Chapter Thirteen: To See Justice

They are the last ones to arrive at the Conclave.

It's what Apollo had wanted. He wanted to be able to see who sat next to whom—who was allying themselves with who, and who was holding warily back. He also wanted to give Shae, Lang and Juniper a chance to see if there were any traps, and since he hasn't received any word from them, he assumes it's safe.

Or at least feels more confident that it's safe. He'll certainly be keeping an eye on their known allies as they approach, looking for any signs of duress.

Klavier walks at his side, the only one of Apollo's pack to come with him. He walks easily, his head up, his bearing cool and confident. If Apollo didn't know that Klavier had been limping about Edgeworth's house two hours ago while they coordinated breakfast, he'd believe Klavier has completely recovered.

Since he does know Klavier was limping not that long ago, he hopes to keep this interrogation short and sweet.

Ema, Gumshoe, Athena, and Sebastian are waiting in another car a block away from the park where the Conclave is being held. Tradition has only the alpha and one assistant come to the Conclave, but Apollo wanted to have Sebastian near at hand, in case Sebastian needs the pack or in case Sebastian's existence becomes common knowledge and he has to be vetted by the other alphas. Taking Sebastian without protection had been unthinkable, and once Gumshoe was going leaving the women behind became, in their own word, untenable.

Apollo wonders how many of the other alphas have pack hiding in the vicinity of the Conclave, and then decides it doesn't matter. If something goes wrong, it's going to go wrong very quickly, before backup could even hope to arrive.

"Brighter smile, mein Alpha." Klavier's own grin is half-feral as they approach the pavilion where the alphas are gathered. "We hunt together, after all, and no one has escaped our combined attention before."

A smile slides into place before Apollo can really think about it. It is fun hunting with Klavier, and the part of him that Klavier named Sol a month that seems like a lifetime ago delights in the prospect. "We've got this."

"Ja." Klavier tosses his head back, bangs falling expertly—annoyingly—into the perfect place as he does.

Then they've arrived, seemingly between one breath and the next. Shae and Juniper are both at the back of the pavilion, watching everyone else closely, their betas at their sides. A faint smile touches Navon's face when he sees them, but he makes no gesture to give away his thoughts. Clemens and Colyte sit at either end of the zig-zag group of uninvolved alphas, Clemens on the right hand side, Colyte on the left.

And at the front of the pavilion sit Pot and Tainer. Rex looks terrible, her eyes red-rimmed, her hands clenched into fists at her side. Her beta sits at her side, and bound together in front of them must be the wolf who attacked Klavier—Less, that was his name.

Pot looks fine. He looks better than fine, an arrogant smile on his lips, and Apollo looks for the man's beta before realizing with a sinking heart that instead of bringing another adult with him Pot brought the child—the girl who had stood in front of Pot and growled defiance at Apollo yesterday.

"Well, well." Pot seizes control of the meeting immediately, lounging back even further on the picnic bench. "Guess they did decide to show up. Not completely addle-brained, then. At least not yet."

Apollo doesn't bother rising to the bait, sweeping his eyes over the congregation—picking out Lang, leaning against one of the pavilion supports next to Clemens. The Interpol agent stands with his arms crossed in front of his chest, seeming completely unconcerned.

Pot doesn't like to be ignored. His smile slips as he leans forward, hands dangling between his legs. "Why have you called us here on the eve of the full, Justice? Don't you have enough to worry about with your night-cursed beta and your incomplete pack?"

It's remarkably satisfying being able to frustrate a man just by being calm, so Apollo continues to do just that. He projects his voice so that everyone can hear, but he doesn't allow any of the fury or accusation into it. That will come later. "You all know why we're here. Though perhaps Destin here is getting a bit senile. I would think you'd remember my asking you yesterday for assistance in tracking down the wolf who would use silver against his own kind."

A low growl runs through the assembled alphas—not surprise, but a churning anger. They don't like the idea of someone using their weakness against them—of one of their own using their weakness against them.

Good. Apollo's not too keen on it, either.

Pot raises a hand, and the growling dies down. "Now, I get why you're upset. But I have to ask—what makes you so certain it was a wolf who did it? There are Bloodline hunters out there, and as much as we try to keep our secrets it's kind of a well known weakness."

Klavier responds with a razor-thin smile, his hands in his jean pockets. "Herr Pot, how many people do you think know about Apollo and I?"

"Well, I really wouldn't know." Destin's smile becomes wider, and he casts a glance back to make sure the other alphas are listening. "I mean, your pack is very bad at playing by the rules, aren't you?"

He couldn't mean—well, if he does, this is going to be far easier than Apollo thought it would be. "Explain what you're insinuating by that."

"Your pack was created because of a crime—two crimes, actually." Pot points at Apollo. "You shouldn't exist, double-gifted." Somehow he makes the words into a curse, and his finger shifts from Apollo to Klavier. "And the night-cursed definitely shouldn't exist. And yet those crimes went unpunished due to the... kindness of some of our Conclave's members."

Weakness is what he means, and he manages to show that in tone and body.

Apollo opens his mouth to snap out a reply, frustrated that Pot hasn't given the game away already by admitting he knows about Sebastian, but Colyte speaks first. The man's voice is smooth and calm, as though they were discussing the weather. "They were tried for their crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and found guilty only of bad luck. Are you trying to dispute this Conclave's actions last month?"

Pot holds his hands up, his mouth twisting into a too-satisfied smirk. "Not at all. I just want their history to be kept in mind as we move forward."

He just wants to remind everyone that they considered killing Apollo and Klavier before, so when Sebastian's existence becomes known he can use it against them. Apollo returns the man's smile, remembering Wright's advice to always smile for the client. Even if the client's himself, maybe it will help. "My beta was shot with a silver bullet approximately thirty-six hours ago. If anyone would like to debate this, please, come forward. The wound still smells a bit like silver."

Klavier stares around the circle, not meeting anyone's eyes but ensuring each alpha sees how willing he is to prove his point.

Clemens waves a hand. "No one's debating that it happened. And you insist that no one but another wolf could have done it?"

Apollo stares at the woman's forehead, barely remembering not to make eye contact and turn this into a dominance contest. "No one but my soon-to-be pack-mates knew about myself and Klavier. They didn't tell anyone; Klavier and I didn't tell anyone; that means one of you guys betrayed us. Plain and simple."

The accusation causes another stir among the alphas, and this time assistance comes from an unexpected place—Rex stands up, one hand on Less' head. "They're telling the truth. It was indeed a wolf who betrayed them—several wolves, in fact."

Pot makes a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. "And why should we accept your word about that, stray-saver?"

The way he says the words makes them sound dirty, like a curse.

For a moment Rex just looks confused; then her face darkens, rage bringing a blush to color her face up to ear-tips. "Have I ever lied to this Conclave? If anyone would say that I have, stand now and make your accusation."

"Hush, now." Pot makes a soothing gesture with his right hand. Destin meets Rex's eyes for a brief moment—a dominance contest, Apollo realizes. One that the woman loses. "I didn't say you were lying, j—"

"Actually, Herr Despot, you did." Klavier cuts over the man's clearly-prepared speech, smiling as he does. His arms are crossed in front of his chest, but Apollo suspects if there were a wall in striking distance it would be feeling Klavier's fist soon. "Questioning why others should accept her word is a clear insinuation that she is a liar. How else would you have it be interpreted?"

Pot turns his smile on Klavier, his eyes searching to meet Klavier's. Apollo can feel Klavier tense beside him. Pot wouldn't—oh, yes he would, and Apollo isn't going to stand for that. Trying his hardest to meet Pot's gaze, to keep him from threatening Klavier, Apollo allows his alpha status to ratchet upward.

Everyone shifts—including Lang, the Interpol agent mouthing the word careful towards Apollo. As soon as Pot stops trying to intimidate Klavier, Apollo lets his own scent and sense of power return to normal.

Apollo almost yells objection, but since this isn't technically a court of law, he restrains himself. His voice is stiff with fury when he speaks. "I'd appreciate it if you stopped trying to intimidate others into not speaking."

The sneer on Pot's face only grows. "Yes, well, I'd appreciate it if—"

The little girl puts a hand on Pot's arm, her head held low, her whole body twisted in submission.

Visibly drawing himself together, Pot pats the little girl on the head. "Right. What I was trying to say before being so rudely interrupted is that Rex has a tendency to choose less-than-stable people for her packs. Old strays are what they are for a reason, after all. So even though you've been told something by your subordinate there, it doesn't mean that it's true."

"You coward." Rex's voice trembles with rage—rage and a certain type of grief, one that Apollo usually associates with betrayal. "You haughty, clod-footed, cat-brained traitor. You set all this up, and you're really going to try to weasel out of any responsibility?"

"Set what up? If you think I'm involved with this, you're wrong." Pot attempts to project innocence, and Apollo's bracelet practically cuts his hand off. "I haven't done anything to betray you, Rex. Nothing immoral or questionable."

He isn't lying about that. He believes he hasn't done anything wrong, and given what Apollo suspects him of that's absolutely horrifying.

Pot leans towards Rex. "If your pack decided to betray you, that's not my fault. Everyone's told you that you make bad decisions about who to bring in. It's not—"

"Proper to lead the witness." Klavier's teeth show in a grin that is a clear threat. "Why do we not listen to what Less has to say with our own ears? Assuming that's all right with you, Rex?"

Rex gives a tight, stiff nod. Touching Less' shoulder, she guides the man as he shuffles forward, his bindings making it hard for him to move. "Tell them what you told me. All of it."

Less licks his lips, his eyes staying fixed on the ground, his bound limbs seeming to settle awkwardly no matter how he shifts. "I did it. I made the silver bullet."

There is a flurry of movement among the assembled alphas, and Apollo watches hands rise to sketch out various circular motions. Lang lifts his right hand to chest height, index finger curled tight to his palm while the tip of his thumb touches the tips of his other curled fingers. The crescent-moon shape of the wolves' Lady, their goddess of pack and prosperity—a sign to bring good fortune or ward off ill. It's not exactly the same as what the others are doing, but between the familiar symbol and the way Lang is looking at him, willing him to understand, Apollo gets it.

Hopefully it's a good thing that the werewolves are as upset as Apollo is about silver being used by one of their own.

"I had to do it!" Less looks frantically around the assembly, his voice cracking up, a low whine underlying all his words. "It's something that had to be done. We can't let a night-cursed walk free among us. Bad enough we've got bloodlines mixing—having that and someone cut off from the Lady's grace—"

"Less." Rex's voice is stern. "Who told you that you had to do it? Who talked to you about this?"

"Yes, Less." Pot leans forward, his eyes spearing through the submissive wolf. "Who told you what to do?"

Less leans back, but Rex isn't there to support him, having returned to her seat at her beta's side. Curling his shoulders forward, the submissive wolf whimpers and shakes his head.

"Speak the truth." Rex's voice is a whip-crack, the command in it obvious.

A long, low wail rises up from the man's throat, and he bends double, shaking violently in his restraints. "He'll hurt everyone. He was just supposed to take care of the night-cursed. He said that he just wanted the silver bullets to put right what the Conclave incorrectly decided. Because you forget our own tales, our own truths, trying to blend in with the rest of humanity, and—"

"Less." Shae speaks calmly. "Did someone threaten your pack?"

Less stays bowed double. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

"This is getting us nowhere." Rex scrubs a hand across her face, expression pained, and glares across the clear space surrounding Less at Pot. "When I questioned Less yesterday, he said that Destin Traitor-heart was the one who requested and claimed the bullets. Less had nothing to do with actually shooting Klavier."

Apollo steps in before everyone assembled can press the point, diverting attention away from Tainer and her distraught wolf. "That fits with my own findings."

"And mine." Klavier's eyes drift slowly around the assembly. "Though we found the materials clearly used to make the silver bullets in Rex's lair, we found no sign of the firearm used to shoot them."

Destin doesn't seem disturbed by the accusation, settling back and crossing his ankles. "You've had it in for me since I suggested we follow protocol and eliminate you both at the last Conclave. This is going above and beyond, though, even for you."

Apollo can feel his teeth gritting, shades of familiar frustration rising. Why is it so hard to get people to admit the truth of their actions? This man is like Crescend, continuing to deny and redirect despite any sane person being able to see what occurred.

Or maybe not any sane person, because Lackey jumps in after a look at Pot. "Yeah! These guys are clearly using what happened to target their political enemies. Plus I don't think we've gotten the full story out of them. What happened after you got shot, night-cursed?"

"I bled. A lot." Klavier's tone is dry as he studies Lackey, meeting the man's eyes. It's Lackey who looks away first, shifting uncomfortably. "Do you have something more specific to add to your question?"

The silence drags out, and Apollo begins to think perhaps Pot really is too smart to give himself away. Especially when he sees Pot repeatedly making a hand gesture towards Lackey, but after about thirty seconds of silence Lackey gives a brief shake of his head.

Pot sighs, turning a bright, dishonest smile on Klavier. "You and your alpha both smell like your pack. It's good to be close together with the moon coming up on them, isn't it? But I also notice the smell of someone I haven't met yet. Someone who was perhaps not vetted before being added to the pack?"

"No, you don't." Apollo smiles at the surprised alpha. "We haven't been near Sebastian since we got up this morning. Between the shower and the clean clothes we got from Klavier's place, there's no way you've picked his scent out as something special. Unless you know that there should be another scent there. Because you saw an accident happen—an accident that you caused."

Pot waves a hand, giving a brief, unconvincingly chuckle. "Perhaps I've been over-interpreting the scents I'm getting, but it does sound like something happened—"

"Many things happened." Klavier's hands have fallen to his side, and he stalks a step closer to Pot, his tone low and rumbling with an unvoiced growl. "I was speaking with a human friend on the roof when I was shot. Whoever targeted me waited until I was hugging him to shoot me—and yes, they succeeded in their intent. When the silver bit into me, I bit him—unwittingly, unknowingly, but I bit him. He will transform on the full moon. By luck he is handling the transformation with remarkable ease, and we will introduce him properly, but I will not bring him into the company of killers who believe our secret is a toy to be played with.

"Because that's what it amounts to, you know." Klavier takes another step towards Destin, who sits up straighter, his legs uncrossing. "What would have happened if I died and no one found Sebastian? We would have had a disaster on our hands, far worse than what happened with Apollo and I. And if Herr Edgeworth hadn't been present and able to dig the bullet out, what would forensics have said? Silver is not a common additive to bullets."

Pot straightens even further, a growl building in his throat. "These accusations have no—"

"You are an Idiot, a Dummkopf, a man too stupid for the power he has claimed." Klavier snarls, and there is very little human in the expression as he pauses just a pace in front of Pot. "If I had not died, but lived to see a hospital? If they had taken the bullet out there, and I had transformed? You risked everything your fellows have fought to protect for centuries, and over what? Over a stupid rule about who is allowed to bite who?"

"I did what was necessary!" Pot surges to his feet, his hands reaching for Klavier.

Klavier skips back a step, his fingers falling to lie above where the thick scar is, his eyes narrowing.

Pot bellows out a roar of surprise and pain, his left leg buckling under him. The child with him squeals, pressing her hands to her ears and squeezing her eyes closed.

Klavier freezes, gaze snapping to the girl, and it's only Apollo stepping forward and putting a hand on Klavier's shoulder that guides him back out of harm's way as Pot surges back to his feet.

Turning to face the rest of the Conclave, Pot stabs a finger back towards where Apollo and Klavier sit. "These pathetic accidents are not our friends and our allies. We have true allies, ones who will let us be what we are meant to be. We have—"

Apollo cuts in, his voice overriding Pot's—he has never been more grateful for the Chords of Steel exercises. The last thing he needs is for Pot to somehow work the crowd up into a frenzy, especially if Pot realizes that Klavier just used a non-Moon gift to injure him. "What Destin has is a room full of artifacts from other bloodlines. A room where he is able to catch and torture ghosts. A room where he apparently takes orders from ghosts. Kristoph Gavin's ghost was with him when he shot Klavier, hoping to make Klavier's spirit into some kind of slave. What kind of wolf are you, to let a dead man hold your leash and to offer someone else into servitude without their knowledge?"

A hiss runs through the Conclave, a dozen voices whispering as alphas and betas confer, and Apollo is glad that Lang was right about where opinion would fall. These wolves clearly don't like the idea of Pot selling Klavier into slavery, their glances towards Pot far more wary than they had been, their assessments of Klavier a tiny bit more sympathetic.

Pot whirls to glare at Apollo. "Do you have proof of any of this?"

Apollo shrugs. "I have a ghost who would be happy to testify, especially since he was almost destroyed getting the information."

To have Clay testify, they would have to destroy the anti-ghost charm they brought with them, but any antagonistic ghost would probably be wary about being around this many volatile werewolves. That's the hope, anyway.

Lang straightens, moving forward a step. "Why don't we just cut to the heart of the matter, Destin. Did you or did you not ask Less to make you silver bullets?"

Pot rolls his eyes. "Yes, I did, but—"

Lang nods and begins speaking again, his voice not necessarily louder than Pot's but managing to cut across it with ease. "Did you or did you not shoot Klavier Gavin with a silver bullet?"

"Yes, but—"

Lang shakes his head. "Did you intentionally do so at a time when our secret could have been breached?"

"Yes, but it was Gavin's own brother who wanted that." Pot slices his hand through the air, a dramatic downward motion. "You all have to listen to me. There are going to be changes coming soon—big changes. And they could be good for us. You've always wanted change, right, Shae? Not to have to hide what we are? Well, you might actually be able to get some change in a way that won't be catastrophic for us. The World is coming, and if we play our cards right, we can control him." Pot turns from the stunned alphas to face Apollo and Klavier again. "And all we have to do to earn it is make sure that—"

It happens so fast Apollo doesn't quite understand what's going on until it's already done. Colyte stands up, his face a blank mask. Pot doesn't even notice him, too busy snarling at Apollo and Klavier. Then Colyte's hands are on either side of Pot's head, twisting with vicious force, and before Pot has even registered that he's in danger there's a crack and he falls. Colyte doesn't stop twisting at the crack, though, allowing Pot's body to fall gently to the ground as he continues to determinedly turn the man's head a full one hundred and eight degrees around, and—

"Stop it!" Klavier darts forward, coming to a halt in front of Pot and Colyte, staring down at the older man as he continues to go about his grisly work.

Colyte looks up at Klavier, voice and face far too calm for someone in the middle of committing murder. "No."

The little girl starts screaming then, a high-pitched, hideous sound of despair and terror, and all hell breaks loose.

XXX

The girl is terrified.

Klavier doesn't know if it's the simplicity or the depth of her emotion that allows him to pick it up clearly, but as she screams her agony out into the empty park it spikes through Klavier's heart, too.

Colyte just killed a man in front of them.

He just killed the man who shot Klavier, who is responsible for Sebastian being a werewolf now.

He just killed a man in front of a child—an alpha in front of one of the pack's children, perhaps a father in front of his daughter.

Klavier can't bring the dead back to life, but he can gather up the girl and protect her as Pot's allies and companions leap at Colyte.

Once he has the girl in his hands Klavier dives toward Apollo, trusting his alpha to give him warning, at least, if someone is after them. He can hear Lang, Shae, Juniper all talking, trying to keep anyone from leaving—Lang and Shae and Clemens and their betas all trying to break up snarling knots of wolves.

What have they done?

What could they have done differently?

The girl's wail has turned to howling sobs, and Klavier settles down behind Apollo, stroking hair out of her face. "Little one, Kind, Wolf-daughter, it's all right. No one is going to hurt you. Please, stop crying."

She bites him.

What did you expect, Gavin? She is a werwolf who has just seen her alpha brutally murdered.

Klavier's arms loosen as he's caught off guard by the unexpected attack, and the child squirms away. Raising a hand to his shoulder, Klavier finds that the girl overestimated the strength of her human teeth, and no blood has been drawn.

Not that it would matter if she had. He is already Moon. And he doubts werewolves carry rabies.

She yowls and snaps at him when he holds out a hand, skittering backwards over the grass, a human-form child moving as a frightened puppy would. Klavier can hear Apollo snarling behind him, the scuffle of bodies as the Conclave attempts to degenerate into a brawl.

He can't let the girl run off like this, scared and alone. (He knows what it is to love someone undeserving of that love, and as awful as it was to see Kristoph laid out in bloody glory in his cell, how much worse would it have been to feel him die?)

She has been raised on fear, on obedience, and that is what Klavier uses to hold her, gathering up all his wolf strength and channeling it into voice and eyes. "Kind. Stay."

She does, freezing in place, her head hunkering down, her whole body curling as if for a blow.

Klavier edges towards her, places a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Little one, it's all right. It's all right."

The girl looks up at him with a mixture of fury and terror. "He's gone. He's gone. How is he gone? He's alpha."

"Even alphas are mortal." Klavier strokes hair away from her face. "Even alphas make mistakes and poor decisions."

"I don't..." The girl shivers, tears overflowing her eyes. "Why?"

"Was he a good alpha?" Klavier speaks slowly, gently, trying to think how best to get her to understand. "Did he hurt your pack? Because he hurt me, when I had done nothing to him."

The girl stills, though a faint tremble continues under Klavier's hand. Her voice is the barest whisper. "He's alpha."

She says the word with awe and wonder, as though it gives authority for everything and anything. Klavier draws a breath in through his teeth, knowing that he needs to find the proper words to get through to her. Some events form people, shape them into who they will be—he has seen it, as a prosecutor—and he wants, somehow, to salvage this for her.

To show her what a real alpha should be, and he knows that it's possible. If he can pull a ghost into the pack-bonds for long enough to use them to save him, if he can read Edgeworth when Edgeworth would just possibly rather die than be a wolf, if he can share the pain that Pot inflicted on him with the man... he can show this frightened child what she should be looking for in a leader, so that she doesn't continue to follow men like Destin Pot.

It is easy to call up his feelings for Apollo—his trust, his respect, his delight in how Apollo responds to teasing.

It's harder to find the girl, though she's sitting right under his hand. She isn't his—he doesn't know her, except for the connection that pity and this whole miserable situation has given them. He doesn't even know her name.

But he knows what it is to mourn a man who deserved to die, and he knows what it is submit when he doesn't want to, and from those fragile bonds he is able to weave something more substantial.

To show her what he needs her to see, and he doesn't really know what he's doing but he's managing it. He can feel her surprise, her tension, her hesitant, curious observances—it's good, that she's still curious. The worst abuse destroys even the impulse for curiosity in children.

Thinking of horrors was the wrong thing to do, and the connections slide out of his control, the whole pack suddenly clamoring in both their heads. It takes Klavier longer than it should to visualize his soundboard, to pull the girl out of the pack-bonds and turn everyone else's channels down so that he can make sense of his own thoughts again.

"What did he just do?" Lackey screams out the words, pointing at Klavier from an uncomfortable huddle of alphas and betas at the center of the picnic pavilion. "You all felt that—what the hell did he just do? It was unnatural."

Klavier arches an eyebrow, a headache starting to press at his temples. Really? He's being called unnatural by a born werewolf?

The girl's hand slips into his, hesitant, uncertain. Her eyes flick between him and Apollo, and her voice when she speaks is once more filled with awe. "That's what an alpha's supposed to be?"

Klavier nods, gathering his strength so that he can stand and move to Apollo's side without limping. "That's what an alpha should be. What a pack should be. That's what we shall find you, wolf-child, if you'll trust me."

For a moment he thinks she's going to run again; then she places her hand in his, stands when he does, walks with him to Apollo's side, and Klavier breathes a silent sigh of relief.

Perhaps there's still a chance for them to salvage this after all.

XXX

Apollo doesn't turn his eyes away from circle of wolves, but he doesn't need to. He can tell where Klavier is, and something inside him relaxes when his beta is standing beside him.

Just a little bit, because now isn't exactly a relaxing time, but it's definitely better to face it with Klavier rather than without.

Not that he's without assistance. Lang, Juniper and Hugh, Shae and Navon, and Clemens and her beta form a loose circle with him, ensuring everyone else stays inside the picnic pavilion rather than taking off. Colyte stands still, looking almost bored, Destin's mangled body at his feet. Colyte's beta stands beside him, her face betraying her unease, demonstrating that right now she is completely out of her depth. The rest of the alphas and betas—Pot's people mingled with those who were determined to escape rather than attack—have formed small huddles, no one wanting to sit down.

(Sitting down would show either weakness or an arrogance so grand as to be stupidity. Apollo knows this, on a bone-deep level, and tries not to worry that knowing this makes him more like Colyte, ready to practically rip a man's head off without proper trial, than like the defense attorney he was two months ago.)

"Calm down." Lang's voice barks over the hushed whispering and Lackey's frenzied shouts with ease. "Do you really want to bring human law enforcement down on us right now?"

"Then let us go." Apollo can't remember the name of the female alpha who speaks, her voice quavering with fear that she tries to disguise as anger.

Lang bears his teeth. "Not until we've dealt with this. Or does this Conclave need a proper alpha to oversee you all?"

Colyte turns to face Lang. "Careful what you try to bite off, Long Tooth. Some prizes aren't worth the effort to acquire them or the heartache to keep them."

For a brief moment Colyte meets Lang's eyes. Not for long, but it's still more than Apollo expected, and he mentally raises the other man's alpha status.

Not that any of that matters when you're a cold-blooded murderer.

Colyte's eyes turn to fix Apollo with a cold stare. "You are still new, Double-Gifted. Our justice is swift and total, but it is not so different from yours. Do you think death by hanging to be a pleasant experience? The years languishing in a prison cell an improvement over a quick finish?"

Apollo growls, the sound resonating in his chest as he tries to remember human words. This is why they try not to hold Conclaves the day before the full moon—everyone is tense, ready to shed their humanity. "We give people a fair trial. We make sure they're guilty before passing judgment and issuing punishment."

One of Colyte's eyebrows rises. "We know he was guilty. You know it, or you wouldn't have brought charges against him. He confessed, here in front of all of us. He wasn't even ashamed, too caught up in his blasphemy to realize what he had done."

Colyte toes at the body with one of his shoes, grimacing.

Klavier gives a brief, humorless laugh. "That's why you did it, isn't it? Not because of the silver but because of the blasphemy."

"The silver is part of the blasphemy." Colyte raises his head, turns to view the other alphas. "To use silver against another wolf is treason to the Lady and to all our kind. To do it with the recklessness that he displayed is to compound the crime. Is there anyone here who would argue against these points?"

Lackey opens his mouth, stares around at the silent crowd, and closes it again, his head dropping low.

Turning back to Lang, Colyte holds his arms out to the side. "I delivered our justice. Nothing more, nothing less. You have no reason and no right to interfere here."

Shae speaks, her voice also pitched to carry easily. "We vote on our justice, Arthur. You had no right to act alone, Lady-lover, even if he insulted all you hold dear."

Lady-lover? Apollo blinks, fairly certain Shae wouldn't be insinuating in the middle of their discussion of a murder that Colyte enjoys female company.

No, he knows what she means. Lady as in their goddess, Lady-lover as in someone devout. Come on, Justice. Apollo silently chastises himself. Keep it together. Keep thinking. Figure out what to do.

It's hard, his ears still seeming to ring with the sound of Pot's neck snapping, the corpse still warm on the floor of the pavilion. Doesn't matter, he reminds himself firmly. "It still... it's not right. I don't want this to happen again."

Juniper speaks up, her voice wavering. "Not without a vote. If we can't trust the others at this Conclave, then it will cease to function. If punishment must be meted out, everyone will have their say in it."

Klavier's jaw is clenched tight, one of his hands on the little girl's head, making sure she doesn't stare at the corpse of her alpha. His other hand slides out to rest on Apollo's shoulder.

"A vote for you, then." Lang eases out of his section of the circle, leaving only the local alphas to guard their own. "Shall Arthur be punished for his actions?"

Lackey is the first to speak, shouting out an affirmative.

Shae follows him, her arms crossed in front of her chests. "Not badly. He speaks truth about Destin, but he also acted without consult, and should show true apology."

Colyte inclines his head, calm, accepting.

Others give their votes, and it's clear after the first two that almost everyone is siding with Shae.

Eventually only Apollo is left, and he stares down at the corpse on the ground. Is this justice? Is this what he signed up for?

Klavier whispers in his ear. "They will not listen unless you force them to, Mein Alpha."

Not chastising, not saying Apollo shouldn't... just warning.

Is this what Apollo wants to risk everything over? A vicious, brutal man who attempted to kill Klavier, who sent Clay to be tortured, who somehow thought he could rewrite the world in his image?

Swallowing, the taste of blood seeming to rise up to coat his tongue, Apollo stares hard at Colyte. "I will accept minor reparations for failure to issue a vote."

Colyte smiles, and Apollo is the one who turns his eyes away, his arms wrapped around his chest as though the shivers that want to wrack his frame are from cold.