“How are you handling the mantle these days?”
“Same as always. Lots of exercise, first thing. Meditation. As long as I do that, it’s not much different than feeling like a teenager, only with more perspective.”
He raised both eyebrows. “That’s an image.”
I shrugged.
“The beard suits you,” he said.
“Covers up the new scars.”
“Ghoul wounds always scar up heavy,” he agreed. “You look worried.”
I stared at the coffee for a bit. “I got ninety-nine problems and a bi—”
He coughed and gave me a look.
“Woman,” I corrected myself, “are several of them.”
“Mab, Lara Raith, and Justine,” he said.
I exhaled agreement and sipped coffee. “Mab wants me to settle up with King Etri. But he wants Thomas’s head. I can’t think of a way to make that work.”
“The svartalves have very Old Nordic sensibilities,” he said. “Perhaps he would accept a weregild?”
“For the life of a trusted retainer of about seven centuries? I don’t have that kind of money. And besides, Etri probably makes Scrooge McDuck look like Bob Cratchit. He’s not interested in wealth.”
“There are some things money can’t buy,” he noted. “You’ve made things like that happen before.”
“Maybe,” I said warily. “But I don’t know what he wants. I suppose I could offer him favors three, but God only knows how that could end up.”
“Indeed,” Michael said. He pursed his lips. “Perhaps you need an emissary. This is a conflict between signatories of the Unseelie Accords, after all.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Mab made it pretty clear that it was my personal problem. And I’m not Council anymore. Without her support, I can’t make a claim.”
“Perhaps a personal mediator, then,” he said diffidently.
I frowned. “What are you saying, exactly?”
“I have fought both for and against the svartalves over the years,” he said. “I wouldn’t say that we are friends, but there is mutual respect. Molly increased my standing with them when she saved Etri and his family. I could talk to him on your behalf.”
I scowled. “You’re not going to get all Messianic about it, are you? People have sacrificed enough for me.”
“A Knight of the Cross can often be called upon to make such choices when they are needful,” he said. “But as you may have noticed, I am no longer a Knight of the Cross. I have many things to look forward to with my children, and grandchildren. I fully intend to be there to enjoy them. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a civil conversation on behalf of my best friend.”
The coffee made me choke up a little. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “But I got me into this. I’ve got to be the one to get me out. Besides. Even if you could get terms from Etri…Thomas is dying.”
Michael frowned and leaned closer.
“It’s his Hunger,” I said. “It’s the spirit that is attached to him. It’s what gives the White Court their abilities. Thomas’s Hunger went berserk when the svartalves beat him within an inch of his life taking him prisoner. His body poured all the Hunger’s energy into saving his life. It’s starving. He won’t be able to control himself when it comes out, which means…”
“Someone would have to die to save him,” Michael said quietly.
“Might not be enough,” I said. “He might kill them and die anyway. And he doesn’t want someone else to pay the price for him. I’ve got him in a kind of suspended animation, but it’s only buying him time, not solving anything. He…doesn’t have much hope.”
“And neither do you,” Michael said quietly.
I closed my eyes and tried to focus on how warm the coffee cup felt in my hands. “I don’t even know where to start.”
