Cold Reign (Jane Yellowrock #11)(120)

“You weren’t there,” Eli said.

“Coms were on. It’s all recorded. I’ve listened to it about a dozen times now. Pretty much got it all down.”

“Katie?” I asked.

“In Leo’s lair, caged with her sister until Leo can pass judgment. He loves her, so she may not die as a traitor. But she could have come to Leo at any time with word of her sister and Leo would have forgiven them both. Now it isn’t so certain that he will give pardon.”

“There were sleepers in Leo’s house. Still are, I expect. Katie knew that,” I said. “She couldn’t take the risk.”

Edmund didn’t reply to that. Rather, he poured himself more wine, poured Bruiser more tea, and brought me another slab of ribeye. The whole sixteen pounds wouldn’t fit on my plate at once. Go figure. “Before dawn,” he said as he transferred meat to my plate, “the heads of the European Mithrans you had collected, and all others in accordance with Leo’s orders, were placed into three coolers and delivered to the ghost ship in Lake Borgne.”

I started eating and Ed retook his seat. “They were accompanied by an envoy carrying a letter from Leonard Pellissier, Master of the City of New Orleans.”

At the formal titles, I stopped shoving food into my mouth. Chewed. Waited.

“The envelope was addressed to Titus Flavius Vespasianus,” he said, managing to sound ever so slightly bored. I kicked him under the table and he went on, a faint smile on his face. “Not to Emperor Titus Flavius Vespasianus. Just to Titus. A calculated insult. It was a challenge to blood duel. Leo has said there will be no further moves in this match. He will clear the board and challenge the dark king to blood duel. With a dark queen at his side, he will end the cold reign of the European Mithrans.”

I had a bad feeling that the dark queen was me. I scowled at Ed. He smiled back, genial and unperturbed.

“The coolers?” Alex asked. “Derek said it was a stink worse than death by the time the Europeans agreed to drop the obfuscation spell and accept them.”

Alex chortled, all amused disdain. It was a very grown up, cynical sound.

Eli finished his meal and cleaned away the dirty dishes, saying, “According to the Coast Guard, who were keeping watch, when the obfuscation working around the ship fell, Leo’s enemies took the coolers aboard, along with their remaining people—all in silver chains and well drained, though still undead.”

“Wait,” I said. “You weren’t there?”

“No,” Eli said, his voice bland. “We were grieving.”

“Oh.” For me. Right. I thought about that for a while, started eating again.

As I finished the last bite of beef, Ed picked up the narrative. “The envoy’s delivery of challenge to Sangre Duello was accepted, with assurances that it would be delivered to Titus Flavius Vespasianus, and the ship motored out, deep into international waters in the gulf.”

Eli added, “The Coast Guard’s keeping an eye on their progress, though if they reapply the obfuscation working we’ll lose them.”

“Bethany?” I asked, smelling dishwashing detergent and hearing water filling the sink.

“Her head went with the others,” Bruiser said shortly.

I grunted.

“Outclan priestesses are banned from intervening in international Mithran politics,” Edmund said, his eyes on my honeybunch, “so there will be no repercussions for George Dumas taking her head.”

Bethany had been a special project of Bruiser’s from the time he was a boy. I shot him a glance, taking in his face, his eyes. Ravaged and grieving and still terrified. I swallowed down a chunk of half-chewed beef and touched his hand. “I’m sorry. I know she meant a lot to you.”

His eyes softened and he gripped my hand. “I made the choice for happiness a long time ago. For you.”

And my heart melted. I pulled my hand away and went back to eating. There was still a couple pounds of meat left. Between chatter, the guys were watching me eat, and during those moments, it was cutlery against stoneware and the sound of chewing. Not much else.

“There’s a shindig at Royal Mojo Blues tonight,” Alex said. “Eli and Ed and I are going. You two interested? Or are you gonna be too busy bumping uglies?” There was a thump under the table. “Ow! What? You know that’s what they do, right? They’re not asexual. Dang, bro. Just because you and Syl broke up you don’t hafta kick me.”

I stopped, fork halfway to my mouth. “You and Syl?”

Eli shrugged. “Long-distance stuff. That stupid cruise. It had stopped working three months ago. I just hadn’t ended it.”

“Sorry,” I said, knowing it wasn’t enough, but not knowing what to say. My social skills were excellent at the fist-bumping stage and were getting better at the vamp-protocol stage, but the stuff in between, where most humans live, was nonexistent.

“Happens.” Eli shrugged. A real shrug, and not one of his tiny things. And I realized he was moving like a normal person, not like the controlled version gifted back to him by Uncle Sam when the government was finished using him. I remembered the Choctaw water ceremony. The emotional break in the limo. The tears. Maybe he was beginning to heal. I stuffed more meat in and chewed. Swallowed. “I could do some dancing.” I looked down at my rounded belly. It looked like a volleyball had been strapped to me. Or a sixteen-pound ribeye. “If I can get into clothes.”