-kid, the burglars-broke-into-my-house, the my-father/mahmen/sister/brother-is-dead kind of stuff.
The couples were hard on her, though. Always had been.
And as ever, after one came in, she wondered why she was doing this to herself, sitting here in the corner.
Then she remembered that it was just so much more efficient.
Back when “Wrath” had resumed seeing his subjects, there had had to be these long reviews of what had happened during the night, and then she’d had to make any decisions required—and time waste wasn’t fair to Saxton.
Thus, she’d gotten this office chair…and so what if her heart was broken every once in a while.
It wasn’t like she felt.
On that note, there was another blessing right afterward, this time of an infant newly born, and following that, a palate cleanser—at least for her—in the form of a dispute between two cousins over a snowblower.
When that last appointment left, Beth got stiffly out of her chair, both of her knees cracking like sticks snapped underfoot.
Across the way, she was vaguely aware of V and Rhage talking back and forth and sharing the screens of their cell phones.
For a split second, she got scared someone had been hurt in the field, but then Hollywood smirked and started jabbing his finger at what V was holding in his gloved hand.
Probably something about food. Or movie night.
Meanwhile, over at the armchairs, Rahvyn likewise rose to the shitkickers on her not-really-hers feet. But as always, it was best not to look in that direction—
“I beg your pardons.”
Everyone looked to the doorway. Saxton was leaning in from the public access hall, and his composure was so professional, it was as if his face would shatter if he were forced to smile.
Worse, his perfectly styled blond hair was displaced out of its wave like he’d pulled a hand through it and…
oh, crap, he’d even freed the two buttons on his double-breasted suit jacket, something he only did when he was especially tense.
“There is another party who has presently arrived.” He cleared his throat and pushed at his pink and white bow tie. “Forgive my temerity, however I believe he and his brother should be given time. His son…is missing.”
“Bring them in,” Rahvyn said in Wrath’s voice as she sat back down.
The stillness that came over the room was one Beth was well familiar with. And the sound of footfalls out in the hall was like a countdown.
She sank into her cheap chair once again and found herself putting her hands in her lap and her feet together.
Ah, yes. Posture yet again.
The two males who entered with Saxton both had dark hair and were wearing plain button-down shirts and pressed khakis as if they were working class and had done what they could to present themselves well.
One was standing slightly behind the other, with his hand on the former’s shoulder.
Though they were somewhere in middle age—and could have been anywhere from fifty to two hundred years old—there were lines in their faces that spoke of lives lived doing physical labor and worrying about the future.
“May I present Garr and Troy, blooded sons of Ralhap,” Saxton announced. “It is Garr who is seeking this audience, and his brother has come to support him.”
“My Lord,” the male in the back said hoarsely as they both bowed. “Our Queen.”
She nodded at them, and for once, spoke up. “What may we do for you?”
When the males straightened, they glanced at each other. Then Garr cleared his throat. “My son, Rosh, is missing. Since last night when he left home around eight p.m. He was going out with his cousin, but he never showed up at the club downtown.”
“My son,” Troy added with a hitch in his voice, “was the one he was meeting. Rallie waited for a half hour and called. Texted. Nothing.”
The father let out a choking sound. “I told Rosh not to go out. His mahmen…did the same. He wouldn’t listen to her, either. We’ve heard about the attacks downtown lately, and we just thought it was too dangerous.”
The Brotherhood had been talking about the surge in violence, as well.
There’d been an influx of new slayers, and though the Brothers were out in the field every night, hunting them and taking those soulless bastards down, it seemed like Lash had been turning humans left and right since the early spring.
“We all went out and looked for him downtown,” Troy continued.
“Called his friends. Went to the gym he always uses, his ex-girlfriend’s apartment, the other clubs.
And then the sun began to rise and there was nothing we could do until it set.
” The father passed a calloused hand over his face and looked around the room.
“We can’t find him anywhere. We need your help.
We need the Brotherhood. I can’t…have his mahmen with nothing to bury, and if that’s the way it’s going to be, can I at least… have a sense of what happened to him?”
Beth glanced across the room as a series of pops sounded out. It was Rhage, cracking his knuckles one by one. Next to him, V was already on his phone, no doubt teeing up his team at Four Toys, HQ.
Then she shifted her eyes to the mirror that had been mounted directly opposite her on the wall. Staring at the reflection of the image of Wrath, she did not blink. But like she had to use their signal system? Like they weren’t going to help?
“We will find out what happened to your son,” Wrath’s voice vowed. “But no more looking for you. Your mate and your family need you. And tell his friends to stay out of downtown, too.”