November 1070

I'm not sure how long I stared. It was probably just a few seconds but it seemed like hours. Blood pounded in my ears, and it felt like my heart was going to leap out of my chest. I hadn't expected him to be the White King, and once I saw him, it stirred up all kinds of emotion, fear and anger and hatred. The man was a monster, through and through. And worse, he may well have been a nigh-invincible monster, if his relative immunity to magic was not a recent development in my time.

He noticed me staring at him, and smiled. I thinned my lips into a line and tore my gaze away from him, focusing on Gauthier and the other vampires.

Now that I looked, I could see a clear division in the ranks, the Raiths all lined up along one side, dwarfing both the Skavis and Malvora, who stood in cliques along the other side. There were maybe fifty, sixty vampires in all. Blandine was near the front of the Raiths, standing close to Gauthier. I didn't spot anyone like Lara, or any of her sisters or cousins. Small mercies, that.

A moment later Gauthier snarled and whirled to face the White King, spouting off rapid-fire Etruscan. "See, even now they come to threaten us!"

"Just you, dear cousin," Raith replied in Latin. "And I find I am intrigued by their accusations. I would like to hear what the kine consider to be rank incompetence."

"Thank you," Salazar said with a passable amount of sincerity, before looking at Gauthier. "You sent your servants alone to our domain with little guidance. While there they accomplished little, and in their last week bungled everything. Your niece attacked Lady Ravenclaw, an unrelated party, in person and in her tower, and barely made it a hundred feet from the door before dying like a dog. In the same stroke you lost the one thrall that could have, perhaps, killed Wizard Dresden. And after failing so utterly, you decided to compound your incompetence, tasking a group of mortal thralls with killing a wizard, a task they failed at so spectacularly they did not even get close to him before they were routed. It is amazing that you are even capable of speech with a mind so simple."

Gauthier glared in our direction hatefully, and I saw Salazar's lips curl into a smile. "Do you deny these accusations?" Salazar asked with poisonous sweetness.

Salazar's words were deliberately inflammatory. Gauthier obviously couldn't just accept them, because Salazar had just called him a blithering idiot. Denying all knowledge of it meant that he either was too weak to control his assets, or was so infirm that an enemy of his had managed to pull off a perfect frame job without him knowing. His only option was to try and pick apart our statement somehow, or to sidestep it entirely. I wasn't sure he could manage either of those, really.

Ultimately, Gauthier tried to pivot. It was his best option, if not a good one. As far as the rest of the White Court were concerned, even if we were lying our asses off, we'd just utterly humiliated Gauthier in front of a crowd. He needed a miracle to come back from this, and one wasn't coming.

He switched to Latin to respond, as Raith had set the tone by speaking in Latin, but it was clearly unpracticed. It was actually so unpracticed it gave me déjà vu, reminding me of me, speaking at old Council meetings, mangling the language. "They admit to it, brothers and sisters! Three of our youth gone, stolen from us!"

Lucille looked my way - she was standing right next to me - and I leaned down and summarized what had been said so far, translating the Latin into English. Once I was done Lucille audibly snorted, throwing off Gauthier's rhythm. He stopped and turned to face Lucille, brow furrowing as if just seeing her.

Our plan for the opening phase was really more of a set of bullet points, but Salazar had grudgingly allowed for Lucille to speak and help, agreeing that Gauthier's position would be damaged more by his daughter's recriminations than a random wizard's.

"Stolen?" Lucille asked in Etruscan, stepping forward, expression twisted into a contemptuous, hateful sneer. "The only thing the wizard has stolen from you, my dear father, is your pride and dignity. Look at you now, wounded and lamed, groveling and begging for scraps from your fellows. You should have listened to the wizard when he offered you peace."

"Your mind is not your own, my daughter," Gauthier replied in Etruscan.

Lucille laughed cruelly. "No, father, I am the master of my own fate now. Not a whining bitch begging to be bred as you would have me. I am better than you could have ever hoped to be." She raised her right hand and gestured at us. "Look, four of the Council have come to bring my wrath upon you, a wrath you engendered by failing as a father. And my aunt, as a mother." She dropped her hand. "Incapable fools, the both of you."

In the silence that followed, I nudged Salazar's foot twice, a signal to keep going. He coughed politely, drew everyone's attention, and asked, "Your response, Constable?" he asked, saying the last word as it was said in French. Constabularius, its approximate Latin translation, didn't have the same meaning as a title. "Do you deny our accusations, or do you agree to respond to our challenge?"

Gauthier narrowed his eyes, and looked between Lucille, me, and Salazar. "Fine, then," he spat. "I accept, if only to prove the worthlessness of your words. But if you think me so weak and helpless, what does it say about you that you bring four to face me?"

Salazar smiled. "Two will suffice," he replied. "One for you, to make you answer for your crimes, and one for your sister, for her foolishness in aiding you."

Gauthier glanced off to the side, towards Blandine, who was herself staring at me hatefully. Off to my right, Rowena broke ranks and stepped forward, looking at Blandine with a cool expression.

"Or we can have two separate duels, if you wish," Salazar offered.

I don't know if Blandine understood what he said, exactly, but she seemed to figure his intent anyway. She stepped forward, moving away from the group of Raiths and towards her brother. Gauthier nodded towards her, then turned to face the Lord Raith. In Latin, he said. "We accept the initial terms, two on two." In Etruscan, he added. "And by doing so cast the fools down."

"Very well," Raith said. "As an arbiter, I will oversee this challenge. Prepare yourselves, cousins. Unless the kine wish to fight unarmed as well."

Salazar smiled coldly in return. "Not that we need it, but I feel it only appropriate to allow the challenged to put their best foot forward. It will be their last, after all."

Raith smiled in return, and clapped his hands. In Etruscan, he said, "Music, while we wait, and wine."

Music struck up from somewhere nearby, maybe an adjoining room, a pair of lutes, a harp, and a set of drums by the sound of it. Gauthier called out some orders in French, and servants went scattering to grab some equipment for him and Blandine. An excited buzz of voices rose up in the meantime, servants splitting off from the walls and circulating with silver trays and glasses of wine.

"Rowena, are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" I asked quietly, our group breaking its formation for the moment.

"Yes," she replied. "They attacked me. I will not let that go unanswered."

"Alright," I said. "I'll back you up then."

Lucille hummed with displeasure beside me, and I glanced at her. "What?" I asked.

"I want to kill him myself," Lucille hissed.

I furrowed my brow. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. If you were on your own, maybe, but I'm not willing to let you risk Rowena too."

"We're here because of me, damn it," she said.

"I'm aware, but that's no reason to screw this up midway through," I replied. "The odds are against you. Severely."

"He speaks truly, sister. You stand no chance," Tim said.

Lucille rounded on her brother, eyes blazing, but before she could respond he continued, "You would lose, without question. Your skill with the sword is only passable, your training sporadic. Father is wounded, yet older, and very skilled. He has no doubt also gorged his Hunger, whereas you are not so well fed. If you fight him, he will beat you, and he will break you."

Lucille snarled and looked away. "He's right here," she muttered. "Right here, and I can't do anything to him."

Tim put a hand on his sister's shoulder. "I know." He looked up at me, and said, "But I'll fight in your place."

Despite what he said, I knew he was asking me for permission. I took a deep breath and looked him over, my gaze falling on the hilt of Amoracchius. "Do you think you can take him?" I asked. "Fight him, and not endanger Rowena?"

He wrapped his hand around the plain steel of the Sword's pommel and nodded. "I believe so, if your friend can handle my aunt."

I looked over at Rowena. "Rowena, do you agree with this?"

She glanced coolly at Tim. "It doesn't matter to me who stands by my side."

I nodded and turned back to Tim. "Fine. You can fight. But if you screw this up, I assure you, you won't live to regret it."

"I understand," Tim said.

A pair of servants approached us then, a man and woman. Their eyes were partly glazed over, but they retained enough presence of mind to be tense with fear. "Some wine, honored guests?" the man asked in French.

I glanced over their heads towards Raith, and found him looking at our group with a lazy expression, though he couldn't entirely hide the intentness of his gaze.

This was a test, of sorts. He'd have to be stupid to try and deliver poisoned wine to a quartet of wizards and witches, which meant the wine was genuine. And by accepting it, we'd also implicitly be accepting the second half of the statement - that we were here as honored guests, emphasis on the guests. Guest rights were a major, major thing in the supernatural world, such that even a complete bastard like Raith played mostly straight with them.

If we accepted the wine, it would tie our hands, give us little leverage when it came to forcing Raith to sign. If we attacked him after accepting his hospitality, it would reflect poorly on us, on me, and by extension, on Mab and the Council. It would, perhaps, undermine the Accords before they even began. I doubted that I would live long if that happened. But by not accepting, we told him we were there for more than just Gauthier's head, which would give him time to think and prepare.

But we didn't have any choice in the matter.

"No thank you," I said. "We'll pass."

The two servants froze and fearfully glanced at each other. Then the woman licked her lips, curtsied shakily, and they swiftly departed, the glasses having never left the tray. Raith and a few others noticed the interplay, and the King's eyes narrowed.

I mustered a thin smile in return.

Speaking of guesthood, Gauthier's castle must not have had much of a threshold, since I hadn't felt my power constrict in the slightest as we crossed over from the Nevernever. Or, alternately, perhaps Rowena had shattered the threshold when she'd torn open the rift. I hadn't thought of that before. The idea seemed terrifying, but also in line with what the athame could do. I'd have to ask her later.

Servants eventually emerged with a full set of equipment for both Gauthier and Blandine, coats of mail and charms and other armaments. Blandine tore off the bottom of her dress, exposing her bare, pale legs, and then tore off more in order to comfortably fit in the armor. Gauthier's dress, meanwhile, seemed to be perfectly sized to fit under his coat of mail. It took them a few minutes to finish, at which point they both drew their swords, keeping hold of their scabbards. I noticed Gauthier was using Joyeuse.

On our side, Salazar, Helga, Lucille, and I all backed up. For a moment, Gauthier looked at us and frowned, confused. Then Tim took a step forward and fell in beside Rowena, and his eyes widened in shock. Excited, frantic muttering broke out amidst the various cliques at this shocking, unexpected twist. As this was going on, Tim unclasped his long and heavy cloak, and threw it back to Lucille.

The music came to an end, and the rest of the vampires started moving. They withdrew from the center of the chamber to stand on either side, leaving the long stretch of stone between the columns open, our rift on one end, Raith's White Throne upon the other. He didn't get up, didn't even move. Just smiled and snapped his fingers. Between his seeming confidence and the fact that Mab felt he'd insulted her, it made me worry that his magical invincibility wasn't as recent a development as I would have hoped.

Servants in their finery began filtering through the crowd of vampires. A number swayed more than walked right up to the dual lines of columns, where they knelt down, forming ranks in front of the vampires on either side of the hall. Having seen this once before, I figured it meant the White Court at large knew about the Laws, which didn't really surprise me.

I was worried about what this might mean for Rowena though. She'd described her athame as "difficult to control", and with all the human shields around I was afraid she might accidentally break the First Law. But by that point it was too late to do anything about it, so I shut up and hoped for the best.

Gauthier and Blandine, along with Tim and Rowena, moved to stand thirty feet across from each other, all four of them silent as the grave.

"Gentlemen, ladies," Raith said. "Stand ready. Let no weapon of any kind be drawn until the duel commences, which will be at my discretion."

If a tumbleweed were to have somehow found its way into the room, I'm sure it would have blown across the hall in that moment.

"Begin," Raith said.

The vampires blurred into motion, all three of them, Gauthier and Blandine both going directly for Rowena. Tim intercepted his father, Amoracchius flashing out of its scabbard and slamming against Joyeuse with a ring of steel. But Blandine was still charging at Rowena, and for a single, heart-stopping moment, I thought the succubus would make it. Rowena had no experience in a fight, didn't have the instincts for it, the reflexes. Her hand wasn't even moving.

But her head was. She looked Blandine dead on, and the succubus stopped, her outstretched sword a few feet away from Rowena's neck. I realized I was once again seeing a soulgaze from the outside. It was simple, brief, and entirely unremarkable. Blandine stared, eyes widening, and then shuddered. She stood there for a moment, frozen, her breathing erratic.

Then Rowena gestured with her hand, and a shield formed between her and Blandine. In the moments that followed, Rowena drew both her wand and athame, then advanced on the succubus.

Off to the side Gauthier was staring at his son in shock, their crossed blades inches from their faces. Gauthier's skin was beginning to blister from the proximity.

"Why?" I heard Gauthier ask in French.

"Because you are not a good man, Father," Tim said. Then he kneed his father in the chest and pushed him back. Amoracchius clashed against Joyeuse in the seconds that followed, both legendary swords throwing off sparks as they met. As their duel started in earnest, I put the father-son pair out of my mind and focused on Rowena.

Rowena and Blandine were pacing back and forth, Rowena's shield thwarting each of Blandine's quick sorties. But Rowena wasn't responding at all besides blocking the attacks, and I was starting to wonder what the hell she was doing. Her shield couldn't have been that practiced and strong and a vampire definitely would've had the endurance and blunt force to break through, and yet Rowena was doing nothing. I didn't get it.

After half a minute of this, Blandine changed tactics. She kicked off one of her shoes, picked it up in her free hand, and threw it like a fastball at Rowena, darting off to the side as Rowena's shield flashed at the impact. Blandine made it to Rowena's left, her sword coming around to take off Rowena's hand. Rowena jerked her hand back, interposing the athame, and let out a yell in Polish as steel clashed with dark glass.

And lost. Hard.

The sword shattered in stages, from the tip, to the middle, to the base, to the hilt. Then it kept going, to Blandine's hand, her wrist, her forearm, her elbow. Like a series of explosions, Blandine's arm burst apart into blood and bone, splattering against both Rowena and the servants and vampires behind her. And it didn't stop there. The explosions rippled across the rest of the succubus' body in quick succession, tearing lines through her chest, her legs, her arm, and her head. It took five long, agonizing seconds from contact for Blandine to die, shattered into a million tiny pieces.

Tim and Gauthier paused in their fighting, both looking over to the bloody remnants of their family. In the shocked silence that followed, Rowena cast her gaze across each and every vampire, on both sides of the room. Every vampire in the room had taken a half-step back as her gaze passed over them, with the exception of one - Raith. He just looked far, far too interested. After a long sweep, her gaze finally settled on Gauthier. She looked at him for a few seconds, then gestured at Tim.

The clash of swords began again, more frantic this time. Gauthier had age, experience, and speed on his son, but Tim was neither wounded nor flinching from every clash. I noticed that the sparks that went flying sometimes fell on Tim and Gauthier, doing nothing to the former but painfully burning the latter. Gauthier grit his teeth, drawing more and more on his Hunger to move faster, to strike stronger, to compensate for his wounds. Tim fought defensively, kind of like he had against me, drawing the fight out and trying to exhaust his father.

Gauthier picked up on that, and a few seconds later, when their swords were briefly crossed, put on an extra burst of strength, driving both Amoracchius and Joyeuse to the ground. Then, quick as a snake, he took his right hand off Joyeuse and punched his son in the face, obliterating Tim's nose. The younger vampire reeled and stumbled back, and I saw the ghost of a smile on his face.

Then Tim drew on his Hunger, really drew, and moved one hand from Amoracchius' hilt to the hilt of his own, sheathed sword. In a flash he took the hilt in a reverse grip and drew it, bringing it up sharply and severing Gauthier's arm at the elbow. Then he turned it around and stabbed down, piercing his father's chest and driving his sword into the stone of the floor.

Gauthier gurgled and let go of Joyeuse with his one remaining hand, painfully clutching the hilt of his son's sword and drawing it out. Tim, meanwhile, had bent down to pick up Joyeuse and had backed up, crisscrossing the swords around his father's neck like Anakin had done to Dooku. As they stared at each other, I wondered who would be the Palpatine in this situation: me, or Lucille.

After a few seconds, Gauthier let go of his son's sword, letting it clatter against the ground. "Congratulations," he said gruffly, in French, his chest wound closing over. "You won. Are you going to kill me now too?"

For a moment, it looked like Tim was considering it, and I curled my hand around my staff. I wasn't sure how Amoracchius would react if it was used in this moment, and as much as I was filled with self-loathing at that moment, I didn't want the Sword to actually break.

Fortunately, Tim didn't cross his swords, instead pulling them back. "No. I'm not going to kill you," he said. He looked over his shoulder, at Lucille. "She is."

There was a great, anguished, victorious cry and Lucille rushed across the gap, fast as a cheetah. Gauthier barely had enough time to widen his eyes and reach for Tim's discarded sword when Lucille fell upon him, bludgeoning and tearing at him with her bare hands. In the seconds that followed, I found it hard to judge who had been more brutal: Rowena, or Lucille. When it was finally over, Gauthier's limbs lay in a strewn circle around his body, his skull smashed open, blood and viscera staining Lucille's shirt, hands, and cloak.

She knelt there for a few seconds, amidst the ruins of her father, and panted. Then she stood up, one leg at a time, smashed her heel into the remains of Gauthier's head, and stalked back over to us. Tim had rejoined us in the interim, his nose having regrown, and once Lucille fell in beside me, the six of us turned to face the White King.

Two down. One to go.