'Alex is the least of my worries. We have other problems. Get dressed.' He handed me the charcoal-grey uniform of the Warders, trousers, jacket, turtleneck shirt. The shirt was silk; you could feel it in the texture.
He turned to Fellstamp. 'Are you able to stand?' Fellstamp still looked grey.
Fellstamp nodded, Fionh and Amber helping him up. 'Nothing that a week of rest and good sex won't cure.'
Fionh assessed him. 'If you have sex tonight it will kill you.'
'Yeah, but I'd die smiling.' His grin was infectious, at least with Fionh. Amber didn't appear to find it funny.
'Get him a clean shirt. Have you stopped the bleeding?'
Fionh lifted the pad and inspected the wound. 'Mostly. The puncture's clean, so it won't scar. We'll keep a pad on it for a few days.'
'Good. Help him dress. Slimgrin, clean the blade and find the scabbard for it.'
He turned to me. Tate was helping me into the dark grey jacket, grinning at me all the while.
'As a Warder, you take orders, understand?'
'I understand, but you can't order me to leave her there.' He knew I meant Alex.
'I said I would help you and I will, but you have to help yourself. Get yourself killed and you're no help to me or her. You have to learn to keep your feelings to yourself. You wear them like a badge of honour but your enemies will see them as a weakness and exploit them for all they're worth.'
'I can't help the way I feel.'
'You can hide the way you feel if you want to live long enough to help her. You need to learn quickly if you're going to survive as a Warder. We need to present you to the full council. Put your sword on.' He took the scabbarded sword and belt from Slimgrin and handed it to me. 'You don't draw that again tonight, whatever happens. Do you understand?'
'I think I've had enough blood for one night, don't you?' I nodded to the sweep of spatters across the floor and up the wall before buckling the belt around my waist. The weight of the unfamiliar blade rested against my thigh.
'Just do as you're told for once.' He turned and addressed the Warders. 'Get your weapons, people, we're on in three minutes. Dogstar, you're with me. The rest of you, stay close.'
Garvin swept out of the room, me in close pursuit. I fell in beside him. The others followed so that our steps fell into time, a dull tattoo on the carpeted floor echoed by the rhythm of the sword slapping against my leg. I glanced backwards. The Warders followed, close enough to leave no exploitable space between them but each in their own space, unhampered by the others. Following their lead I let a little distance grow between Garvin and me. He reacted by catching my arm and pulling me back.
'Stay close. I mean it.'
I nodded, acknowledging his order. This was getting stranger and stranger. I had seen Garvin fight four Warders at once and not look stressed. I had seen him stay calm when everyone else was anxious. I had never doubted his capability in any situation. Tonight he looked nervous. What would make Garvin nervous?
We arrived at the door to the main chamber. I knew the council were meeting tonight; Garvin had told me. I knew that beyond these doors there would be seven huge wooden thrones carved from bog oak and heavy as iron. I knew that the room would be dimly lit but for the figure in each of the chairs. On the left would be the empty chair, the chair reserved for the Seventh Court and held against the return of their lost brother, Altair, Lord of the Untainted. In the next would be pale Yonna, Lady of the Fey'ree and ruler of Blackbird's court. Next to Yonna would be Barthia, her huge bulk and ham-like forearms a complete contrast to Yonna's tiny slender frame, her upturned tusks no less strange than Yonna's pointed ears or over-wide mouth.
In the centre would be Krane, the most human-looking of the leaders of the Feyre, though the feline grace with which he moved would set him apart as much as Barthia's size. Mellion would be next, his smooth dark fur beautifully groomed as always, the heavy silver chain of office draped around his neck. Against Mellion's lithe grace, Teoth would look short and dumpy, his flat nose and square features so similar to Fellstamp's that I knew at once that he must be the leader of the Luchorpan. Finally, Kimlesh, Lady of the Nymphine court, would be on the right. Her hair, like Fionh's, was never quite still, the blonde curls moving with a will of their own, winding around the finials on the chair as if they were tasting it.
I had been presented to them before, but not as a full Warder. Up until now I had been protected by Garvin's tutelage and, though I had been counted as a Warder since I first swore the oath I had repeated tonight, I had not been on active service, and so not at their disposal. Tonight that had changed. Now the council could send me anywhere they wished, for any reason they wanted, and I had sworn to obey with an oath that bound my heart. That oath protected me. It meant that others could not use their magic to extract the secrets of the council from me. It had allowed me to live under the council's protection. But it meant I had to obey.
Garvin turned before the door to the chamber, facing the rest of the Warders.
'School your faces, still your hearts. We are the Warders.'
'We are the Warders!' The others echoed his words, putting their hands over their hearts in salute.
Garvin turned and paused for a second before using the end of his staff to rap three times on the door. He pushed the double doors open before us and we marched forward into the chamber, keeping formation. We approached the seven thrones in step and stopped where the light grew bolder and the seven-pointed star in the floor marked the space before the High Court of the Feyre.
There was a stillness in the Warders around me, a tension unreleased. Garvin didn't glance my way or give any indication that anything was out of the ordinary, but standing beside him I could feel that he was wound tight.
The reason was before us.
The seventh throne was occupied.
FIVE
The seventh throne was supposed to be unoccupied, the ruler of the Seventh Court and the rest of the Untainted banished to another world and kept out of ours by the barrier that I had helped to repair nine months ago. How could he be here? I glanced sideways at Garvin, who looked stonily ahead.
Altair spoke. I expected his voice to be deep and rough, but it wasn't. It had warmth and timbre like a finely tuned instrument, meant to sway hearts and invite confidences.
'What, no word of greeting, Garvin? No welcome home?'
'Your place has been kept for you, Lord Altair, as you would expect.' said Garvin.
'Still, I had thought that you might have some welcome for me, returning after so long an absence.'
'Forgive me. The circumstances of your departure make me cautious, as well you might imagine.'
Kimlesh spoke. 'Altair is here at our invitation, Garvin. Your duty is his protection, as with all of us.'
'You do not need to remind me of my duty, Lady. I know it well.'
'And yet I detect a hesitation,' said Altair.
'When last we saw each other, Altair, I lost five Warders. That's not a night I'll soon forget. I have no wish to lose any more.'
'An error of judgement put you between my purpose and the mongrels, Garvin. Had you not stood in my way, you would not have lost anyone.'
'I do not regard it as an error.'
'And yet you lost five Warders.'
'Two of them were Tainted, as you would have it. The Warders protect each other. We stand together and die together. I would not abandon my people.'
'Your duty should come before your people,' said Altair.
'I fulfilled my duty. You were unharmed. The High Court survived intact.'
'May I remind you that Altair is our brother,' said Krane, leaning forward in his chair, 'and that he has never offered harm to any of us. His quarrel is with the Tainted, not with the Courts or with the Feyre.'
'Are you calling the half-breeds Tainted now too, my Lord?' asked Garvin.
