a lot of blood, and like the rest of the girls from Agnes’ old court, she’d been thoroughly traumatized lately. I hadn’t wanted to add to it, but at the same time, there were things I needed her to understand.
I sighed.
I hated this kind of thing.
“Lady?” Rhea had started looking a little concerned.
“You know I’m not good with diplomacy, right?” I said.
It was why Mircea’s vamps and I got along okay. He’d sent me his blunt, hopeless causes, the kind who sucked at tact on their best day, but who could still handle themselves in a fight. It had been good for them, giving them a renewed sense of purpose after feeling like the odd men out in his otherwise suave, urbane family. And after a lifetime of vampire misdirection and out-and-out lies, I’d found them oddly . . . refreshing.
And maybe because I was kind of like them.
“I don’t like to hurt anybody’s feelings,” I said now. “But—”
“You won’t,” she told me, setting down her teacup.
Welp, I guess we were doing this.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” I told her. “I want you to know that I’m very happy with you and extremely pleased that you are a part of this court—”
“But?” She smiled gently.
“But. We need to talk about what happened on the drag.”
I thought back to how I’d felt, seeing her trapped against that dark mage’s chest. It reminded me of how I’d felt tonight, when I’d thought that creature had killed Caedmon—only worse. I wasn’t responsible for Caedmon.
Some dark mages had lured Rhea outside by pretending to be from her old coven, who had some girls who wanted to join my court. The ruse was one of the things that had prompted my visit today; I’d been thinking about it ever since. But, unfortunately, it hadn’t been a bunch of little girls waiting for Rhea. The Black Knights, as they liked to style themselves, had grabbed her to force me to give up a prisoner they wanted.
Elizabeth Warrender, or Lizzie, as she was better known, was the last of Agnes’ rogue acolytes left alive. I’d taken her captive after she tried to kill me, but I hadn’t kept her. I’d turned her over to the Circle’s hands for safekeeping, so I couldn’t have given the dark mages Lizzie even if I’d wanted to.
But they hadn’t known that, and wouldn’t have believed me if I’d told them. They’d been hopped up on stolen magic, almost drunk with it, manic and fuzzy-brained and eager to use the power buzzing in their veins. I wasn’t even sure that they wanted me to agree; they wanted a fight, and if I didn’t give them what they wanted, the first casualty was going to be Rhea.
I’d stood there, trying to formulate a plan to save her while battling a tide of unusually strong emotions. The tie between a Pythia and her court is strong, and right then, I’d wanted to rip the leader’s freaking head off. I’d wanted to feel his blood on my hands. I’d wanted to hear him scream in anguish as I—
“Cassie?” Rhea was looking seriously freaked-out now, so I made an effort to moderate whatever was on my face.
“I wanted to kill him,” I told her honestly. “That dark knight who grabbed you. I wanted to do a vamp thing and pull his heart out of his chest, or at least shift it out and watch him twitch and jerk and die. But he had you, and a couple hundred guys to back him up, and I was running on empty. I had to think it out, not fight, but I wanted him dead so damned bad.”
“You’re Pythia,” she told me, a little hoarsely. “You’re the head of your own coven. That’s what the Pythian Court is, whatever some may say. And a coven leader . . .” She stopped, swallowing. “The old title was Great Mother. It’s still used sometimes. It came into being as a result of the bond between coven members and their leader. At its best, it is like a family, and you feel that here.” She touched her breast.
And yes, I did. I had ever since they first came to me, all those bewildered, frightened little girls. They’d already lost one family when their gift caused them to be sent away from their homes for training, and then they’d lost another with Agnes’ death and the subsequent chaos it had brought to the court. They hadn’t known what to do or where to go,