"Marcellus?"
"Western team staged and ready. Waiting on your go."
I open my mouth to give it.
Seraphina stops walking.
I know because Mira stops too, half a step later, and both of them turn toward the tree line at the compound's eastern edge. Seraphina's hands open at her sides. Mira's hand comes out of her pocket.
The ground shifts.
It hits my boots. A vibration that starts deep and rises. The oaks at the perimeter lean. All of them. Same direction. Same angle. Branches reaching toward something I can't see.
Maximus goes still beside me. His shadows pool at his feet, spreading toward the tree line.
The air at the tree line splits.
There's no sound for it. One second the dark is solid and the next it isn't. A vertical line of light opens between two oaks, pale gold, widening. The colors that bleed through aren't colors I have names for. My teeth ache the same as they did the first time.
The light widens until it's tall enough for a man to walk through. Then taller.
Lanthar steps out of the Veil and onto Georgia clay.
He looks the same. That's what hits first. The same stillness. The same height. The same face that made an entire amphitheater carved from a mountain go quiet just by turning toward it. He's wearing armor I've never seen, dark stone platesthat move like they're grown rather than forged, and his eyes find Maximus before his second foot touches the ground.
Behind him, soldiers.
They come through the Veil in formation. Stone court. I recognize them by how their boots hit the ground, solid and certain. Armor grown from dark stone, weapons I don't recognize, faces that look like they've been fighting wars longer than I can count. Dozens of them. Then more. They fill the tree line and keep coming.
Veyran steps through at Lanthar's right shoulder. His expression hasn't changed since the Lithenmere. He surveys the compound, the vampires, the wolves, and his mouth stays shut.
The Stone court. On schedule.
Then the Veil shifts. The gold light turns blue-white, cooler, and a second group steps through. Different armor. Lighter. The stone plates replaced by something fluid that catches the moonlight and moves.
I didn't plan for this.
Tides. Maeven's court. They weren't part of the arrangement.
Maeven himself is last. He walks through the Veil with the same unhurried stride he used at the convening. Watchful. He takes in the compound, the staging area, the wolves bristling at shapes they've never encountered. His gaze catalogs every detail with the stillness of someone filing every piece of it.
The Veil closes behind him. The oaks straighten. The ground settles.
Marcellus's fighters have their hands on weapons. None of them are drawing. Erik's wolves are low, ears flat, hackles up at shapes that don't fit anything in their experience. Simone hasn't moved. She's watching with the same measured look she had at the safehouse.
Mira is looking at Lanthar. Her hand is back in her pocket.
Seraphina stands between her daughter and her father.
Not my family reunion to manage. I have a war to run.
Lanthar crosses the yard toward Maximus. His boots on the gravel make no sound. The Stone court warriors hold position at the tree line, motionless. The Tides contingent spreads to the flanks, liquid and quiet.
"Lord Maximus." Lanthar's voice carries without volume. "Stone moves with you." He pauses. "Maeven insisted. The Tides committed their healers and a fighter contingent at the last crossing. Syrenne sends her regrets."
Lanthar's gaze moves past Maximus. Finds Mira. She meets his eyes. Her jaw is tight, and she doesn't look away.
He inclines his head to her. She doesn't return it. She doesn't look away either.
