“Birth.”
“Ohhhhhh.” Rehv whistled softly. “So it’s a s’Hisbe thing.”
“He was promised to the queen’s first daughter.”
Rehv was silent for a while. Then he shook his head. “That would make him the future king, would it not.”
“That’s right. And even though we are a matriarchal society, that is not an irrelevancy.”
“Check us out,” the male murmured. “He and I and Wrath. Quite the trifecta.”
“Well, it’s different for the s’Hisbe, of course. The queen is the one who dictates everything for us.”
“So what’s he still doing on the outside. With all us UnKnowables?”
“He doesn’t want anything to do with the s’Hisbe.”
“Has he got a choice?”
“No.” iAm glanced over at the wet bar in the corner. “Mind if I have a drink?”
“Are you kidding me? I’d be getting hammered if I were you.”
iAm wandered over, considered his options, and ended up picking a decanter that had a little necklace reading Bourbon around its throat. He went straight up, and as he took a pull off the rim of a cut-crystal glass, he savored the burn over his tongue. “Nice.”
“Parker’s Heritage Collection, Small Batch. The best.”
“I didn’t think you were a big drinker.”
“That’s no excuse for not knowing what you serve your guests.”
“Ah.”
“So what’s the plan?”
iAm tilted his head back, emptied the glass into his mouth and swallowed hard. “We need somewhere safe to stay. And not just because of the women thing. We had a visit by the high priest this past week—and given we’re on the outside, that means they’re getting serious back home. They’re looking for him—and if they find him? I’m afraid he’s going to kill the s’Hisbe’s representative. Then we’ve really got a problem.”
“You think he’d take it that far?”
“Yes, I do.” iAm poured a refill. “He’s not going back there, and I need time to figure out how to resolve the conflict before something disastrous happens.”
“You guys want to move into my house up north?”
iAm downed his second bourbon on a oner. “No.” He leveled his eyes. “I want us to move into the Brotherhood compound.”
As Rehv cursed long and low, iAm poured himself a third. “It’s the safest place for us.”
Xcor was covered in lesser blood and sweat as he returned to his new lair. His fighters were still downtown, engaging with the enemy, but he had had to pare off and seek shelter.
Damn cut on his arm.
The house that Throe had found them was located in a modest neighborhood full of modest homes with two-car garages and swing sets in their backyards. Among its advantages was that it was located at the end of a cul-de-sac, and there was an empty building lot on one side and a Caldwell Sewer Department processing unit on the other.
They had it for three months, with an option to buy.
As he dematerialized through the heavily draped windows of the family room, he scoffed at the padded sofa that formed an L, its tufted cushions like rolls of fat, its color akin to beef stew.
Although he appreciated working heat, the fact that the facility had come “furnished” was annoying to him. He feared he was alone in this, however: Over the past few days, he’d oft caught one or another of his soldiers reclining on that godforsaken monster, their heads lying back, their legs stretched out in comfort.
What was next? Throw blankets?
Stalking up the narrow staircase, he missed the doom and gloom of the castle they still owned back in the Old Country. Longed for the heft of the stone that had surrounded them, and the impregnable nature of the layout, with its moat and high walls. Mourned, too, the fun they had had spooking the villagers, giving physical presence to the stuff of myth.
Good times, as they said here in the New World.
On the second floor, he refused to look into the bedrooms. The pink of the one in front burned his eyes, and the sea foam green of the other was another assault on the senses as well. And there was no relief to be had as he walked into the master bedroom. Flowered wallpaper, everywhere. Even on the bed, and across the windows, and all over that chair in the corner.
At least his combat boots crushed the thick carpet, leaving tread prints like bruises on his way to the bath.
For godsakes, he was not even sure what color to call the scheme in here.
Raspberry?
Shuddering, he wanted to keep the lights over the sink off, but with the rosebud curtains drawn, the illumination from the streetlamps below was drowned out completely, and he needed to see what he was doing—