Jean-Pierre left his humping position on the branch and sat down on the glass floor behind Fiona. He surrounded her with his long legs so that she could lean easily against his chest.

This couple’s relationship had traveled light-years since they’d completed the breh-hedden about three weeks ago.

The goddamn breh-hedden, that really infuriating vampire mate-bonding ritual that had half her warriors in heat—and now Thorne had been struck down as well. He’d been so out-of-his-mind that for the first time in two thousand years he’d actually abandoned his post.

Jean-Pierre wrapped Fiona up in his arms, which caused her to turn her head slightly and kiss him just over his vein. Endelle saw the faint puncture marks of a recent tap.

She looked away. For some reason this display of tenderness and intimacy was a shard straight through her heart. Maybe she was just missing Thorne, but damn she felt lonely. She hadn’t realized how her ability to reach him day or night with just a thought had kept her feeling not just secure but connected as well. Since he’d left, she’d been like a ship without a rudder. She was getting damn sick of the feeling, like she’d begun moving in endless circles.

“Thorne needs to get his ass back here.”

Jean-Pierre nodded. “We all feel it as a terrible loss. I did not realize how much we depended on him. Zach and Santiago are having a war of their own, and even Kerrick got into a very big fight with Luken. Thorne is a leader of men, it is as simple as that.”

“He kept me grounded.”

“Oui. All of us, I think. We are missing him very much.”

“And now Greaves is making a show of his army to the world.”

“Were you with Marcus when you got word of the spectacle?”

“Oh, yeah. He put a hole in the wall. I’ve never seen him quite that enraged. He was moving around so erratically that Havily suddenly folded into the space demanding to know what was going on and why his hand hurt.”

The completion of the breh-hedden had one telling feature: Each partner could experience the other partner’s external physical sensations. When Marcus had punched the wall, Havily had felt it as well.

“That must have been awful for her,” Fiona said. She held tightly to Jean-Pierre’s arms. “When he fights, I have to close down the sensations or I’m not able to sleep at all.”

“Yeah, Havily was pretty upset. Hell, we all were. To show his military strength to the world? Shit.”

“Mon dieu. We are so fucked.”

“You got that right.”

“Greaves is a madman,” Jean-Pierre muttered.

“Yeah, well, at the very least he’s insane. His current line of propaganda goes something like, ‘The war has been nothing but a misunderstanding,’ and he ‘hopes for a permanent resolution by the winter solstice.’ Imagine, the ‘winter solstice.’ Isn’t that the most beautiful new-age crap you’ve ever heard?

“He’s invited COPASS to attend as well. Apparently, most of the committee members have accepted his invitation. And did you hear the latest, that COPASS members are being granted British-style forms of address and corresponding ranks? Even Harding, that prick of pricks, must now be addressed as my Lord Asshole?”

“Are you shitting me?” Jean-Pierre said. But because shitting sounded like sheeting, all she could do was smile. She wanted him to say it again. His accent could melt ice in ten-below weather.

That Fiona kissed his neck again didn’t surprise Endelle, but she got the feeling by the way he looked at his breh that Endelle would have to fold out of this weird tree room or she’d have another kind of spectacle to watch.

As she rose to her feet, the knitted throw and a bunch more bits of snail shell fell to the floor. Before she could reach for the throw, Fiona folded it into her arms. She’d only recently completed her ascension, and she practiced her folding skills any chance she got.

“We’re going to lose more High Administrators because of the review. Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time.” She glanced at Fiona. “You’ll tell me if Marguerite contacts you?”

She nodded. “Of course.” Fiona then reached out and touched her arm. “Thorne will come home soon. Don’t worry.”

But her heart plummeted again. Jesus, if she didn’t get the hell out of this place, she’d start weeping onto her starfish boobs, and like hell she was going to do that.

Fuck Thorne, anyway, for taking his little goddamn breh-hedden holiday on Mortal Earth.

With that, she lifted her arm and folded back to her palace.

She needed to be alone for a while before she returned to HQ.

How can a traitor ever redeem his actions?

He can’t.

—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth

Chapter 6

Darian Greaves, the Commander of the Ascenders Liberation Army, protector of the disenfranchised, soon-to-be leader of two worlds, approached the first of two enormous transport cages. He wore a fur hat, necessary over his bald head. The Russian spring was very cold, especially since it was nearly ten at night. His nostrils sparked when he breathed. The rehearsal had been going on since one in the afternoon and would probably continue until the early hours of the morning, although the DNA-altered swans and geese that had been trained to fly in squadrons had already been sent to their designated resting grounds for the night.

The white tigers within the cages were restless, pacing back and forth. He kept them hungry because hunger put them in motion, a very consistent law of nature.

He understood the concept extremely well. He had been hungry his entire adult life.

He patted the side of the cage and the tiger sprang at him, screaming and slashing.

Good. These cats would make an excellent part of the spectacle parade. He had one goal: intimidation, implied threat. He wanted all the Territories of Second Earth to understand that he would punish severely any who did not align with him before the final battle took place.

His Seers were working hard on his behalf, as well they should. The military review spectacle looked very favorable in the future streams. The several he’d viewed telepathically through one of his more advanced Mumbai Seers had shown the exact level of magnificence he’d been hoping for.

Even so, he felt vaguely uneasy, an unusual state for him. He had such confidence in his plans that he wasn’t used to even the smallest wiggle of anxiety.

If he could locate Owen Stannett, he’d put him on the future streams just to be sure. But Stannett was off the grid and had enough power to hide from Greaves, unless of course Greaves really wanted to find him. Not yet, though.

As for the tigers, he was well satisfied. He lifted a hand and signaled to the trainers and drivers to take them away. “Send them to General Leto at the viewing platform. I want him to have a look. Get his approval.” He was in full inspection mode, but not just where the parade was concerned. Unfortunately, tonight he had to deal with … Leto.

He was disappointed in the truths that had emerged over the past several weeks about his dearest Warrior-of-the-Blood-turned-general. And yes, even a little surprised, despite the fact that he was rarely surprised by anything. The human-vampire nature was a restless thing, seeking for some kind of communal oneness and connectedness that could never really be achieved.

Leto had taken dying blood on the first day of his defection. What truer statement could there ever have been of purpose and intention? He had all but sold his soul to be part of Greaves’s glorious mission to transform both Second Earth and Mortal Earth into the paradise he envisioned.

He felt really sad that Leto would not be part of the new world he would create. The pyramids of Egypt, the Great Wall of China, all the great European cathedrals combined would be nothing to the monuments he intended to build, or rather have built, by the great supports of Mortal Earth.

Some would call it slavery. He would herald such acts of sacrifice as the finest form of service for the good of all.

He was nearing the fulfillment of all things. The vibration of his growing power sang in his veins, a strong powerful composition full of cymbals and drums and trumpets. His army was almost complete and beautifully well trained.

Greaves was the coming one. He could feel it now, chosen by destiny to transform all six dimensions. This first part of his plan was essentially just the beginning.

Still, he sighed. All well and good but there was just something so lowering about discovering an unhappy and unsuspected truth.

Leto was a spy.

If Greaves hadn’t been bereft of a heart he would say his heart was just a little bit broken. Absurd, of course, but he’d always liked Leto in an essential way. There was nothing of either the simpleton or the braggadocio about the man. There were times he even had feelings toward him, and Greaves had never been particularly homosexual. He’d always preferred women, but Leto was wonderful to look at. He had incredible blue eyes, very sharp and piercing, the color clear like crystals.

He sighed. Perhaps he’d had a little crush on the man after all. How else could he have explained being so blind to his activities for nearly a century.

Leto also had kept his hair warrior long and constrained by the ritual cadroen. From the first, Greaves had approved this affectation because it was a constant reminder to his followers that he had successfully turned a powerful Warrior of the Blood, one of Endelle’s own elite force.

Leto had been a feather in Greaves’s cap, at least until the truth had finally surfaced, or rather when Greaves, just to make certain of his general, had sent a very gifted IT hacker into Leto’s files. He really should have done it sooner, but Greaves preferred to trust those closest to him until proof surfaced to the contrary.

But Leto’s conduct had become erratic over the past few months, ever since Alison’s rite of ascension, actually. Leto had several times stopped taking dying blood until Greaves forced it on him. Leto was in that state even now, pretending that he wasn’t gripped with the resulting cramps because he’d refused to imbibe his allotted portion of the addictive substance. Maybe that’s what had forced Greaves’s hand, what had prompted him to finally set one of his dogs on Leto’s trail.