The way Azarel considers this, weighing every word like it might be poisoned, tells me everything I need to know about how fucked this situation really is. These aren't just political games between alphas anymore. This is life and death, with Cosima caught in the crossfire.
Our goddess.
"Let's start simple, then. What's Maybrecht's end goal?" Plague asks, leaning forward slightly. "Retaking New Reinmich?"
The dark laugh that escapes Azarel is bitter enough to curdle milk. "You're a damn fool if you think Arthur Maybrecht will settle for anything less than Reinmich, the Outer Reaches, and Surhiira."
Plague actually recoils. It's subtle, just a slight widening of his eyes, but on someone as controlled as him, it might as well be a scream. "That's impossible," he mutters.
"Is it?" Azarel's voice drips with condescension. "What did you think, that Surhiira could remain isolated forever? Especially now that you've claimed part of New Reinmich?" He shakes his head. "Arthur Maybrecht sees only opportunity. With the Council gone and the instability of a formerly isolationist nation trying to maintain hold over a splintered military superpower, he knows all he has to do is line up the pieces and wait. Let Surhiira burn itself out eliminating the last vestiges of his enemies."
"He doesn't have the leverage," Plague protests, but there's uncertainty creeping into his voice. "All he has is western Reinmich and the remnants of an empire in collapse."
"An empire he's been planning to dismantle piece by piece for over a decade," Azarel counters. "He's been sowing the seeds of discord within the military for years, wresting power from the Council's hands one decision at a time. This war merely applied the pressure to make those breaks clean." His smile sharpens bitterly. "But make no mistake, once Surhiira has finished doing his dirty work for him, Arthur Maybrecht will be consolidating the pieces."
"With what army?" Plague demands.
The silence stretches, heavy with all the years of no contact between them. Then, unexpectedly, it's Nikolai who breaks it.
"Vrissia's."
We all turn to stare at him. He pushes off from the wall where he's been lurking, striding forward with confidence that only comes from absolute certainty.
"Vrissia has been eyeing Surhiira's natural resources and advanced tech longer than anyone," he says, and his voice carries the same authority that made me willing to follow hi into hell. "But your leaders have grown weak and complacent, and the populace prefers their tax dollars spent on shiny toys rather than your military."
He pauses, letting that sink in.
"They lack the military cohesion and leadership to do anything about their ambitions," he continues. "But with Maybrecht at the helm, forming a strategic alliance?" He shrugs his shoulders. "All that could change overnight. Gods know they've got the artillery collecting dust in old bunkers."
I suppose he would know, considering his family fortune was built on running those guns, among other things.
Azarel is staring at Nikolai like he's seeing him for the first time. "And who the fuck areyou?"
The smirk that crosses Nikolai's face is pure arrogance. "I'm the son of a bitch who knows everything there is to know about the halls of power in Vrissia." His voice drops, low and dangerous. "And the tunnels where the rats scurry below."
"He's right about that," Geo grunts, and coming from him, that's practically a glowing endorsement. "The son of a bitch part, at least."
Plague's calculating gaze fixes on Nikolai. "If Vrissia is really working with Reinmich, having someone who knows their way around could be useful."
"Yeah," I mutter under my breath, unable to help myself. "Someone who has a warrant out for his arrest."
Nikolai's glare could melt steel.
Plague's attention sharpens. "What was what?"
"He's being dramatic," Nikolai says quickly, shooting me a look that promises violence later.
But I'm already committed to this particular brand of chaos. "Dramatic? Your old man said if you set foot back over the border, he'd turn you into target practice."
"To be fair," Geo interjects gruffly, clearly enjoying this far too much, "we're all on a shit ton of hit lists at this point."
"Yes," I agree cheerfully, "but not everyone is the former heir to the Vrissian Syndicate."
The silence that follows is absolute. Everyone stares at Nikolai, who looks like he's seriously considering whether he can kill me and hide the body before anyone notices.
"Go stuff a knot in your mouth," he snarls at me.
"In your dreams," I shoot back, but underneath the banter, something uncomfortable twists inside me. The thought of Nikolai going back to Vrissia, walking into what's essentially a death trap...
