Steel Victory (Steel Empire Book 1) (21 page)

Victory plucked the paperweight from Max’s hand and set it on the desk. “From the threats Toria said were directed toward their prisoners, I would hesitate to believe any of us are safe when the Romans invade.”

“‘When?’ What’s this ‘when’ stuff?” Bethany sat up straight. “You haven’t even talked to the Romans yet. Your daughter went against your wishes when she was attacked. How do we know she didn’t make that up to get us to do what she wanted?”

“Get a clue, old woman.” Genevieve saved Victory from the need to argue.

“The girl might be impetuous,” Lena said, “but she’s not manipulative. And again, military training plays into this—”

Max finished Lena’s argument. “Toria knows reporting the truth is imperative under these circumstances. Lying, or even exaggerating, provides false information that could lead to unnecessary deaths.”

“There, we are agreed that Toria is not lying,” Daliana said. “A Roman invasion is imminent. We have also agreed that attacking first is a bad idea. Why?”

“How strong a force can we call up on short notice, Max?” Victory said.

He stared into space, then stole a blank paper from Victory’s desk. “Can we count on you and Toria?”

Victory handed him a pen. She, of course. But Toria? Operating under the assumed immortality of youth, her daughter would never forgive her if left out of the action. Praying she wouldn’t regret it later, Victory said, “Yes.”

Max made a notation on his sheet. “Tristan, Genevieve, and Lorus, how many fighters could you call from your clans?”

She had only been asking about the Guild, but this worked, too.

Without hesitation, Tristan said, “Worked that one out two nights ago. I had over fifty volunteers, and I would count on thirty-seven.”

Bethany snorted. “Thirty-seven? You think the others wouldn’t step up?”

Tristan leveled his golden gaze at her. “I think the others are either too old or too inexperienced, but volunteered anyway.”

“The panthers also met last night,” Genevieve said. “And by that same vein, we can add thirty-three hunters. I had to weed out my own fair share of overeager kittens.”

“Lorus?” Max said.

“Long as this fight isn’t happening within the next few hours,” Lorus said, “that gives me time to call Tersuigel’s pack in from the bush. That would put us at nineteen or twenty, depending on whether she deems her youngest kit ready yet.”

“The hyenas?” Genevieve sniffed in disdain. “Scavengers.”

“Scavengers that have been known to take down live prey when provoked,” Lorus said. “And Tersuigel herself is a former trained mercenary. So, including me, we’ll play it safe and say twenty.”

“Twenty-one,” Bethany said, her voice low.

While everyone else looked at her with various expressions of surprise, Lorus said, “Oh, don’t fret. You were already added. Think I would leave you out of the fun?”

Victory could make nothing of Max’s chicken scratches over his shoulder, but when he finished his calculations, he cleared his throat. “So. Total comes to one hundred and seventy-three.”

“Victory, can I borrow your phone to start calling in my clan?” Genevieve said.

“And I need to head out to call in Tersuigel and start rounding everyone else up,” Lorus said.

“Wait a second,” Max said. “I’m still taking Sethri and Victory out to meet with the Romans tonight.”

“We can’t afford to lose you three,” Tristan said. “You two make up the most experienced military personnel we have, not to mention the official political head of the city.”

Max shoved the scrap of notepaper in his back pocket. “While I should blush at being compared to the esteemed Victory here, where I’m concerned, the plan hasn’t changed.”

“I’ll second that.” Moving forward into the circle of conversation, Sethri settled himself on the couch arm next to Daliana. “Thought I’d better participate now, since it’s my life being discussed.”

“What are you going to do, go in under a white flag?” Bethany said. “I thought we were taking the threats against your two friends seriously. You want to burn like your sire, Victory?”

Bethany had gone too far, but Max grabbed Victory’s arm before she could snap back. He dug his fingers into her skin until she relaxed. “Nobody is going to burn,” he said. “We will ride in and ask to meet with this Octavian. They’re not going to kill three people alone on a diplomatic mission.”

“I still disagree that this is the best option,” Tristan said.

“Enough!” Victory had reached the end of her rope. “Disagree all you want. This is a council session, right? We should put it to a vote. Second?”

“I’ll second,” Lena said.

“It’s your house, Victory,” Max said.

“Fine,” she said. “Sethri and Bethany, I want you two in on this.” Shock appeared on faces around the room, including human and werebadger, but no one dared to argue. “All in favor of a preliminary diplomatic mission to the Romans, say aye.”

Missing the meeting at her own house bugged Toria to no end. She should be there, giving her input and helping Mama keep control of the situation. Share information she alone had as the one person to have direct contact with any of the Romans.

She loved her father with all her heart, but she did not want to be stuck at the hospital tonight.

From where he lay half-asleep on his hospital bed, Mikelos said, “I can hear you brooding from here. You sound like your mother.”

Toria jumped up from the chair by the window and began to pace. “Brooding doesn’t make noise, Dad.”

“Do me a favor then, will you?” Mikelos lifted his head from the pillow, but Toria darted to his side so he could relax again.

“Of course, Dad, what do you need?” She was supposed to be there so he could keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t do anything else stupid. Instead, she prevented him from getting his much needed rest. Too bad Mama didn’t see it that way.

“Food here is terrible,” he said. “Run to the cafeteria and grab a sandwich for me? And salad for a friend?”

“Sure,” Toria said. “Whatever you want.”

After pressing a quick kiss to her father’s cheek, she headed down to the cafeteria. She took the long way around once she got to the main floor, not anxious to pass right by the main security station. They might not recognize Victory’s daughter on sight, but there was no reason to press the issue.

The bright cafeteria bustled with evening business—worried relatives and tired doctors who nonetheless had the energy to demand their sandwich be made just-so. The harried cashier still took her sweet time puzzling over how to bill the ham-egg-tomato-mushroom sandwich Toria ordered for her father. She overheard two nurses conversing behind her in line.

“—can’t wait until the doc discharges that girl,” one said. “Been a thorn in my side ever since she got here.”

“The poor dear’s been through a lot.” The second nurse picked through the selection of coffee creamers next to the register. “Hasn’t even had anyone to visit her.”

“Just that vampire-woman who got thrown out—”

“Seven dollars and thirty-five cents!” The cashier thrust her hand under Toria’s nose.

Toria fumbled in her wallet for the correct amount, then grabbed the bag and her coffee and escaped the cafeteria. She had a good idea who the salad was for now.

A few minutes later proved her right. After dropping the sandwich off with Mikelos, he sent her to room 302 with the other meal. She knocked on the semi-open door.

“What, a knock? I’m bloody honored.” The sarcasm jarred the otherwise melodic feminine voice.

Assuming permission to enter had been given, Toria walked in. “Hey,” she said. “Brought you a real dinner.” The hospital bed held a young elven girl, prompting a note of familiarity in Toria’s mind. “You’re Syri, right? I’ve seen you at the Mists.”

“That’s right,” Syri said. “Victory’s daughter?”

Toria handed over the boxed salad, then dug the accompanying fork out of her purse. “The same. Torialanthas Connor, Toria. My dad asked me to bring you the salad.”

“Syrisinia, Syri.”

Informal elven introductions were so much simpler. Toria felt better than she had earlier, but she still didn’t have the energy for formal elven mental aerobics.

Syri dug into the greens with gusto, pausing between bites to say, “Have a seat. Yeah, your mum owed me food in exchange for talking to her last night. Got kicked out before she could bring it to me.”

Halting before moving the proffered chair, Toria straightened. “Am I gonna get in trouble for being here, too? I can’t afford that now.”

“Nah, you’ll be fine.” Syri waved a dismissive hand, and Toria dragged the chair closer to the bed. “I’m feeling better, so I was gonna ditch this place tonight anyway. You can help me sneak out.” She gave Toria a conspiratorial smile, waggling her corn silk eyebrows.

“No freaking way,” Toria said, taking both a seat and a much-needed sip of coffee. “If the hospital staff doesn’t kill me, Mama will.”

After placing the fork in her salad, Syri folded her hands in front of her to give Toria a prim look. “Nobody is going to kill you. And besides, I can help you find Kane.”

Toria almost bolted out of the chair. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Kane is your partner’s name, yes?” Syri resumed her meal.

Toria relaxed again. “Yes, it is. How do you know he’s missing?”

“Simple,” Syri said around a mouthful of cucumber. “There’s mayhem about to explode in the world outside, and you’re here without him. So he must be gone. And since you didn’t burst in here all happy that the bitch indirectly responsible for my current condition had been found, I also assume she must still be on the loose.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Toria said. “Why would you be willing to help me?”

Syri’s impish grin vanished. “All the fucking mayhem, remember? We may not know each other, but we know of each other well enough. And I know we need you two as a working pair to defeat what’s to come with these damn Humanists. So where is he?”

“You haven’t heard about the Romans?” Toria feared bursting the girl’s gung-ho bubble.

“Imperial industrialists fucking up good land down south and chasing the elves out?” Syri shrugged. “What about them?”

Catching Syri’s complete attention, Toria said, “They’ve declared war on us.” She waited for a torrent of curses to flow over her.

They didn’t come. Instead, Syri let the laden fork drop back into the box. “What?”

Toria leaned forward. “Let me tell you all you’ve missed while stuck in here.”

While Syri changed into her street clothes, Toria poked her head out to survey the hall. The dinner rush had ended an hour before, so all the patients were tucked away in their rooms for the night. Two nurses manned the station in the middle of the hall, both busy with paperwork. No one else was in sight. Room 302 sat next to a stairwell, and Toria planned to take advantage of that in their escape.

“Ready?” Toria pulled her head back into the dark room. “Where did you go?”

There was a slight hint of movement in the shadows next to her, and then Syri stepped back into view.

“Neat trick,” Toria said. “Teach me?”

“If you’re good,” Syri said. “But it won’t work in that bloody over-lit hallway, so don’t count on it.” A wave of pain darkened her face when she stuck one arm in her leather jacket.

“Careful,” Toria said, remembering her companion’s injuries. “It’s warm out, you won’t even need that.” She realized now that Syri didn’t even come up to her chin. The elven girl looked like a punked-out china doll.

Syri finished pulling it on. “I always need it.” Without elaborating further, Syri took her own sneak peek out into the hall. “So, shield us, and we’ll make a break for it.”

“Minor problem,” Toria said. “No magic, remember?” Syri had been suitably sympathetic over Toria’s current dilemma, as only another magic user could be.

Pulling back into the room, Syri gave her a hard look. “I’ve got to do everything myself tonight, don’t I?”

The beginnings of a beautiful relationship. Kane would put up with her a lot better. But if this girl could help Toria find Kane, she could put up with more. She held still while Syri gave her another hard look, lips moving with no sound emerging.

“Okay, let’s go,” Syri said. She strolled into the hall, seeming without a care in the world.

Toria held up her hands, but neither noticed nor felt any change. Trusting the girl, she followed Syri out of the hospital room and down the stairs. She relaxed when no demands to stop erupted behind them.

First, a quick stop in Mikelos’ room to leave her sleeping father a note:
Taking Syri home with me. I promise she’ll keep me out of trouble.
She propped it against the vase of flowers on the bedside table.

Once Toria arranged it to her satisfaction, Syri snagged the paper to include her own addendum:
Or Toria will keep me out of trouble. Get well soon, daywalker.

Toria replaced the note once more before leading Syri back out of the room. They passed nurses, doctors, and even one security guard on their way out of the hospital to the parking lot, and no one gave them a second look.

Once they settled in Toria’s town-car, she said, “You’d better take off the spell now.”

“It’s not a spell,” said Syri. “And why?”

“Because I’ve already had one run-in with the police this week, and I don’t feel like explaining why the car appears to be driving itself if we get pulled over.”

Syri studied her, head tilted to the side. “Good point.”

Toria waited. “I don’t feel any different.”

“Because it’s not a spell!” Syri laid her head against the back of the seat and heaved a melodramatic sigh. She waved her fingers at Toria. “There, it’s gone. Better? Or you want me to recite a bloody limerick, too?”

Toria started the ignition, and they began the drive in silence.

“You know,” Toria said at a red light, “I had an elven teacher in high school. And what you do is not elven magic.”

“You want me to help find Kane or not?” Syri kept her eyes straight ahead on the road, refusing to meet Toria’s sideways glances.

Victory shut the door behind the departing councilmembers, letting the gentle thud lift a tremendous weight from her shoulders.

“Time for action?”

She twisted the deadbolt home, resisting the urge to rest her head against the wall. Instead, she squared her shoulders and turned around. Max still stood where he had said his own goodbyes to the council, and Sethri lurked behind him.

“You mean be productive instead of all this endless talking in circles?” Victory joined the two men. This time she did not resist the urge to rest her head, choosing Max’s shoulder for a convenient pillow. “Yes, please! Anything!”

“At least we got them to agree with us,” Max said.

“It was too close.”

Max gave her a quick hug. “But they still came through.”

“Then I believe it’s time to hit the road,” Sethri said. “Max stowed our gear in his truck. Do you still need to get ready?”

“Just to change my clothes and grab my pack upstairs,” Victory said. “And leave a note for Toria. Let me make you guys a snack from the kitchen before we go.”

After fixing them each a sandwich, Victory stood at the kitchen island, chewing the end of a pen between her teeth. How to convey everything she wanted to tell her daughter in a few simple words? Toria must still be angry with her, a thought that never sat well with Victory. The girl could be headstrong and impulsive, but she was also one of the bravest women she had ever met. A feeling of pride blossomed whenever she thought she might be the influence.

Toria,

Leaving with Max and Sethri now. Goal is to be back by dawn, so I’ll see you in the morning. Hope you’ve still got good ideas of how to deal with all this, because I want to hear them. Be good. Love you.

She attached the note to the refrigerator with a handmade magnet. Tracing a finger over the glazed blue and purple clay an eight-year-old Toria had claimed was a cat, she steeled herself for what was to come.

Drifting out of the kitchen, Victory found herself bypassing her original destination of the stairs and wandering into Mikelos’ studio. He must know the fate of his violin by now, but he had yet to talk to her about it. She ran a finger down the curve of the antique violin displayed on the fireplace mantle. Good thing Mikelos refused to take this one out of the house. It matched the cello in the corner, and these were two of the few remnants Mikelos had of his life before her. Connor had given him the broken violin, but it had been a practice instrument. This piece was his pride and joy.