Ilona Andrews - Magic Binds

“He would’ve fought Grandmother,” I thought out loud. “She didn’t seem pleased, so it must’ve taken a lot out of him. The last time I saw him, he seemed tired. Then he’ll get home and find a burned-out ruin. That will make him livid. Erra’s right. He will want to crush the Pack with one blow.”

“We need soldiers,” Curran said.

“The Guild won’t fight without a lot of money on the table,” I said. “We can’t afford it.”

“Pay them out of your dowry,” Erra said.

“I have no dowry.”

“Your father will give you a dowry.”

“We are preparing to fight him on the battlefield.”

“Those two things are completely separate,” my aunt said. “No princess of Shinar ever went to her wedding without a dowry.”

“Even if we had the money,” Curran said, “at this point, the mercs aren’t trained to fight as a unit. Give me six months, and we can field them, but right now they would be fodder. We can pick up a few choice fighters from the Guild, but no real numbers to speak of.”

“Fine. Who else do we have?” Erra asked.

“The god of terror and the dark volhv,” I told her.

“The one from yesterday? The handsome one?”

“Yes.” Roman would just love that. He was so disturbed by Erra yesterday, he didn’t even crack any one-liners. He just sat quietly with a freaked-out look on his face when she demanded that we explain the fight to her. I would have to wait for the right moment to drop that one on him.

“That’s good, but it’s not an army. Your half-breed friends will lose this battle if you don’t field troops, because your father will bring enough force to crush them.”

“We can get the Order to help,” I said. “They will defend against Roland.”

“How many soldiers?”

“Twelve,” Curran said. “They are elite troops. It’s not an army.”

“Who can you compel into service?” Erra asked.

“I can’t compel anyone,” I said. “I can ask for help but it would take time and diplomacy.”

The witches might help. The College of Mages would take too long. They spent more time deliberating what to get for lunch than most people spent choosing a house.

“We don’t have time,” Curran said. “Can you strip the People’s vampires from them and run them on the field?”

“Yes. They wouldn’t do anything except run in a horde, but yes.”

“You mean to tell me that Im left his necromancers here? In that gaudy nightmare of a castle?”

“Yes.”

Erra rolled her head up and looked straight at the ceiling. “Gods give me patience. How many?”

“Probably a hundred navigators, give or take thirty depending on how accomplished the journeymen are. Around four hundred vampires.”

At least that’s how many I ballparked the last time I had reviewed them. I made it a habit to pass by the Casino and check on them periodically.

“There is your army.”

“They’re loyal to my father. They are terrified of him.”

“No,” Erra said. “They’re loyal to the blood and the promises it holds. As soon as your Herald gets here and we get the banners, you will go and take control of your army. You will make them obey.”

She was right. We needed the navigators and the undead. We needed them to survive. But Ghastek wouldn’t serve me.

“How? I can threaten them, but they would only turn on me in the fight when it matters most.”

“Why do people follow your father?” Erra asked.

“Because . . .” Landon Nez, the Legatus of the Golden Legion, flashed before my eyes. What was it he said . . . “Because being in his presence is like being in the presence of a god who loves you. When he smiles, it’s like the sun has risen. When he withdraws his affection, it’s like winter.”

“Exactly. You will go into that white crime of a palace, you will show them that you love them above all others, and you will take your legion. I once took a city with five men and a lame goat. If I can do that, you can convince the necromancers to pledge themselves to you. Do this or die.”

I looked at Curran.

“We need troops,” he said. “If you don’t win their loyalty, they’re a wild card. Either they’ll leave the city and reinforce Roland, or he’ll use them as a knife in your back.”

“If you can’t lock them in, you’ll have to kill them,” Erra said.

I looked at her.

“This is war,” my aunt said. “If you fail to convert them, you must kill every vampire in that wretched place.”

“Any active necromancers would be lobotomized.” When a vampire piloted by a navigator died before the navigator severed the connection, the navigator’s mind couldn’t deal with the death.

“Perfect,” Erra said.

“That’s not who I am and that’s not what I do.”

“Then bring them under your banner. You can’t dance around hard decisions anymore. Your father won’t.”

Convert a bunch of Masters of the Dead who think they run the world. Piece of cake.

Adora came down the stairs. She was wearing an old pair of my jeans and a T-shirt. Julie must’ve given her clothes yesterday.

I turned to Curran. “I want to hit the Order first. Will you come with me?”

“Yes.”

I turned to Adora. “I want you to come with me, too.”

An hour later Curran, Adora, and I walked into the Order of Merciful Aid. It looked nothing like I remembered. The gray paint was gone. The carpet, too. The hallway was painted light beige; the floor was sealed concrete. Even Maxine’s desk had undergone a face-lift—brand-new and flanked by a luxuriously ergonomic office chair. The old prim secretary smiled at me.

“We’re here to see the knight-protector.”

“Go ahead,” she said.

We walked into Nick’s office. When Ted Moynohan occupied it, it was a dark cave decorated with all things Texas. Gone were the burgundy drapes, the massive desk of cherry wood and samples of barbed wire on the wall. Now it was a wide, well-lit space, with plants and pale, thin curtains. Nick sat behind a desk of blond wood. He raised his head as we approached.

“Yes?”

“This is Knight-protector Nick Feldman,” I told Adora. “He runs the Order’s Atlanta chapter. Do you know what the Order is?”

She nodded.

“Nick worked undercover in Hugh d’Ambray’s inner circle for two years.”

I turned to Nick.

“This is Adora. She is sahanu.”

He sat up straighter. The name made an impression.

I had thought the best way was to take baby steps. I was wrong. If I didn’t clear things up now, she would keep sacrificing herself for my sake.

I took a deep breath and looked Nick in the eye. “I’d like you to explain to her exactly what my father and I are.”

Nick smiled, and there was not a shred of humor in that grin.

NICK TALKED FOR almost forty-five minutes. Sometimes I added things to clarify, sometimes Curran did. To say Nick didn’t sugarcoat things would be an understatement. In his two years undercover, he had been forced to see things and do things that violated the very core of who he was. He let his hate flow.

Adora sat quietly through it all, her face stoic. Sometimes she looked to me or Curran for confirmation. When he finished, she said, “Thank you.” I couldn’t tell if any of it made an impact.

Nick fixed me with his stare. “The Pack burned Nimrod’s base.”

The Order always had good intel. “Yes.”

“He isn’t going to let it slide.”

“No.”

“When and where?” Nick asked.

“At the Keep,” Curran said. “Direct assault with overwhelming force, as soon as the new magic wave hits. In daylight.”

“Blood is best viewed in daylight,” Nick said.