here any time.”
Dom swore. Those witchy assholes wanted to catch the pride flatfooted and force them to start the negotiations in the red, especially in regard to hospitality. But… it could be worse. If the Golgoth show up too, for instance.
He gave the orders at once. “Convene an honor guard. Whoever’s on duty, get them in formal dress.”
As he said that, his clever mate had her phone out and was already dialing. “Beren? This is Pru. The Eldritch have preempted further discussion. If you could collect Raff and head for the gate—oh, you’re with the wolf already?” A pause. “Excellent. Then summon your men so you don’t lose face during the welcome ceremony.”
The messenger nodded and raced off.
Fortunately, his father had set a precedent for formal attire, even during ally talks, so he had on a decent suit, and Pru looked lovely in a dark blue dress. She smoothed it over her hips and tugged at the bodice with an expression he recognized as sheer nerves. Dom stroked her arm in passing as he headed for the door.
“Come along, clever cat. Your habit of arriving early may have just saved us a great deal of embarrassment.”
“That’s a coincidence,” she mumbled, hurrying after him.
He set a cracking pace to get to the gate by the time the Eldritch party requested entry.
The plaza was full of pride guards in dress black while Beren’s crew stood behind him in matching mahogany, and Raff’s retainers were lined up in heather gray. Despite a few breathing hard here and there, nobody would ever guess how wildly they’d just scrambled.
“What are you waiting for?” he called to the guard on the wall. “Invite our guests in.”
The Eldritch came thirty strong, at least five Noxblades among their number. At their head, a tall, lean man strode through the parted gates garbed in scarlet and silver. His guards were likewise dressed in red so dark, it likely wouldn’t show bloodstains. It was impossible to gauge an Eldritch’s age just by looking, as most of them had hair so fair, it could be ash blond or silver with age. Dom had heard that the Eldritch inspired old legends in humans to the south, tales of long-lived elves and immortal fey folk.
Dom stepped forward. “Welcome, Lord Talfayen. It is our pleasure to greet you.”
The Eldritch lord had sharp features and eyes like twin coals. He raked a contemptuous glance around. “Perhaps it would be best if we hosted the conclave next.”
Since they’d showed up early, none of the preparations were in place. There were supposed to be dried herbs on the ground and wreaths hung, woven of hothouse flowers that reflected a desire for peace. If Talfayen wanted proper royal treatment, he should’ve stuck to the timetable. With some effort, he locked his annoyance down.
Pru was right to drag me back. Slay would already have laid this asshole out.
His mate bowed low, both hands pressed to her chest, and Dom caught a flicker of surprise from one of the guards up front. That must be an Eldritch custom. She’s saving my ass. Talfayen returned the gesture with one elbow, which meant…hell if he could remember what. He’d studied all this shit endlessly, but then—
Murder.
Exile.
And so much liquor. It would be a miracle if he recalled half of what he needed to know.
“Welcome to our holding,” she went on. “May our shadows bind as one and no disharmony sour our song.”
The Eldritch wore a faint smile. “You know our ways?”
“A little,” she answered.
“Burnt Amber greets you.” As the elder Animari at the gathering, Beren inclined his head instead of bowing. Judging by his expression, he wasn’t inclined to kowtow to a group he called war-holes in private, a contraction of warlock and asshole.
“Likewise, good health and tidings from Pine Ridge.” Raff didn’t hesitate, but the glint of his eyes as he swept low told Dom this was polite bullshit.
An awkward silence crept up—with Talfayen stone-faced and seeming as if he
Dom swore. Those witchy assholes wanted to catch the pride flatfooted and force them to start the negotiations in the red, especially in regard to hospitality. But… it could be worse. If the Golgoth show up too, for instance.
He gave the orders at once. “Convene an honor guard. Whoever’s on duty, get them in formal dress.”
As he said that, his clever mate had her phone out and was already dialing. “Beren? This is Pru. The Eldritch have preempted further discussion. If you could collect Raff and head for the gate—oh, you’re with the wolf already?” A pause. “Excellent. Then summon your men so you don’t lose face during the welcome ceremony.”
The messenger nodded and raced off.
Fortunately, his father had set a precedent for formal attire, even during ally talks, so he had on a decent suit, and Pru looked lovely in a dark blue dress. She smoothed it over her hips and tugged at the bodice with an expression he recognized as sheer nerves. Dom stroked her arm in passing as he headed for the door.
“Come along, clever cat. Your habit of arriving early may have just saved us a great deal of embarrassment.”
“That’s a coincidence,” she mumbled, hurrying after him.
He set a cracking pace to get to the gate by the time the Eldritch party requested entry.
The plaza was full of pride guards in dress black while Beren’s crew stood behind him in matching mahogany, and Raff’s retainers were lined up in heather gray. Despite a few breathing hard here and there, nobody would ever guess how wildly they’d just scrambled.
“What are you waiting for?” he called to the guard on the wall. “Invite our guests in.”
The Eldritch came thirty strong, at least five Noxblades among their number. At their head, a tall, lean man strode through the parted gates garbed in scarlet and silver. His guards were likewise dressed in red so dark, it likely wouldn’t show bloodstains. It was impossible to gauge an Eldritch’s age just by looking, as most of them had hair so fair, it could be ash blond or silver with age. Dom had heard that the Eldritch inspired old legends in humans to the south, tales of long-lived elves and immortal fey folk.
Dom stepped forward. “Welcome, Lord Talfayen. It is our pleasure to greet you.”
The Eldritch lord had sharp features and eyes like twin coals. He raked a contemptuous glance around. “Perhaps it would be best if we hosted the conclave next.”
Since they’d showed up early, none of the preparations were in place. There were supposed to be dried herbs on the ground and wreaths hung, woven of hothouse flowers that reflected a desire for peace. If Talfayen wanted proper royal treatment, he should’ve stuck to the timetable. With some effort, he locked his annoyance down.
Pru was right to drag me back. Slay would already have laid this asshole out.
His mate bowed low, both hands pressed to her chest, and Dom caught a flicker of surprise from one of the guards up front. That must be an Eldritch custom. She’s saving my ass. Talfayen returned the gesture with one elbow, which meant…hell if he could remember what. He’d studied all this shit endlessly, but then—
Murder.
Exile.
And so much liquor. It would be a miracle if he recalled half of what he needed to know.
“Welcome to our holding,” she went on. “May our shadows bind as one and no disharmony sour our song.”
The Eldritch wore a faint smile. “You know our ways?”
“A little,” she answered.
“Burnt Amber greets you.” As the elder Animari at the gathering, Beren inclined his head instead of bowing. Judging by his expression, he wasn’t inclined to kowtow to a group he called war-holes in private, a contraction of warlock and asshole.
“Likewise, good health and tidings from Pine Ridge.” Raff didn’t hesitate, but the glint of his eyes as he swept low told Dom this was polite bullshit.
An awkward silence crept up—with Talfayen stone-faced and seeming as if he
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