"I don't ask for your help en masse; I ask only that the Council permit the vayash moru of Margolan—as individuals—to follow their hearts. Let them act against Jared and his followers without fear of the Council's judgment. Let them protect themselves and their kin."

"A mortal, asking us to loose the vengeance of our kind against other mortals?" Rafe asked, watching Tris closely. "Is that what you really want? Do you think you can stop that force once it's turned loose?"

"I don't know. But as it is the truce will shatter one day. The vayash moru will take their vengeance against all mortals, innocent and guilty, and the bloodshed won't end at Margolan's borders. Reprisal will follow reprisal. You'll see your precious truce dissolve, and all hope of peace with it. x\nd behind it all will be the Obsidian King, growing bloated on the blood, increasing his power in an immortal body with no one to challenge him—perhaps for generations."

"I've already made my choice," said Gabriel, rising from his seat. "I am resolved to see Martris Drayke on the throne of Margolan, or be destroyed in the attempt."

Mikhail stepped forward. "And I, likewise," he said, raising his head to meet the gaze of the Council. "I served King Hotten two centuries ago. Now, my kingdom and my people require my service once again. I stand with Lord Gabriel and Prince Drayke."

Rafe looked at the three men in silence for a moment. "You realize that you are in defiance of the Council's truce, for which the penalty is destruction?"

Gabriel returned his stare. "We're within Council chambers, within the borders of my lands, surrounded by my brood. Neither you nor the Council can act against us here. To do so would trigger reprisals, both from my family and from the King of Principality. Either way, the truce ends. Prince Drayke has spoken truly. The only way to preserve our freedom to move safely among mortals is to give our support to Martris Drayke, and trust the Dark Lady that She will give her blessing in our endeavor."

Rafe stood. "The Council will adjourn to deliberate. Lord Gabriel, you will join us," he said. Mikhail moved to stand beside Tris. The Council filed from the room, leaving their seconds behind. Tris was immeasurably glad for Mikhail's company.

"So it's really true what they say, that you can speak with the spirits?" asked the blonde woman who stood behind Riqua. "I'm Elana. She held out out a fine-boned, ice-cold hand in greeting.

"Yes, it's true," Tris said, taken aback at the jarring incongruity between the formality of the Council meeting and this casual small talk.

"I remember Bava K'aa," said Rafe's second. He had the look of a scholar or a priest, with eyes tired from too much reading in dim light. Tris guessed that even in life, the young man had been pale from time spent indoors. "My name is Tamaq. I fought against the Obsidian King in his first rising,"

"Then the Council permitted intervention before?" Tris asked.

Tamaq shook his head. "I was mortal at the time," he said sadly. "I would have died on the battlefield, had not Rafe found me and brought me across."

There's more that's not being said, Tris thought. The Council maintains its neutrality, but what, then, was Rafe doing harvesting the battlefield on the side opposed to the Obsidian King?

More to the point, Tris wondered, does any of this matter once you're no longer afraid of death? When you're able to outlive kings and petty mortal politics, wealthy enough to buy your safety, superior in abilities to outmaneuver all but the luckiest or most concerted efforts against you, why should you care?

The real question, Tris realized, was not whether he could sway the Council to support his quest for the throne. The true question was why they should care at all.

"I'm more interested in this new Lord of Dark Haven." The speaker was the beautiful young man who stood behind Uri. "Is it really the smuggler Vahanian—the one with the royal death warrant in Eastmark?"

"Leave it alone, Malesh." The warning came from Astasia's second.

Malesh regarded the challenge with a smirk. "Go back to bed, Cailan. Stay out of the discussion, and I won't feel obliged to damage anything your mistress plays with."

"I'll let Jonmarc make his own introductions," Tris said, feeling distaste for Malesh. "My business tonight is with the Council."

Elana smiled at him and licked her lips. A shudder ran down Tris's spine. Elana was quite beautiful, even by mortal standards. "I'm told you announced your betrothal tonight," she said in a coquettish voice that, together with her posture, gave Tris to understand she considered him fair game. "Congratulations, Prince Drayke." She slid a half step closer.

"You're the Lord of the Dead and Undead," she said teasingly. "And while a mortal bride may be necessary for heirs, do consider the alternatives once that obligation has been fulfilled." She gave a look that left nothing to his imagination.

Tris blushed, seeing in Elana's eyes a spark of triumph. Even dead, she was a damnably attractive woman, and while her offer had no appeal to him, it was impossible to completely ignore her sensuality. He made a courteous bow.

"I'm flattered, m'lady, but this betrothal is an affair of the heart. I'm spoken for."

Elana gave him a knowing smile. "In fifty years, or in one hundred, my offer will remain the same, and my gifts to match. Can your mortal lover say the same?"

"That's enough, Elana," Mikhail said firmly.

Tris met Elana's eyes. "I know how transient this mortal body is, and how brightly the spirit glows within. It's true that our bodies fade and die, but a Summoner can extend that union beyond death. On the spirit plain, there is no fading, and no dying. Even vayash moru are not eternal."

Something in his words touched a nerve, Tris thought with satisfaction, or perhaps, Elana was unused to being spurned. Pouting, she withdrew to the edge of the group, turning her conversation to Cailan instead.

Malesh took the opening. "It will be most interesting to have a lord once again in Dark Haven," he said, with a dangerously smooth tone. "Though it is said that the Dark Lady Herself chooses, we have had some... turnover... in the lords of late. I hope the hand of the Lady rests on Lord Vahanian." Malesh's voice only thinly veiled his malice. "It sounds like he'll be a breath of fresh air," he added, watching Tris closely.

He knows about the poisoning, Tris thought, forcing down his anger at Malesh's baiting. And if the knife hadn't been meant for me, I'd wonder if he or his master had a hand in it.

"I'll pass along your sentiments to Lord Vahanian," Tris replied carefully.

The doors opened and the Council filed back in. Mikhail and the others returned to their places. Tris felt as if he had just run a very dangerous gauntlet.

He looked at Gabriel, but he could read nothing in the vayash moru's face.

"The Council has reached its decision," Rafe said, when the others took their seats. Tris glanced at the Council members. Gabriel appeared as tense as Tris had ever seen him. Riqua looked angry. Uri was positively furious, with a barely controlled rage that roiled behind his dark eyes as he looked away from the others. Astasia seemed annoyed, her beautiful features clouded by a dark mood. Rafe betrayed little, but Tris thought the Council spokesman looked tired.

"After much discussion, it is the will of,, the Council that we rule in favor of Prince Drayke, permitting the participation by individual vayash moru in the matter of the Usurper on the basis of conscience," Rafe declared.

"One more example of why the truce is a flawed, idealistic mirage," muttered Uri.

Rafe ignored Uri's interruption. "Prince Drayke, do not regard this as an endorsement by the Blood Council. We agree that Foor Arontala must be removed, and that your efforts may present the best hope of doing so. But be clear on this point—it is to preserve our freedom that we act, not out of interest in any mortal kingdom."