Peace Talks (The Dresden Files, #16)(28)

But … Lara was probably the smart person to seek help from. I had just expected it to take a few minutes and an effort of dispassionate reasoning to get that through to Justine. My bad, maybe. Maybe I’d made the unthinking assumption that Justine was too pretty to be smart, and too enamored of my brother to be rational.

You have to be careful with assumptions. In my line of work, they can get you killed.

“If she doesn’t, she will soon,” I said. “I came straight to you.”

She nodded jerkily. “How is he?”

“He’ll live,” I said. I’d seen him worse off. Once. But there was no point in torturing her with the details. “And the svartalves are sticklers for protocol. They won’t just kill him. They’ll abide by the Accords.”

“You’re sure?” Justine asked me.

“If you knew them,” I said, “you wouldn’t ask that. I’m sure.”

Justine exhaled slowly. “I … Where are my manners? Come in, please. Sit.”

“Thank you,” I said, and did. Thomas’s apartment had been done all in art deco and stainless steel. It had been aesthetically excellent, and I’d hated it. Justine’s ongoing presence there had changed things. The furniture was softer and comfier than it had been in the past, and there was more pleasant clutter, including books and a number of different kinds of craft projects, plus a small sewing area added to a corner that had previously contained only a large and expensive vase.

I sat down in the corner of the couch closest to the love seat, where Thomas and Justine habitually resided, generally together.

Justine sat down on her side of the love seat, curling her legs up beneath her, and looked very small.

“This is bad,” she said quietly. “Isn’t it?”

“It’s …” I blew out a breath, choosing my words carefully. “Sticky. This isn’t a problem I can blow up or burn down.”

“You think he’ll get out of it?” she asked.

Hell’s bells. If there was any getting out of this one, I didn’t see how he was going to manage it. The svartalves had the vices of their virtues: Those who labor never to wrong another see scant value in forgiveness. Thomas had betrayed them. They weren’t going to rest until the scales had been balanced to their satisfaction.

“I think,” I said, “that it isn’t over until it’s over. It’s possible that the emissary will find a way to resolve the situation without further loss of life.”

Her dark eyes watched my face closely. “Do you think that’s what will happen?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “We didn’t get to talk much, but Thomas wanted me to come see you and make sure you know that he loves you.”

She made an impatient sound and folded her arms. “If he loved me, then why …” She bit off the words and bowed her head, the composed veneer cracking. She shuddered in silence for a moment before her voice came out again, faded and cracked around the edges. “Why? Why, Harry? I don’t understand why he would do that.”

Hell. I didn’t, either. Things had been moving so fast that there’d been no time to sit down and ask myself some pretty basic questions. Like, why the hell had my brother tried to kill the svartalf king? Was that what had happened at all? Or was it only what had happened from the svartalves’ point of view?

What had my brother been doing? Why had he been doing it?

More questions that needed answers. At this rate, I was going to need a roll of newsprint to get them all written down.

Well then. Answer some questions. Starting with why my brother had gotten violent with the svartalves. And why was Etri still alive, if my brother had set out to kill him? Say what you will about Thomas, he’s good in a fight. Really good. I’d seen him take up gun and blade more times than I could count.

And every time he’d done it, my brother had gone into a fight clear-headed and purposeful. Thomas could fight, but he didn’t do it for fun. So that answered one question, right there.

“Whatever he did,” I said, “he had a good reason.”

“What reason?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“Hell if I know,” I said.

“He told you,” she said. “About me. Us.” She put a hand on her stomach.

“Yeah,” I said. “Um. Congratulations.”

“But what if he … if he doesn’t come home …”

I sat there, feeling helpless. “ Hey … Justine, hey … He’s still alive. And I’m going to make sure he stays that way.”

She looked up at me, loose hairs stuck to the tear streaks on her face. “You are?”

Oh my.

As she looked at me, I realized some part of me had made decisions without checking in with my conscious brain. Again.

I was going to keep my brother alive or die in the effort. It didn’t matter who was standing in the way. Not even if it was Etri and Mab and Lara and the whole White Council to boot.

Oh dear.

Cyclical winds rising. Unprecedented numbers of sharks schooling. Studio execs lurking with contracts for numbered sequels, ad infinitum.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I am.”

She leaned forward, her eyes beseeching. “Do you promise, Harry? You?”