Brave the Tempest (Cassandra Palmer #9) - Karen Chance Page 0,18

have varied skill sets. I don’t claim to be all-powerful, or anything close to it. That’s why I came. I need help.”

“Really? And here I thought you came to argue the Circle’s case.”

I frowned. “No.”

“Oh, then you’re not trying to recruit us? To persuade us to fight alongside the people who butchered our ancestors and would do the same to us if they thought they could get away with it? Who restrict our travel?—or try to,” she said, with a satisfied little glance back down the mall, to where the distant glow of the portals could still be seen. “And who attempt to monitor our every movement?”

“No,” I said again. “I’m not going to lie, it would be a huge asset to have the covens on board for the war, but I’m not a fool. I know the odds on that.”

“Then why risk this? Do you know what usually happens to interlopers here?”

“She isn’t an interloper,” Saffy said. “She’s a coven leader—”

“An unaffiliated one. It amounts to the same thing.”

“It isn’t the same thing! And she’s willing to work with us! Do you know how long it’s been since anybody—”

“Willing to work with us how?” Zara asked, looking at me. “If you don’t expect us to help in the war, then what do you want?”

I glanced behind me at my other two acquaintances among the coven leaders. One of them, Evelyn, was another Valkyrie type, albeit younger than Hilde, with steel gray hair cut short and a matching business suit. She was recounting how we first met, and what had followed: my battle to save my court from some rogue acolytes and their dark mage allies. She and her two friends had played a big part in that, not to mention that it had involved some time travel, so she had a fairly rapt audience.

The other was named Beatrice, a mahogany-skinned disco-granny type who stood maybe four-foot-seven without the giant afro she was known for. She was not in a business suit, something I’d never seen her wear, but rather a bright crimson caftan that highlighted the fortune in fine gold chains around her neck and the matching rings and bracelets on her expressive hands. Her long nails were also bright gold, like the eye shadow that highlighted her intelligent dark eyes. They were snapping at the moment, because she was scooping up any stragglers by deliberately starting arguments with them—never too hard around here. Together, they were doing a good job of holding the conversation away from us.

So Zara could pump me for info, maybe?

Not that she had to work too hard.

“I need coven witches,” I said, turning back to her. “For my court.”

“You have them.” An elegant hand indicated Saffy.

“Yes, and they’ve been wonderful, and very much appreciated.”

“But?” The dark eyes gleamed.

“But I wasn’t talking about guards.”

It took her a moment, and then her eyes widened. “You can’t be serious.”

“She’s serious,” Saffy said, and would have said more, knowing her, but Zara quieted her.

“I need adepts,” I said bluntly. “And we both know you have them. Coven girls used to come to the court, powerful seers who—”

“Who are needed to guard our enclaves from the damned Circle! Not to mention that none of the girls we sent ever had a chance of becoming Pythia! Not with the Circle’s influence pervading every inch of that place!”

I blinked at her, because for the first time, Zara had lost her famous cool. Her golden cheeks were flushed pink, and her dark eyes were giving Beatrice’s a run for their money. And that . . . wasn’t a great sign.

Zara was the most even tempered of the coven leaders I’d met so far. If she was this appalled by my request—

Well, at least I’d enjoyed the tea, I thought grimly.

But as long as I was here, I was having my say. I gulped the rest of my drink, just in case it helped, and sat the cup down with a thunk. “I’m sorry for the way you’ve been treated—”

“It’s a little late for that!”

“—but that was by my predecessors, not me. I can assure you that any girls you send me will be treated with the same respect as any other acolytes. They’ll be housed the same; they’ll be trained the same. And they’ll have the same chance at succeeding me—”

“Oh, please.” Zara looked at me for the first time with dislike. “I thought you might at least be honest with us.”

“And I’m not?”

“Hardly. You know as well as we do who