Steel Victory (Steel Empire Book 1)

by J. L. Gribble

  “Toria suffered some sort of power backlash last night—”

  “I’m fine,” Toria said, not even opening her eyes.

  “—and I wanted someone to take a look at her,” Victory continued over her daughter.

  “I can ask Daliana whether she knows of any elves who have experience with mages when I call her,” Max said. “Other than that, I’ve got nothing.”

  “Good idea. See you in a few.”

  “Take care.”

  She switched off the phone before dropping it to the cushion next to her. “Let’s go, sweetie.”

  “I’m staying here and sleeping.” The pillow muffled her words. “Tell me how it goes in the morning.”

  “No way. I’m getting you checked out,” Victory said. “Come on.”

  She’d managed to achieve the tone of voice that made Toria do what she said. It didn’t happen often. With a groan, her daughter pushed herself up. She eyed Victory with irritation. “Can I at least get a shower first? I feel gross.”

  “You look gross. I can’t believe I let you on my couch,” Victory said. That got a rise out of Toria, who swatted at her. “Promise not to pass out in the shower?”

  “I’ll be fast.” She held out her hands, and Victory stood to pull her off the couch. “But bang on the door after five minutes, just in case.”

  Victory slung Toria’s arm across her shoulders and supported her around the waist, walking her out of the family room and back through the kitchen. “I’ll even pick out clothes for you. You can sleep in the car, and I’ll bet Max will let you crash on one of the couches in his office.”

  “Like he’ll have much choice.”

  Victory helped Toria up the walk toward the front entrance to the Hall, lit up more than usual for this late at night. People must already be here.

  “I can walk, Mama.” When they neared the front steps, Toria pulled away from the arm around her waist.

  But Victory held her daughter tight. Earlier, she’d rescued Toria from almost falling down the stairs at home, and now she wasn’t taking any chances. Relief washed over Victory when Max opened the front door to greet them.

  “Here, let me take her,” he said, coming forward. “Give your mum a rest.” With one swift movement, he hooked his arms behind Toria and swept her up like a baby. “I’m glad you’re okay, girl.”

  Toria gave a quiet laugh, then relaxed her head against Max’s shoulder. “Thanks.”

  That proved more than exhaustion was plaguing Toria. Standard operating procedure was to contradict all comments Max or anyone else made about her age or general level of experience. Victory held the door for Max while he carried Toria inside. “Have you heard from Daliana?”

  “I did,” Max said. “She’s on her way over with someone who may be able to help. Do you want one of the guestrooms on the third floor or a couch in my office?”

  “Couch,” came the muffled reply from Max’s shirt. “Better than those things you call beds.”

  “I’ll take you up, then,” Max said. He tilted his head toward the common room to the left. “Meet you in a few, Victory. Genevieve and Tristan are already here. Lorus brought a friend. And the coffee’s on.”

  Victory pressed a kiss to Toria’s cheek. “I love you. Rest.”

  “Love you, too.” Max whisked her up the stairs and away.

  Victory could not help watching to make sure Max got up the stairs with her daughter in one piece. She also admired the ease with which Max ascended the stairs. Toria stood three inches taller than Victory, and her muscles were real compared to the strength Victory derived from her vampirism. Maybe it was his elven heritage. Or maybe Max was just that strong.

  Once he disappeared around the corner at the top landing, Victory felt able to head for the gathering room, drawn by the sound of talking and aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. She pushed open one of the frosted glass doors to see a handful of people clustered on the room’s four couches drawn together into a lopsided square.

  “—is why they will ultimately fail,” was the first clear phrase to reach Victory’s ears. The speaker looked up at Victory’s arrival, then dismissed the vampire to return to her conversation. “Fabbri doesn’t have the charisma needed to lead this kind of revolution. She has the drive, but no finesse.”

  Victory lurked by the entrance, identifying the other guests before making her own presence official. Lorus stood by the coffeepots, spooning sugar into a mug. The other two werecreature representatives shared one couch. But who was the elderly woman perched on another sofa lecturing them on revolutionary theory?

  Lorus waved Victory over to hand her a mug. “Black, right?”

  Victory accepted the drink and took a long sip, savoring the harsh burn of the liquid that would have scalded anyone else. The coffee might be useless to her, but it did make her feel better. Feeling the unnatural warmth soak into her, she said, “Thanks, Lorus.”

  “My pleasure,” he said. “Max told us what he knew. How’s Toria?”

  She was touched. Victory wasn’t aware Lorus even knew her daughter except by reputation. “Not sure. She seems fine on the outside, if tired. But I think something went wrong magically. Toria’s trying to brush it off, but I can tell she’s not herself.”

  “Mother’s intuition,” Lorus said.

  “Something like that, I guess,” Victory said. “Daliana’s bringing in someone to check her out.” She curled both hands around the warm mug. “Question for you, though. Who’s the woman I don’t believe I’ve ever seen before?”

  Lorus looked pained. “Oh. Yes.” He took a deep breath. “The other werecreatures of Limani don’t have a proper hierarchy like the wolves and panthers. You know I’m only on council because I’m the only one willing to take the job. Since I don’t have a proper Second, I brought Bethany.” One hand held his coffee mug steady, but the other traced nervous patterns on the side of his pants leg.

  “I’m sensing regret here.”

  “Well, I thought it would be a good idea,” Lorus said. “I figure any plan we get her to agree with should get the support of the rest of the other weres. But I always forget that she’s kind of cranky. And she’s gotten worse with age.”

  Almost on cue, Bethany’s voice rose against a response from Genevieve. “I don’t care what right Fabbri has! She’s acting like an upstart little cub with this group of hers. I say we go in and clean them all out.”

  Victory studied the woman more closely, noting the gray-streaked black hair, the plain clothing, the slight plumpness around the waist. “She doesn’t look terribly intimidating. More like someone’s old aunt. What type of creature is she?”

  “A badger,” Lorus said.

  “They make werebadgers?”

  Lorus flicked his tongue at her, a disturbing reptilian sight from a human face. “They make weresnakes.”

  “Point taken.”

  “Shall we sit?” Lorus gestured toward an empty couch. The seat in the room farthest away from Bethany.

  Repressing a smile, Victory said, “Let’s.” She curled up in the corner of the couch with a pillow in her lap. Had Lorus heard about Kane and Asaron or just that Toria was injured? “Do you—”

  The doors to the room opened and Max escorted Daliana and Lena in. “Good, everyone’s here,” he said. “Have a seat, ladies. I’ll be right back, and we can get started.”

  Daliana settled herself between Victory and Lorus. “Zerandan is one of our more powerful mages. He’s talking with Toria now.”

  Victory quashed the automatic fears accompanying the thought of Toria alone with a strange man. If Daliana trusted him, that was enough for her.

  Perhaps sensing Victory’s hesitation, Daliana said, “He’s my grandfather.”

  Well. In that case. “Thank you,” Victory said.

  “What is
she doing here?” Tristan glared at Lena.

  Genevieve put a hand on his arm, but Lorus spoke up first. “She’s on the council with us. One of the nonelected members. Isn’t that status the problem Fabbri has with us?”

  “But she’s a human. And we’re dealing with the Humanist problem.”

  Victory was ready to leap to her friend’s defense along with Lorus, but Lena was faster. “Perhaps you don’t know this,” she said, the politeness in her voice blade-sharp, “but I was thrown out of Fabbri’s restaurant right beside Victory. I may be a pureblood human, but I’ve thrown my lot in with the monsters and that makes me even worse. So I’m here.”

  “Monsters?” Genevieve said, a note of challenge in her voice.

  “I wandered around the farmers’ market this morning,” Lena said. “The Humanists were recruiting. ‘Monster’ was one of the nicer terms I heard.”

  “Then we are glad to have you on our side,” Genevieve said.

  Tristan slumped in his seat, and Victory noted the unshaven chin and rumpled clothing. He must worry for his Second, Gregory, the same way she did for Mikelos. Her aggravation at him drained away. He was in the same situation.

  The conversation halted when Max reentered the room, and Victory got the uncanny feeling her daughter once described to her—teacher was back in the classroom, so the troublemakers faded into the background. Well, this was Max’s territory, and werecreatures respected territory and dominance more than anything else.

  Max took the empty seat next to Bethany, a notebook and pen in hand. “So. The situation. Victory’s daywalker Mikelos is in the hospital, along with an elf and two werewolves.” He held up the crumpled flier Daliana showed them the night before. “The Humanists have declared themselves an active organization and are not likely to stop with these attacks. On top of it all, the Roman Army is camped outside our borders and the vampire Asaron and warrior-mage Kane Nalamas have been taken prisoner. For reasons unknown, they left behind the warrior-mage Toria Connor, but she might be suffering from some kind of magical attack.”

  Genevieve interrupted when Max paused for breath. “Poor Victory. Your family has come out the worst from all this.”

  “Might that be intentional?” Lena now studied the Humanist flier. She passed it to Lorus and looked up at Victory. “It wouldn’t be the first time grand events have been orchestrated to enact personal revenge against you.”

  “I don’t think so,” Victory said, “but I can’t say for certain. It would be more likely for Asaron to have major enemies. Besides, they might not have even known who they were capturing.”

  “But who with a grudge against Asaron would try to take on the whole city?” Genevieve said. “He’s not even a permanent resident.”

  “The Humanists can’t have predicted Mikelos would try to go dancing,” Victory said. “And the Romans can’t have known Max would send anyone on recon so soon.”

  “So we take it all at face value for right now,” Max said. “Humanists on one side, Romans on the other, and Victory stuck in the middle out of sheer coincidence.” He consulted his notebook. “First question—how the hell are we going to deal with all this?”

  Since she’d already read the flier and felt no urge to see the dried bloodstains a second time, Victory passed it right to Daliana, who also handed it to Tristan without reading it.

  “Shouldn’t the Roman Army be a problem of the complete city council?” Daliana said.

  “Right now the council doesn’t have the solidarity to fight its way out of a paper bag,” Lorus said.

  “And I’d still like to know how Emily Fabbri knew about them at the meeting last night,” Max said. “We can’t assume that there’s no connection between these problems.”

  He had something there. Another thought occurred to Victory, almost lost in the madness of the night before. “That would be too much of a coincidence,” she said. “Remember, Fabbri wanted to use the army to distract us from moving to impeach her.”

  The Humanist flier reached Bethany, and the woman spoke up in outrage. “Easy solution, then, to at least one of the problems. We don’t have time to fuck around. We know exactly where these Humanists are going to be and when. We go in and wipe them out. Then we deal with the Romans without any of this internal nonsense.”

  Everyone in the room gaped at her. Next to her, Lorus sank into the couch.

  “Sure, that’s brilliant,” Genevieve said. “If we want a civil war, allowing the Romans to waltz in and kill everyone while we’re too busy fighting each other.”

  “But isn’t that the point?” Max said. “The Romans are camped out on our border. The easiest invasion is when you can walk in and take over. Victory?”

  He needed agreement from the one person in the room ever involved in a large-scale war. Victory was more than happy to provide one. “It’s true. I’ve been on both ends, and even if the city shows no resistance, it’s not pretty. Keep in mind that all of us are automatically marked for death because we’re political figures. And this is Limani. Even if the council surrenders, the city’s not going to go peacefully.”

  “Rioting in the streets, then looting and rape when the Romans pour in,” Max said.

  Victory forced her eyes to remain open. If she closed them, the memories of scenes Max described would be all too vivid.

  “So maybe the Humanists aren’t that much of a coincidence,” Lorus said. “Does Emily Fabbri have any Roman blood in her?”

  “Fabbri is a Roman name,” Lena said. “And Emily is a derivative of Emilia. Evidence points to it.”

  “No,” Victory said. She had lived in this city for a hundred years. Even after brushing aside those memories of battle, the enormous weight of her age still settled on her shoulders. “Let’s not go down that road, condemning people because of their heritage. Especially not based on such a flimsy excuse as a name. Limani has been open to settlers from either empire for hundreds of years, and the families are so intermingled it would be pointless. We’re not going to start discriminating now.”

  “Regardless of the fact that’s exactly what they’re doing to us?” Tristan said.

  “There’s a difference between taking the higher moral ground and getting anything done,” Max said. “Much as I’d like for both to be possible.”

  “So we need to figure out how far we’re willing to go,” Victory said.

  Lorus toasted the room with his coffee mug. “And how far we’ll have to push everyone else along with us.”

  Toria’s decision to stay in Max’s office instead of taking a bed in one of the Hall’s guestrooms might have been the wrong one. The couch might be comfortable enough for sitting or lounging on, but any real sleep would be impossible.

  Then she remembered the lumpy mattresses in the guestrooms. She once accused Max of getting them from a trash bin, and he never did argue the point with her.

  But tonight Max gave her a pillow and tucked her under a warm blanket with orders to yell if she needed anything. The level of his concern almost shocked her, but she and Kane were Limani’s treasured warrior-mage pair. Max had been itching to declare them official mercenaries since high school, but Victory forbade it, claiming they needed more experience first. But maybe he didn’t have any ulterior motives—in his own way, he did care for them.

  Toria reached out with her mind to touch Kane’s presence. But she couldn’t do more than verify that his spark of life still burned before the wave of black washed across her field of view and spikes of pain jolted through her brain.

  She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain and pressed her face into the pillow, riding out the throbbing in her head. When it receded, she made the conscious effort to relax her tensed muscles and lay breathing hard. “Damn it all to hell,” she said into her pillow.

  “That’s no way for a lady to speak.”

 
Toria popped her eyes open to see an elderly gentleman standing in the open doorway of Max’s office, hands in front of him resting on the head of a cane. He dressed like he came straight from the stage, in old-fashioned black breeches and a dark emerald tunic over a shirt of a lighter green. He radiated age and power, but the face was unlined. She didn’t know why she had thought he was old, unless it was just the cane that threw her off.

  The man gestured toward the couch on the opposite side of Toria. “May I come in?”

  “Yeah, please.” The pale hand with long tapered fingers sparked recognition and she knew this man was an elf, though the first she’d seen with such short hair. He kept it cropped close to his head, covering the ears that would have otherwise given him right away. “Sorry, I’m not usually this rude.”

  Toria braced an arm beneath her and made to rise, but the man said, “Please, remain comfortable. I understand that you’ve been through quite an ordeal.” Before taking a seat, he held his hand out to her. “I am Zerandan. My granddaughter Daliana asked me to meet with you.”

  If Daliana was his granddaughter, Zerandan was one of the oldest elves Toria had ever met. That made her previous rudeness even more inexcusable. She dredged her elven manners out of the back of her brain, where she stored them next to her old piano lessons and how to write in cursive. While she shook his hand, she said, “It is my pleasure to meet you, Zerandan, grandfather of Daliana, friend of my mother. I am Torialanthas Connor, daughter of Victory, friend of your granddaughter.” She was lucky the connection was so simple. Anything more would have been tough to wade through right now.

  A glint of humor flashed in his green eyes. “Nicely done, child,” he said, settling into his seat across from her. “You go by Toria, I believe?”