Magic Claims

6

I sat on the balcony again, with my legs up on a wicker footstool and a glass of cold tea on my little side table, and watched Penderton’s construction crews strain to remove the body of the monster rhino. I was right. That creature was more magic than beast. Once the magic sustaining its life failed, it decomposed at an alarming rate. Its corpse was falling apart into big chunks. The crew scooped them up with bulldozers and drove them off to the side, to the freshly dug burning pit, racing against the encroaching darkness.

There was a reason Curran couldn’t pry its armor off. The bone armor plates were somehow fused to long metal and bone bars that passed through the rhino’s body on the inside. It should’ve died when the first bar pierced it, but magic kept it alive. Every time I thought about it, my hand ached for my sword.

Mayor Gene and an older woman stood in front of the carnage and waved their arms at each other. According to Jynx, the woman represented the town blacksmiths, and they wanted to recover the metal from inside the rhino. They were pretty sure it was gold. Mayor Gene wanted the gold buried due to the possibility of magic contamination. If they didn’t resolve it between themselves, they would come up here for my expert advice, and then the blacksmiths would hate me forever.

Curran sat in the rocking chair next to me. He was back in his human body, showered and fresh-smelling, and he was drinking beer from a big stein. He’d bought a small keg from the local brewery. It rested in the corner of the balcony now. Shapeshifter metabolism burned alcohol off in minutes, so his buzz was short-lived.

True to form, he had marched me down to the old prison, and Nereda patched me up again. The smoke claws had done a number on me. She offered me all sorts of painkillers. I settled for some aspirin. Over the years, a lot of my old scars dissolved from repeated visits to medmages and Doolittle’s expert care. Today fixed that right up.

The kid on the wall wandered out of the guard tower again.

“Foster!” Curran called out.

The teenager turned around to look at us. Curran pointed back to the tower. The kid hunched his shoulders and trotted back under the safety of the roof.

Keelan sat on Curran’s left, nursing his own beer and gently stretching his left leg every few minutes. Must’ve hurt it in the fight. We didn’t lose anyone, but we had a few broken bones. Owen took the Most Hurt Trophy with a shattered femur. After he rammed the rhino, it kicked him. While he healed him, Troy had asked him if it was a good day to be Owen, to which Owen apparently said, “Hell yeah. I knocked that big bastard on his ass.”

The door swung open, and Karter emerged onto the balcony. He wore a pair of pack sweats and a white T-shirt. In his thirties, Karter was six feet tall and built in that particular way of big cat shapeshifters—not bulky, but far from lean, his muscles thick, hard, and defined. The kind of muscle that could propel him up a tree or a sheer cliff, or crack an enemy’s skull with one well-timed slap of his hand. His hair was short and shaped with razor precision. He had a broad nose, high cheekbones, and a solid jaw. His eyes, under thick eyebrows, were expressive, and on the two occasions I had met him, he seemed to be the kind of man who knew the world was full of fools and he found it amusing.

I didn’t know him well. Karter rose to prominence after Jim became the Beast Lord.

“Beer?” Curran asked.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Karter walked over to the keg, picked up one of the steins waiting on the tray beside it, and poured himself a tall one.

Had Curran or I gotten up to pour him a beer, it could’ve been seen as an offer or demand of loyalty. This way we sidestepped it.

Karter grabbed a rocking chair, put it between Keelan and Curran, and sat. Interesting.

“Thanks for the help,” Curran said.

“Seemed like a fun fight,” Karter answered.

Keelan drank his beer and stretched his leg. “It was fun, wasn’t it? A good, fast chase, a big prey, everyone working together… Just like old times.”

Keelan, the plotter. Look how awesome things are when Curran’s in charge.

If Karter got it, he didn’t show it. They drank their beer. Two big cats, lounging about, pretending to be relaxed but very aware of where the boundary was, and a big wolf, cunning and clever, waiting to see which way the conversation would go.

“Ascanio Ferara is making a bid for the Beast Lord seat,” Karter said.

I did my best not to choke.

Ascanio used to be one of my shapeshifters. I’d known him since he was fifteen, and he was the proverbial twenty pounds of bouda crazy in a five-pound bag. Add in way too much testosterone, poor impulse control, and a heartbreaker’s face, and you had teenage Ascanio. Aunt B, the previous Alpha of Clan Bouda, had given him to me because although boudas cherished their children, especially males, Ascanio pushed even past their limits. She’d been afraid he’d piss off the wrong person and get hurt.

He had worked for me at Cutting Edge for several years, during which he received education, training, and a healthy dose of reality and experience. Eventually Ascanio chose to return to his clan, which was now run by Andrea, my best friend, and her husband, Raphael. I was sad to see him go, but I understood it. Ascanio wanted acceptance and respect from other boudas. He wanted to succeed on Pack terms.

Curran didn’t say anything.

“Ascanio is ambitious,” Karter said. “The Medranos are backing him. The kid is good at making money. It sticks to him the way it sticks to Raphael.”

But being a Beast Lord was about more than money. It was not a CFO position.

“And he’s good in a fight. Would’ve made a standout render if he’d chosen to go that route.”

Being a Beast Lord wasn’t about being the baddest fighter, either. I’d learned that firsthand.

“He doesn’t have the power base. The boudas are rich, but there aren’t enough of them. Still, they’re making moves, wheeling and dealing, trying to cobble a coalition together. However, there is one thing that Ascanio needs, and nothing they can do will give it to him.”

“And what is that?” Keelan asked.

“Integrity,” Karter said. “The boudas always look out for number one, themselves. They’re seen as cutthroat.”

“They honor their alliances,” I said.

“With you, Kate,” Karter said. “They are a rock when it comes to supporting the Lennarts, I’ll give them that. But when it comes to the rest of us, the saying is: before you enter a contract with the boudas, read every word of the fine print and then read it again. They always manage to get the lion’s share of the profits. We went into business with them a couple of times. Both times Clan Cat made money, and yet both times I came away feeling ripped off.”

Curran drank his beer.

“I don’t hold a grudge,” Karter said. “We did profit from the deals. If another one comes along, we’ll probably take it again, and we will make money again, but the feeling of having to watch your back with your business partner sticks with you.”

I knew that feeling. When Curran and I separated from the Pack, Jim used Raphael’s expertise to make a buyout offer for Curran’s shares. Jim had to do it, because as Beast Lord he couldn’t afford to have an outsider own a big chunk of the Pack’s businesses. Raphael had to do it because Jim ordered him to and he’d sworn loyalty to the Beast Lord, but the whole thing left me with an uneasy feeling that took years to pass.

“Clan Bouda bet on wealth to expand its influence and got all the problems that come with loaning people money,” Karter continued. “And no, not all of their reputation is deserved, but it’s the perception that matters. No matter how hard Ascanio tries, he can’t separate himself from the clan’s reputation. Jim has integrity and commands respect, but he won’t be endorsing Ascanio. The kid needs someone to vouch for him if he’s going to succeed in his bid for the Beast Lord’s chair.”

Curran glanced at him. “What is it you’re asking?”

“I’d like to know if Ascanio Ferara has asked for your blessing.”

“No. And if he had, I wouldn’t give it to him.”

Endorsing Ascanio’s claim to the throne would be signing the kid’s death warrant. Karter was right. Ascanio simply didn’t have the kind of Pack-wide loyalty needed to hold that spot. It was that loyalty, that mixture of trust, respect, and a bit of healthy caution that kept the shapeshifters from challenging their alphas.

If he somehow took the Beast Lord title, they would challenge him again and again, until someone killed him, and the Pack would be thrown into chaos. I ran that gauntlet when Curran had fallen into a coma. I had endured it, but only because stepping down meant being separated from the man I loved while he lay unconscious in his bed, and nobody had known if he would wake up. Ascanio was a smart kid. He understood all this.

“Why is he so desperate?” I asked.

Karter decided it was a great time to drink his beer.

Here was our chance to figure out what the hell was going on with the Pack. We needed to get Karter talking.

“I know the Medranos,” I said. “I know how Andrea and Raphael run their clan. They wouldn’t put Ascanio in harm’s way, and he wouldn’t disobey them. He worships the ground Raphael walks on. Last I checked, Jim was in good health and his position was secure. Why this urgent need to replace the Beast Lord?”

“Because the Pack is heading toward a cliff,” Karter said. “We can all see the sheer drop ahead. The Medranos are just trying to turn the horses.”

“And what’s this cliff?” I asked.

“I’m debating whether I should tell you. After all, your husband created this problem when he put that bleeding heart in charge.”

Bleeding heart? I laughed.

Karter eyed me.

“Some years back,” I said, “I came across a crime scene where a shapeshifter had been assaulted. Back then Jim was running security for the Pack. His crew found me in the middle of an empty plaza trying to make sense of the blood smears. Jim knew me. We’d been partnering up for gigs in the Mercenary Guild for four years at that point. He knew I worked for the Order and had a reason to be where I was. I fought for the Pack and with the Pack. I had Friend of the Pack status. I greeted his crew with my hands up in the air and he let them maul me, and when I called him on it later, he said, ‘Here you have trust when you grow fur.’”

Curran turned to me, and his eyes were pure gold. Karter leaned back slightly. Keelan set his beer down very carefully and sat still.

“You never told me this,” my husband said. “When did this happen?”

Crap. “It’s water under the bridge.”

“When?”

“During Derek’s thing. My point is, Jim Shrapshire the Bleeding Heart doesn’t check out.”

Curran turned to Karter, his eyes still on fire. “Tell me. All of it.”

“On paper, the Pack has seven thousand members,” Karter said.

“How many are there really?” Curran asked.

“We don’t know. Jim refuses to open the official rolls. I’d estimate upward of eleven thousand.”

Curran’s face was harsh. “How? There are admission protocols in place. They require an eighty percent majority vote of Pack Council to repeal.”

“Oh, they’re still in place,” Karter said. “The background checks, the waiting lists, and the provisional period. Everything is still there. He’s getting around it with the Imminent Danger exception.”

I remembered that law. Curran was always very careful about whom the Pack admitted into their ranks. The Pack’s organization was unique, with each clan segregated by animal form. A clan was led by two alphas, who were assisted by two betas and a number of people in administrative positions like treasurers, heads of security, and so on. The seven pairs of alphas made up the Pack Council, which met once a week, and was presided over by the Beast Lord and their Consort.

The Pack guaranteed personal freedoms and rights and protected its members from abuses of power. A higher-ranked shapeshifter couldn’t challenge a lower-ranked one. When criminal conduct like theft or assault occurred, there was due process, and limits and nature of punishment were clearly spelled out by the Pack’s laws. The Pack was born as a defense to chaos and constant slaughter among the emerging shapeshifter groups. It was designed to keep its members safe and enable them to live their lives without fear.

In return, the Pack demanded strict discipline. You had to be where your alpha told you to be when they told you to be there. Sometimes you had to go into battle when the Pack overall was threatened. Breaking the law wasn’t tolerated.

All of this took a lot of getting used to, especially for shapeshifters who were fleeing smaller packs where abuse could be rampant. Fitting them into the Pack’s hierarchy took time and patience, which was why all the safeguards Karter mentioned had been put in place. But sometimes the situation was too urgent, which is where the Imminent Danger exception kicked in. A shapeshifter could appeal directly to the Beast Lord or the Consort, and if they proved they were in immediate danger, the alpha couple themselves had the power to admit them into the Pack, sidestepping all the other regulations.

In the entire time I served as the Consort, we used this exception only twice—once for a woman who was pursued by an aggressive alpha, and the other time for a family of four who had been wrongfully accused of murder.

“You know what Jim’s problem is?” Karter asked.

Give me paper and a pen, and I’ll make you a list.

“He knows he’s done some fucked-up shit for the Pack’s sake. I had a front-row seat to a lot of it. It haunts him,” Karter said. “That story you told, Kate, that’s on point. Things are very clear-cut for him: Pack shapeshifters are good, everyone else is bad, and as long as he’s on the right side of that line, he’s golden. But all that baggage is still eating at him. Jim’s goal in life is to be a savior. He wants to be the guy who finds you when things are at their worst, taps you on the shoulder, and says, ‘Come with me. I will make everything alright.’”

Curran’s face still had that Beast Lord expression, and his eyes were still on fire.

“That’s a dangerous road to walk,” Keelan said.

“He isn’t walking,” Karter said. “He’s sprinting as hard as he can. As it stands now, doesn’t matter what you’ve done or how long your rap sheet is. If you tell Jim that you’re in danger and humans are after you, he will let you in. He admits everyone and he does it personally. You’re put in a holding cell, not knowing what will happen, you sit there for a while, worrying, and then the Beast Lord walks in and personally tells you that you are in.”

“Personally?” Curran asked. His voice was almost a growl.

“Every time,” Karter said. “He’s addicted to it: the smiles, the thank yous, the sudden jolt of happiness. It’s gotten worse since his child was born. He takes his son with him now, so he can see what a great guy his father is.”

This was bad.

“The newcomers see him that one time,” Karter said, “and then they never see him again, because the moment they’re admitted, they are assigned a clan and they become our problem. I had to kill a man last week who should’ve never been allowed in. He was a serial murderer. Not a loup. Just a psychopath who would do anything to get what he wanted and had a rap sheet to prove it.”

Damn it, Jim.

“But even if they weren’t violent, they are coming in numbers we can’t handle. All these people need housing. They need jobs. They need food. A lot of them don’t have skills, so they need to be educated and trained. I had a conversation with a female lynx yesterday who was fired from three places in a row within one week. She told me that until she was admitted to the Pack, she wasn’t a working female, she was a breeding female.”

Some shapeshifter packs used the fact that they turned into animals to justify a lot of fucked-up crap. I saw some of it when Curran had been Beast Lord, so I had a pretty good idea what kind of environment that woman had endured, and thinking about it made me violently angry.

“What did you tell her?” Keelan asked.

“That it’s not the way we do things. That none of what happened to her is her fault—and it isn’t—and that we would help her find her place, however long it takes. We had a long and gentle conversation about institutional abuse and Pack’s motto of “don’t work, don’t eat.” She is a victim, and in perfect circumstances, I would have the luxury of figuring out what her strengths are and making sure she had proper training for some sort of profession she wanted. But we are overwhelmed, so I sent her to the daycare. Child-rearing is a skill, and we’ve determined that she has that. That wasn’t where she saw herself, but we agreed that while it wasn’t perfect, it would work for now. I put her on the waiting list for assessment. There is a four-month wait. The clans can’t keep going like this.”

“What did Jim say when you talked to him about it?” I asked.

“He blames the problems on poor management at the clan level. He’s also given the clans a lot more autonomy. He had to. No two people alone could deal with the amount of work the Pack now requires.”

Karter paused, thought something over, and continued, “I tried talking to him one-on-one. He went on for a while about greater purpose and a haven for all shapeshifters, and told me that I, of all people, should understand given my history. He isn’t going to stop. But he is a smart man. He knows this cart can’t keep rolling forward. I think he’s going to bail. He’s been mentioning how he wishes he could spend more time with his family. The only reason why he hasn’t stepped away is because he has no successor, and his sense of duty won’t let him abandon us. Those who want the job can’t do it, and those who could do it don’t want to. But, sooner or later, he will quit, and when that happens, the Pack will fracture. Then it will be every clan for itself, and there are a lot of wolves out there.”

“This is why Ascanio is going for it,” I thought out loud. “The boudas are a small clan.”

Karter nodded. “Yes. Clan Cat is a small clan, too. Wolves outnumber us ten to one, jackals four to one, and rats seven to one. The rats are almost bankrupt. The jackals were forced to admit a woman who used to be a cult leader and her following, which seriously fucked up the stability of their clan. Clan Heavy has gotten even more reactionary and difficult to deal with. It’s a mess.”

And here was that thunder my aunt had warned me about.

Karter turned to Curran. “In case you’re thinking I’m here for your blessing, I’m not. I don’t bow, I don’t cringe, and I don’t kiss the ring. If I want it, I make it mine, and I don’t need any person’s permission. I don’t want the Pack. Not like this, broken beyond repair.”

Poor Curran. He had built the Pack, and now he saw it cracking.

Karter was looking at him. No matter what he said, he’d come here for help. He wasn’t sure what that help would be, but I could tell that his back was against the wall.

Curran finished his beer. His eyes had stopped glowing.

“It’s not Jim’s fault,” he said.

I almost did a double take.

“And you are right, the Pack is broken. Nobody can fix it, including me.”

Karter nodded. He looked like a pessimistic man who had let a single, weak seed of hope sprout, and now it was ripped out of his soul.

“The Pack was built on a faulty premise,” Curran said. “It was bound to break sooner or later.”

Karter nodded again.

“Let’s make something better,” Curran said.

The words sunk in. Karter frowned. “Who?”

“Us,” Curran said. “Let’s make something better.”

“Right now?”

“Why not?”

Karter blinked.

“I’ll get us some paper.” Keelan rose.

I opened my eyes because my husband pulled me tighter against himself. Soft, honey-colored light sifted through the gap below the blinds. The clock on the wall assured me that it was late afternoon.

We’d stayed up until sunrise, hashing things out. When Karter left, just as the first golden edge of the sun slipped above the forest, he’d had a big smile on his face, and he walked like a man who had a crushing weight lifted off his shoulders. We loaded him up with Troy’s tissue samples for Doolittle and two golden collars for Luther Dillon at Biohazard. I needed to get a closer expert, but Karter was going back to Atlanta anyway, and Luther was the best.

I hit the sack the moment Karter had left and apparently slept nearly till the evening.

Curran kissed the back of my neck, stretching himself against me. He was so warm, and he smelled amazing. I almost purred, but then reality kicked in.

I turned around in his arms. Little golden sparks danced in his gray eyes.

“There are seven people in this house besides us. And all of them have preternaturally sharp hearing.”

“We’ll be quiet.”

“No, we won’t, and you know it. You promised me, no fishbowl this time around.”

He sighed and rolled onto his back.

Living as the Consort within the Pack’s Keep was like living in a fishbowl, constantly observed by way too many people keenly interested in every detail of our private lives. They wanted to know what we ate, how much sex we had, who we met, and what we talked about. When we were working out the details of the new plan, I made sure to cover that ground. We had to retain some privacy.

“Will you be okay?” he asked.

“It will be very difficult,” I told him solemnly. “But I’m sure the magic will hit within the next twenty-four hours or so, and it only takes me fifteen minutes to set up a soundproof ward. We must be strong.”

He laughed.

“Think pure thoughts,” I told him.

“I meant will you be okay with the plan?”

“Yes. Do you think Karter can keep it a secret?”

It was a good plan. I liked it a lot. But it hinged on moving a lot of pieces into place under wraps, without most of the alphas knowing what was happening. The crack in the Pack could come without warning, and there was so much to do.

“Yes. Karter is strong enough to lead the whole Pack right now. He doesn’t want to do it, and I don’t blame him, but he does want to keep his people safe. He’s a leader, and he accepts responsibility for everything that comes with it.”

“Good.”

“I’m more worried about you. Are you sure?”

That was a question with a long and loaded answer. It was best to start at an easier place and work my way toward it.

“When the shapeshifters jumped us in the forest, and that big one tried to eat my head, and then I stabbed her?”

“Mhm.”

“I enjoyed it.” And there it was. I said it and waited.

“I know,” he said. “After you killed the skull mage, you turned to me and you were smiling. A big, bright smile. Old Kate smile.”

“Old Kate?”

“Dangerous Kate. Stabby Kate. My Kate.”

I raised my head and leaned it on my bent elbow. “Stabby?”

“Yes. Exciting.” He grinned.

So far, so good. “More words, bigger hole, Your Furriness.”

“You haven’t called me that in forever.”

“You haven’t roared in forever.”

His grin relaxed into a softer smile. “When I was on the wall, with Keelan’s pack at my back, it felt right. Seeing the enemy come, and meeting them, and stopping them. I missed it. It was a battle, Kate. We haven’t been in a battle together in forever.”

It was time to stop dipping my toes into the water and just jump in.

Like right about now.

Now would be good.

“Some pair of homicidal maniacs we are,” I murmured, buying time.

“We’re not maniacs. We do what we have to do, and we do it well. Like it or not, the world needs an occasional roar. Maybe in the future it won’t, but for now, it can use it… Someone is coming up the stairs.”

We waited silently.

A careful knock echoed through the door.

“Consort,” Jynx said. “There are two guys here to see you. They said they were ‘of the Owl.’”

“Thanks.”

She walked away. Saved by the visitors.

“‘Of the Owl’?” Curran’s eyebrows furrowed.

“My father is the gift that keeps on giving.” I rolled out of bed. “Come with?”

“Of course.” He chuckled low. “I’ll stand next to you and look menacing.”

“No need to stand. You can sit and look menacing.”

“Thank you, my queen.”

“Yes, be grateful that I’m a wise and benevolent ruler.”

We pulled on our clothes and walked out onto the balcony.

Two men waited on the street below us, blocked by a wall of shapeshifters. The younger wore an old green T-shirt and a red ballcap. The older man had chosen a worn gray sweatshirt and a white ballcap. They both wore jeans, and their beat-up work boots looked tired. A couple of day laborers waiting to be picked up, ready to work and perfectly harmless. Wouldn’t give them a second glance.

The older man looked up. His skin was like ancient parchment, a light, even umber. His face was long, made longer by a dense, short beard streaked with gray. His cheekbones stood out, the cheeks so devoid of fat that they had developed vertical creases. His eyes were dark and narrow under thick eyebrows. Everything about him, from the deep furrows in his forehead when he squinted against the evening sun to the harsh lines of his nose, was sharp, angular, and severe, and yet he was a handsome older man.

Jushur, son of Kizzura. Also known as Akku the Owl. My father’s former spymaster. Those eyes had witnessed the brutal massacre of my family, the wonders of my father’s rule, the zenith of Shinar, and the end of the world.

The man next to him looked less than half his age. Same profile, same pronounced cheekbones, same high forehead, and same golden undertone to the skin. Rimush possessed a kind of steady calm. Nothing seemed to faze him. He looked at me now like a man who had climbed half of a steep mountain. He knew there would be falling rocks, landslides, and hungry monsters along the way, because he had beaten some of them already, and he was determined to ascend to the apex.

Nothing good would come from this meeting.

“Let them up,” I said.

My father’s former spymaster looked around the balcony before sitting in his designated rocking chair. Rimush ignored his chair and positioned himself behind his father, standing quietly. Keelan took the identical position behind me and Curran.

The balcony door opened and Andre came in, carrying a coffee table filled with drinks and a platter of cookies with one hand. He set it between us, nodded to Curran and me, and went back inside.

Rimush’s standing bugged me, but asking him to sit was pointless and telling him to sit would acknowledge my authority over him, which I was doing my absolute best to reject. Keelan was clearly not sitting down either.

“Do you prefer Jushur or Akku?” I took the coffee pot from the table and poured two cups. Roland had mentioned that Akku was a coffee fiend.

“Jushur,” he said. “The man named Akku died when his king left the world.”

How did Hugh put it that one time? The king is out, long rule the queen. Life must go on.

“Fair enough. Sugar? Cream?”

Jushur took a moment to answer. “Sugar, please.”

Rimush remained silent.

I spooned some sugar into the cups and offered them to the two visitors. “Please.”

Jushur gave me an odd look, took the cup, and sipped. Rimush took one step forward, picked up his cup as if it were made of gold, and took a small swallow.

“You have chosen a public place for this meeting,” Jushur said.

“These are my people. I trust them with my safety.”

“Some words are only meant for certain ears.”

“If you wanted to discuss dangerous secrets, you wouldn’t have sought me out here. You know where I live.”

Jushur took a sip of his coffee.

Kate one, Jushur zero. Time to press my advantage.

“Your son pledged himself to me.”

“So he told me,” the spymaster said.

“I fear his loyalty is misplaced. I’m not the queen he’s looking for.”

Jushur met my eyes. “In this life each of us must decide three things for ourselves: who to worship, who to marry, and who to serve. Only Rimush can determine if you are suitable to lead him.”

Outmaneuvered. Fine. I still had an ace up my sleeve.

“My father tells me that Rimush will need a pulse of our power to unlock his full potential.”

Jushur remained silent.

“I will do this for him without a pledge or any obligation. He can serve another or no one.”

Rimush bowed deeply. “You are very generous, Sharratum.”

“The Consort is merciful and kind to a fault,” Keelan said.

The two of them stared at each other for half a second.

“I’m sure he is,” Jushur said.

Ha!

A corner of Curran’s mouth curled slightly. He forced his face back into a neutral expression.

“Why would you grant my son this gift? It’s a fair bargain: a lifetime of service for a lifetime of power.”

“Your full power shouldn’t be held hostage,” I told Rimush. “It shouldn’t cost you your freedom. It was wrong of my family to bind your family in this way. It’s only right that I release you from it.”

Jushur cleared his throat. “Your father’s view is not strictly accurate.”

“Which part?”

“We do not require the magic of your bloodline to reach our full potential. We can achieve it at any time.”

Oh. Oh! “You lied to my father.”

Jushur sipped his coffee. “Technically, we lied to your grandfather.”

“Why?”

“Shalmaneser im’Shinar was a suspicious man who saw plots and betrayers everywhere. We misled him to ensure the safety of future generations. Since he believed our young ones couldn’t reach their full power without his permission, he didn’t see them as a threat.”

Wow.

“Your father never directly confirmed it with us. He simply assumed his parent’s words to be fact. He prided himself on his knowledge. Pointing out his ignorance would’ve caused him undue distress.”

I almost laughed. Well, didn’t that just take the cake?

“So you managed my father. As amusing as it is, I don’t want to be managed.”

“Our aim isn’t to manage, but to support and assist,” Rimush said.

“You lied by omission. How can I trust you?”

“And yet we admitted our lie,” Jushur said. “Should that not put you at ease?”

“One can admit to a small lie to get away with a bigger one.”

Jushur narrowed his eyes. “You are very unlike your father.”

“Yes. All the more reason not to serve me. More coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

I refilled his cup and added more sugar.

“We are all a product of our time,” Jushur said.

Not all of us. Like my father, my aunt also had awakened people who’d gone into deep sleep to support her in the new age. When I spoke to them, it was very clear that they had belonged to a different time. The mannerisms, the speech patterns, even their references were all different. Jushur spoke like he was born after the Shift. He’d adapted completely.

“Your grandfather, Shalmaneser, was one of twelve candidates for the throne. He grew up in a time of bitter strife when his siblings and cousins stabbed each other in the back. Winning his trust was a feat worthy of legends. He wanted to obtain power and keep it. He was convinced he was entitled to it by the virtue of his birth and abilities and, most importantly, he didn’t want any of his siblings to have it.”

I’d read the chronicles Erra’s staff had faithfully reproduced in the modern age. To say that my grandfather was paranoid would be a criminal understatement.

“Your father, Nimrrad im’Shinar, was a genius without equal. His star shone so brightly, it occasionally blinded him.”

More than occasionally. He pretty much had permanent blinders on when it came to certain things.

“Your father sought knowledge, progress, and enlightenment. He believed in the power of his mind so much, he couldn’t fathom that someone under his command might not share his vision. To him, his path was so glaringly obvious that any rational being had to follow it.”

True.

“You, too, are shaped by your times. The world has fallen apart around you. It’s now trying to be reborn like a phoenix from its ashes. We must endure its birthing pains even as they plunge us into danger. You want both power and knowledge, but not for their own sakes. You want them to keep your people safe and free. You fear one thing above all else.”

“And what is that?”

“An unfettered version of yourself giving free rein of your power. You fear it so much, you’ve shackled yourself.”

Okay, he had me there.

“I have served two rulers of Shinar,” Jushur said. “It is my greatest reward and blessing that I will serve a third, the one truly deserving of my loyalty, before my body becomes dust and my soul passes from this world.”

Full stop.

Jushur rose and took a knee. Rimush knelt behind him.

“I’ve dedicated many years to the survival of your family. There are others like me, brought here by your father, adrift and alone, strangers in an alien land. Your people are crying out in the wilderness, for they need a home. Will you turn a deaf ear to our desperate pleas? Will you reject us? Will you cast us out after all those generations of service?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Keelan muttered.

“Please, Sharratum.” Jushur intoned. “Allow us to stay.”

He knew exactly which buttons to push. My father did drag them here. They had followed him into comas that lasted thousands of years, not knowing if they would ever wake up. Despite all their manipulations and careful managing, they were loyal. Now my father was gone, and they needed someone to take care of them. They could take care of themselves, true, but my family owed them a debt. I could wave my hands and say it wasn’t my problem. After all, I hadn’t created this issue. I shouldn’t be responsible for the mistakes of a megalomaniac wizard just because he happened to be my father. And yet it felt like the wrong thing to do.

They were still kneeling.

“I’ll think about it,” I growled.