The Leopard King

by Ann Aguirre

  It turned out that she’d adjusted the clocks, so when Pru said “only four minutes”, she really meant, We’ll get there fifteen minutes early. For the first time, they arrived at the conference room with time to spare. Dom wavered between amusement and irritation, but at seeing her relief, his sense of humor won out.

  “Are you this earnest about everything?”

  “Pretty much,” she said, smiling up at him.

  Somehow he restrained the urge to kiss her. He’d never hear the end of it if Raff caught him going at his mate in the conference room. So Dom contented himself with brushing his knuckles against her cheek. Because his people knew their business, the table had already been set with tea and sweets. He didn’t have a chance to sample any, however, because a messenger burst through the door, breathless, and tried to speak.

  “Easy.” He recognized the young guard, an eager puma. “What’s happened?”

  “The… the Eldritch party, sir. They’ve arrived early and will be here any time.”

  Dom swore. Those witchy assholes wanted to catch the pride flatfooted and force them to start the negotiations in the red, especially in regard to hospitality. But… it could be worse. If the Golgoth show up too, for instance.

  He gave the orders at once. “Convene an honor guard. Whoever’s on duty, get them in formal dress.”

  As he said that, his clever mate had her phone out and was already dialing. “Beren? This is Pru. The Eldritch have preempted further discussion. If you could collect Raff and head for the gate—oh, you’re with the wolf already?” A pause. “Excellent. Then summon your men so you don’t lose face during the welcome ceremony.”

  The messenger nodded and raced off.

  Fortunately, his father had set a precedent for formal attire, even during ally talks, so he had on a decent suit, and Pru looked lovely in a dark blue dress. She smoothed it over her hips and tugged at the bodice with an expression he recognized as sheer nerves. Dom stroked her arm in passing as he headed for the door.

  “Come along, clever cat. Your habit of arriving early may have just saved us a great deal of embarrassment.”

  “That’s a coincidence,” she mumbled, hurrying after him.

  He set a cracking pace to get to the gate by the time the Eldritch party requested entry.

  The plaza was full of pride guards in dress black while Beren’s crew stood behind him in matching mahogany, and Raff’s retainers were lined up in heather gray. Despite a few breathing hard here and there, nobody would ever guess how wildly they’d just scrambled.

  “What are you waiting for?” he called to the guard on the wall. “Invite our guests in.”

  The Eldritch came thirty strong, at least five Noxblades among their number. At their head, a tall, lean man strode through the parted gates garbed in scarlet and silver. His guards were likewise dressed in red so dark, it likely wouldn’t show bloodstains. It was impossible to gauge an Eldritch’s age just by looking, as most of them had hair so fair, it could be ash blond or silver with age. Dom had heard that the Eldritch inspired old legends in humans to the south, tales of long-lived elves and immortal fey folk.

  Dom stepped forward. “Welcome, Lord Talfayen. It is our pleasure to greet you.”

  The Eldritch lord had sharp features and eyes like twin coals. He raked a contemptuous glance around. “Perhaps it would be best if we hosted the conclave next.”

  Since they’d showed up early, none of the preparations were in place. There were supposed to be dried herbs on the ground and wreaths hung, woven of hothouse flowers that reflected a desire for peace. If Talfayen wanted proper royal treatment, he should’ve stuck to the timetable. With some effort, he locked his annoyance down.

  Pru was right to drag me back. Slay would already have laid this asshole out.

  His mate bowed low, both hands pressed to her chest, and Dom caught a flicker of surprise from one of the guards up front. That must be an Eldritch custom. She’s saving my ass. Talfayen returned the gesture with one elbow, which meant…hell if he could remember what. He’d studied all this shit endlessly, but then—

  Murder.

  Exile.

  And so much liquor. It would be a miracle if he recalled half of what he needed to know.

  “Welcome to our holding,” she went on. “May our shadows bind as one and no disharmony sour our song.”

  The Eldritch wore a faint smile. “You know our ways?”

  “A little,” she answered.

  “Burnt Amber greets you.” As the elder Animari at the gathering, Beren inclined his head instead of bowing. Judging by his expression, he wasn’t inclined to kowtow to a group he called war-holes in private, a contraction of warlock and asshole.

  “Likewise, good health and tidings from Pine Ridge.” Raff didn’t hesitate, but the glint of his eyes as he swept low told Dom this was polite bullshit.

  An awkward silence crept up—with Talfayen stone-faced and seeming as if he might snub the other two lords. Not an auspicious beginning.

  But Pru stepped into the breach with a smile that looked sincere even to Dom. “Will you accompany us to break bread and thus formally accept our hospitality?”

  “Certainly. Are my men welcome?” This appeared to be a test of some sort, and Dom realized he couldn’t let Pru carry this encounter on her own.

  He shook off his quiet amazement and offered his own bow. “Of course. Our meat and drink we offer freely.” The words tasted odd and archaic on his tongue, but the Eldritch cleaved to old ways more than any other faction. Probably something to do with their long lives.

  With Pru beside him, Dom led the way to the hall where kitchen staff worked feverishly to lay out a feast that they were woefully unprepared to serve. Possibly he could delay—but his mate was already whispering to the guards, to Raff and Beren. She’s an effective leader, all big-eyed please and thank-you. All the men looked like they’d cut out a kidney if she asked for one. Which should please him greatly.

  It didn’t. Their mate bond was too fresh and fragile for him to be comfortable with seeing so many other males casting their gaze at her.

  Once everyone settled—the most important dignitaries at the head table—each squad of Animari guards ran drills to show their readiness. It wasn’t much of a dinner show, but it was the best they could do on short notice. From across the table, Dom caught Pru’s eye and lifted his chin in thanks. The mood softened slightly as their guests sipped at the good wine he kept flowing during the soldierly display.

  “It’s delicious,” Talfayen said, raising his glass to study the ruby liquid.

  “We have a small winery. I could give you a tour if you like.” That proved to be a safe offer when the Eldritch lord nodded with apparent interest.

  Taking that as a cue, Pru got up and topped everyone’s glasses off, circling the table with a friendly air. As she reached Dom, she bent and whispered from beneath her curtain of hair:

  “I smell him. He’s here, the Noxblade who tried to kill us.”

  10.

  Much later, once the welcome party ended and after the guests were settled, Pru finally got a moment alone with Dom. He waited until they reached the sanctuary of their apartment, but first took the precaution of checking each room. Her father wasn’t around, which was just as well because she didn’t want him involved in anything this dangerous. Pru didn’t speak until her mate signaled the all-clear.

  “Well?” she prompted. “He was seated at the next table, the Noxblade with the red eyes. What are we going to do?”

  “For now? Nothing. We have no proof. It’s not as if we inflicted an injury we can point to and say, ‘A-ha!’ when it’s revealed.”

  “They’ll probably try again. Maybe that’s even why the Eldritch came early.”

  “I’ll quietly spread the word among the guards. We should consult with Magda and Slay, too, provided he’s calmed down enough.”

  Pru nodded. “I’ll call them.”

  “You call Magda. I’ve got Slay.”

 
With a tilt of her head, she wondered if he could possibly be worried about her talking to her former love. Pru decided that was absurd and dialed up the security chief. “The sooner you get here, the better. We have a situation.”

  Magda’s sigh came across loud and clear. “Can’t you tell me now? I’m up to my ass in minutiae since the war-holes showed up early.”

  “In person, please. It won’t take long.” She could’ve mentioned Dom or Slay, but it bothered her to think she needed backup for a short conversation.

  “Fine. Where are you?”

  “My place. See you soon.”

  She and Dom both disconnected at the same time. “Slay’s on the way.”

  “Magda too.”

  The first knock sounded five minutes later. Pru had the kettle on by then, not that she really expected anyone to want tea. She let Magda in with a smile, but the other woman looked too harried to respond. Her frown expanded to include Dom as well.

  “You two think I don’t have enough to do?”

  “This is important, or you wouldn’t be here,” Dom said. “And when Slay gets here, I’ll clue you both in.”

  A minute later, he opened the door for Slay. At first Pru had a hard time looking at him, but she squared her shoulders and resolved not to make things weird. Briskly she set out four cups and poured a splash of tea into all of them. After trading glances with Dom, she decided to start by filling the security chief in on what happened at the retreat.

  By the time she finished, Magda was spluttering. “Why wasn’t I informed immediately? I need to adjust everything, and now we’ve already got the enemy inside our walls.”

  “I should have briefed you sooner. Sorry.” Dom inclined his head, but from where Pru was sitting, it didn’t seem to appease the other woman much.

  He took up the narrative from there, explaining how they’d both scented the surviving assassin. Slay finally stopped looking sullen. “He’s actually here? Ballsy.”

  “We’re not sure what the Eldritch are planning. I have no intel on whether they’re going to escalate. That attack may have been a solitary effort, and since it didn’t pan out, they may see how it goes with the Golgoth while waiting for another opportunity. Any questions?”

  Magda shook her head. “I’ll circulate information among the guards and tighten patrols.”

  “I think we should pull some men from the external rotation. Our focus should be here, not making sure there are no trespassers in the wood.” To Pru, Slay’s strategy seemed solid, but Dom reflected for a minute before nodding.

  “Sounds good. Two teams can be spared from recon and scouting runs.”

  She waited until the others left to say, “That better not include my group tonight.”

  “You still want to go?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  For a long moment, he stared at her, visible conflict warring in his gaze. But at last he let out a sigh. “Never mind.”

  Holding eye contact, Pru acknowledged Dom’s misgivings scattering like startled birds, but she appreciated that he trusted her to decide what was best. She wouldn’t let fear define her.

  At the appointed time, she presented herself at the changing room; relief trickled in when she realized Magda would be leading the mission. She recognized Arran, the pride seer, and one of the guards. But when the last member of the team arrived, she clenched her jaw.

  “Is it wise for both of you to go?” she asked.

  Magda grinned, seeming to find the question funny. “Asserting yourself as pride matron? Don’t worry, I swapped with Slay. I have too much work here, and he volunteered to take over.”

  I bet he did.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “Not a problem. Your opinion matters, and you’d be right if we were both going. Stay sharp, everyone.”

  There was no point in complaining. If Slay wanted to witness her shifting, let him. He said a few words about their unit goal, something about tracking unreported Golgoth movements, but Pru couldn’t focus. Stop it. Don’t let Slay screw this up for you. She waved when Magda took off and made small talk with Arran. No amount of composure could erase the weight of Slay’s gaze. It was so awkward stripping down in front of him. He watched her remove each article of clothing with a stare so intense that she fought the urge to turn away. I have no reason to hide. No cause to cower. Nobody else seemed to clock the tension, and if they did, they were kind enough not to mention it. Pru put away her clothes and went ocelot; this time, the discomfort was more akin to unexpectedly slamming an elbow against a table. In fact, she could picture the day when it wouldn’t pain her at all.

  The group fell in behind Slay. Instead of going out the main gate, they circled through a passage built in the wall and slipped out a concealed side exit. At first she wondered why Dom hadn’t come this way when they returned from the retreat, then she guessed that he likely didn’t want to give away pride secrets on the off chance the Noxblade was still tracking them.

  Pru had never been part of a patrol before, but she emulated the others. It was impossible not to notice that she was the smallest cat. Not the size of a human pet, no matter what Slay had said, but definitely not on par with Magda in terms of combat ability, either. She admired Slay’s jaguar form as they prowled away from the hold, and then wondered if that could be construed as disloyal to Dom.

  Darkness cloaked the forest, but it also brought new clues. Sensory input nearly overwhelmed her, scent trails wafting to her. Part of her wanted to chase them—to explore—but the group’s focus didn’t permit kittenish behavior. Since this was a recon mission, they had a clear goal. I just wasn’t listening when he explained. That’s on me. At this point, she could only do her best not to be a liability.

  Snow in the air.

  The wind tasted crisp, laced with complicated messages that she could only half-decipher. She padded behind the others, listening now and then, but so far, she registered normal night noises. As the group novice, however, she might not notice subtle yet crucial clues. For hours, they ran as a group, steadily pushing north, and Pru restrained the desire to play. Since the Golgoth were supposed to arrive in a few days, the official convoy must be on the move. It would mean trouble if they found any sign of additional troops inside the borders.

  Slay angled his head, an indication they were breaking right. A peculiar smell laced the ground. It carried a chemical tang, but it didn’t smell like any fuel she’d ever encountered. The others circled, appearing equally perplexed. Whatever this was, it scraped the trees and broke branches on the way in. From the depression in the ground, some kind of machine sat here for a while, and it scorched the earth. Her nose whispered of carbon and charred vegetation.

  Definitely not our tech.

  Animari machines ran on biodiesel. Plus, we respect the environment far too much to create anything that could do this. As Pru studied the site, pain pinched her shoulder, and the world went fuzzy. The last thing she saw was Slay’s back as something dragged her away.

  Lord Talfayen had been talking for forty minutes. Once, the Eldritch leader took a long breath, and Dom thought that meant he would have a chance to respond to the litany of complaints. No such luck. Talfayen resumed, and Dom went back to taking notes. From their expressions, Beren and Raff were no happier about the state of this meeting.

  “Lord Talfayen,” he cut in at last. “I’m aware that the Eldritch have many concerns about the current accords, but official talks don’t commence until the Golgoth arrive. Any concession we make now would be denounced as unjust.”

  “That… is true,” said Talfayen in his measured way.

  “Perhaps we could change the tone. It’s time for a break, and you mentioned your desire to tour the winery?”

  “Another time.” The Eldritch lord rose with a dismissive gesture. “I hadn’t realized the hour was so late. You’ll be wanting your evening meal and a rest.”

  “You’re welcome to join me,” he invited.

  Please, no. If I have to eat with hi
m—

  “Very kind, but I need to go over some private matters with my nephew. I’ll see you in the morning. With respect, please see that the meeting is more productive.”

  As Talfayen sailed out, Dom snapped his teeth at the air. It would give him great satisfaction to let diplomacy explode like a grenade, but the pride would suffer. Beren made a noise that sounded like he might be strangling on a beehive as Raff paced the length of the room.

  “How can fate be so cruel?” Beren wondered aloud. “That I should survive long enough to suffer through this a second time. I’d prefer a quick death in combat.”

  “That can be arranged, old bear.” Raff didn’t seem to be joking, either.

  “Enough.” Dom sighed, wanting only to get back to Pru and find out how her mission went. But if he left these two so riled, there was no telling how things would play out tomorrow. “Let’s have a drink to settle our nerves. Talfayen is a harmless blowhard, and if he wasn’t whining, then we’d really have something to worry about.”

  Raff went to the sideboard and poured three shots. “I thought he’d never shut up about that pastureland. Supposedly your grandfather stole it from his old man?”

  “Ah, but that land is magical,” Beren mocked. “Their goats must eat the white flowers specially pollinated by consecrated bees and then they can make sacred cheese, or some such.”

  Dom rubbed the bridge of his nose. “The Eldritch live a long time, and apparently they don’t forget grudges.”

  “There’s probably a ledger. ‘On this day the first of May, eighteen hundred and eight, the Ash Valley pride, in collusion with Burnt Amber and Pine Ridge, did swindle from us two hectares of pastureland.’” Wearing a disgruntled expression, Raff passed out the drinks.

  Despite himself, Dom laughed as he swore. “Can you believe it? All of that wind over…” he quickly did the math, “…not even five acres of land.”

  “Those are mine now,” Beren said. “And after making me listen to all that moaning, he’ll have them back over my dead body. Cheers, you rotten cubs.”