J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [352]
But was the glymera going to be smart about the threat? No.
According to the e-mail he’d just gotten from the Princeps Council’s treasurer, the idiots were not going to their safe houses. Instead, they had to mourn this “staggering loss of such a well-appointed male and female of worth” by throwing another party.
No doubt so that they could wage a power struggle for who would be the next leahdyre.
And in closing? The guy had tacked on a little ditty that the glymera’s Council would be collecting on the debt owed to Lash’s family as a result of Qhuinn’s actions.
Well, weren’t they givers. It wasn’t like they wanted the cash for themselves to . . . say . . . fete a new leahdyre. Oh, hell, no. They were “safeguarding the important precedent of ensuring that bad deeds were punished.”
Sure they were.
Thank God Qhuinn was free of them, although Wrath’s appointment of the kid as John’s ahstrux nohtrum was a shocker. Bold move, especially as it was retroactive. And just over what appeared to be a fight that Qhuinn had stopped in an inappropriate way? There had to be something more to what had happened in that shower, something that was being kept on the down-low. Otherwise, it made no sense.
The glymera was going to know Wrath was protecting Qhuinn, and the appointment was going to come back to bite the king at some point. Even so, Phury was glad that was the way it had all shaken out. John, Blay, and Qhuinn had been the cream of the trainee crop, and Lash . . . well, Lash had always been trouble.
Qhuinn might have had the mismatched eyes, but Lash had had the defect. There had always been something off with that kid.
The computer beeped as another e-mail landed in the Brotherhood’s inbox. This time it was the late leahdyre’s right-hand man. And what do you know, the guy advocated a “strong stance against what is a tragic series of losses, but ultimately a low threat to our secured abodes. It is best at this time that we come together and go through the appropriate mourning rituals for our dearly departed. . . .”
Okay, talk about stupid. Anyone with half a brain would pack up their matched sets of LV and hightail it out of town until the dust settled. But no, they’d rather get their spats and their gloves out and make like they were in a Merchant-Ivory movie, with all the black clothes and the ceremonial expressions of condolence. He could just hear the elaborate, phony-ass sympathy exchanges they’d volley back and forth to one another while mushroom puffs were passed by doggen in uniform and a polite fight for political control ensued.
He only hoped they would come to their senses, because even though they pissed him off, he didn’t want them waking up dead, so to speak. Wrath could try to order them out of Caldwell, but chances were that would just make them dig their heels in even harder. The king and the aristocracy were not friends. Hell, they were barely allies.
Another e-mail came in, and it was more of the same. We’re staying and throwing a party.
Man, he needed a blunt.
And he needed . . .
The closet door swung open, and Cormia stepped out of the secret passageway to the tunnel. There was a lavender rose in her elegant hand and a graceful reserve to her face.
“Cormia?” he said, then felt ridiculous. Like she’d changed her name to Trixie or Irene sometime in the last day? “Is there something wrong?”
“I don’t mean to bother you. Fritz suggested . . .” She turned around as if she expected the butler to be right behind her. “Ah . . . he brought me here.”
Phury stood up, thinking this might just be payback from the butler for his untimely interruption the night before. And didn’t that make the doggen a hero. “I’m glad.”
Well, maybe glad wasn’t exactly the right word. Unfortunately, his urge to smoke was replaced with the urgent need to do something else with his mouth. Although sucking would still be involved.
Another e-mail came through, and the laptop