Page 132 of Junk Magic

But it seemed that there was some kind of plan, because Cyrus raised a hand holding a large golden medallion on a red, black and yellow ribbon. I couldn’t see the face of it, but I didn’t need to. It was the badge of office, the symbol of the bardric, and made like a necklace so that he could wear it in either form.

“You see it?” Cyrus asked, turning in a half circle to show it off to the thousands of onlookers. And there were thousands, and not just in the large circle around him. People with cell phones had done like me and tried to get higher, including standing on chairs or climbing onto other people’s shoulders, uncaring about the elegant venue or their fine clothes.

And at least one of those was running a feed to another room, because I could hear Cyrus’s voice echoed at a distance, just after he spoke.

It wasn’t surprising that there would be interest, as a vargulf at a Great Council meeting was unprecedented. No one knew what it meant, but they smelled blood in the air, they just weren’t sure whose. And neither was I.

But Whirlwind and a dozen bodyguards had just shoved their way through the crowd and into the open area at the center, so it wasn’t looking good.

“Your entire family has a death wish, it seems,” Whirlwind snapped at Cyrus. The great mane of black hair, with its ornamental white streak blazing down the side and into his beard, was shaking in anger.

That seemed an odd emotion. Annoyance I could understand, maybe even disgust, as a vargulf’s presence could be considered insulting to the council. But anger? Yet it appeared genuine, with his face flushed and those strange eyes snapping.

It made for a powerful picture, despite the fact that he was still in human form, his bulk encased in a flowing black, watered silk caftan. I couldn’t see where the tearaway seams were, as they’d been cleverly concealed, but I knew they were there. It was the sort of thing people wore when they suspected a swift Change might be necessary.

Whirlwind had come prepared to fight, but the only person it would make sense for him to challenge was Sebastian, who was nowhere in sight. I scanned the crowd, but although I recognized a lot of the people there, Sebastian wasn’t among them. I didn’t understand that—until I remembered what Sophie had said.

“How badly was Sebastian hurt?” I whispered to her.

“Bad enough that he couldn’t get out of his chair.”

So, bad-bad. Because a Were would fight with both legs broken and one arm ripped off if need be. Sebastian wasn’t injured, then; he was half dead, or he would be here. But that still didn’t explain what Cyrus was doing.

Or why the hell he was laughing!

“A death wish, indeed. Yes, you could say I have a death wish,” he agreed, grinning.

It seemed to be making Whirlwind nervous, as he cut his eyes to the side, to meet those of that bastard Farkas. Who, for once, didn’t seem to know what was going on, either. Or maybe they just couldn’t figure out what Cyrus was doing here dressed like a prince.

It was a sight to behold, and one I had never seen before. I’d met him after he and Sebastian pulled their little scam, in order to get someone competent in charge of the Were community. And by then, he had dressed like what he was: a regular guy.

But not tonight.

The ever-present western shirts and blue jeans had been replaced, not by the elegant suits that Sebastian favored, but by a flowing caftan in gold silk. It had black and gold embroidery scrawling all over it, and a neckline low enough to show off the hard lines of his chest and to almost reach his navel. Even more telling, he was barefoot, which on its own could be considered aggressive in this setting.

The whole outfit said he had come to fight, not to talk, although he did some of the latter, in a booming voice that he didn’t need, because you could have heard a pin drop in there.

“I do have a death wish,” he said. “Yours—in payment for what you have done to my brother.”

“I’ve done nothing to him,” Whirlwind spat. “And the only one who will die tonight is you, for daring to show your face—”

“Yes, I dare!” the smile was suddenly gone from Cyrus’s expression and voice. “And I have your bardric’s permission. As indicated by this.” He held up the badge of office again, in case anyone had missed it. “You tried to have my brother assassinated, repeatedly tried to remove him in the most cowardly way possible, so that you could steal his office—”

“Lies! And from a traitor’s mouth!”

“—and when that didn’t work, you took advantage of his injuries to come here, prepared to challenge a badly wounded man, who you thought you might be able to beat. It was another cowardly act, but you knew he’d have to fight, that he wouldn’t have a choice. A challenge for the bardric’s position must be answered by him or a close relation, and I was gone—”

“And for good reason! Remove this bastard,” Whirlwind told his guards. “He defiles the Council by his presence!”

“Yet he has the badge,” someone said, and I saw Sienna come forward. She managed to stand out in a room where everyone was putting on a show, but not just because of the outfit. But because of the air of quiet authority she wore like a cloak.

She was a council member, I realized, tiny clan or no, and tonight, she looked like it.

“He must be allowed to speak,” she added.

“And who are you to say must?” Whirlwind sneered. “Your tiny clan—”

“Fought off an army yesterday, one which yours . . . was not quick enough to face.”

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