Constance ran a hand over her daughter’s hair. “I’m sorry, Lexi. No babies are visiting today.”

Lexi turned and confided to Ava, “I have lots of dollies, but babies are better, aren’t they?”

Ava leaned forward, transfixed. “I suppose so.”

“Go with Anna,” Constance said. “We need to talk about grown-up things for a little longer.”

“Okay.” Lexi scrambled to the floor. “But come back if you have babies!” she called out as she left the room.

Silence followed her exit.

“There are still so few,” Vania whispered.

“I understand,” Sari said.

“I highly doubt that,” Helen said.

Sari’s voice was hoarse when she spoke again. “I was pregnant when our retreat was attacked,” she said. “My mate was hundreds of miles away. I had… I’d lent him my power so he could fight in Paris. When the attack came, I was injured. My body could not—”

“They killed my son in front of my eyes,” Constance said in an icy voice. “The Grigori animal sliced his throat in front of me and he bled over my kitchen floor while his friend held me down, choked my voice silent, and raped me. Thomas was seven years old, and the last thing he saw was animals raping his mother. Do you understand that?”

Ava’s body was frozen in horror.

Vania reached for her friend’s hand.

No one spoke.

“I only survived the Rending because of my mate. And Jerome was near death when he found me. He said the prayers for our son alone because no one else was left, and my voice was so damaged, I could not sing. I said nothing for twenty years. Nothing.”

Sari closed her eyes. “Constance—”

“If I can save any mother from seeing that—save any child by rebuilding the retreats. Make them stronger. Make them safer—”

“There is no such thing as total safety,” Sari said. “We both know that. We have to be stronger. We have to defend our children. Defend ourselves.”

“We aren’t capable of it. Are you so proud that you cannot acknowledge the truth? We are not as strong as the scribes.”

“Our power is different, not less.”

“Don’t you understand?” Constance stood. “Nothing can bring them back. No revenge will ever be enough. No blood can repay what we’ve lost. Don’t you think I’ve wanted to hunt the animals who killed my son?” Her voice rose. “I could stop their hearts in their chests and pull the blood from their veins. I am a singer of Rafael’s line. I could do those things and more. But that will not bring Thomas back.”

Renata said, “You should be able to hunt them if you want. You have the right.”

Constance shook her head. “Alexis is a miracle. We never thought…” She dragged in a breath and put a hand over her belly. “No one thought I’d be able to conceive another child.”

Sari stood to face her. “And I may never have the opportunity to be a mother again. But if I do, I don’t want my daughter growing up in fear.”

“Your mate is a legend. Damien of Bohemia was a Templar knight, for heaven’s sake! Don’t you trust him to protect you?”

“It’s not about trust,” Renata said from the back of the room. “It’s about using our own power. It’s our job to protect them too.”

Constance shook her head. “We are not meant for such things. We have a greater purpose. It is our job to rebuild our race. There is magic—healing magic—we can use to increase fertility. To build our families again. I’ve spent the past hundred years—”

“But that’s our whole job?” Ava asked. “Having children to rebuild the Irin race?”

Vania narrowed her eyes. “You know nothing. I don’t know where you come from, but every true Irina in this room would consider it a blessing to be able to bear a child. We’re not like the humans.”

Ava looked at the other singer. “I’m not saying motherhood isn’t amazing, but that’s it? That’s all you do?”

“You’re ignorant,” Helen said. “I have heard the rumors. You grew up among humans. Be quiet and let others speak.”

Ava rose to her feet. “I’m ignorant?”

Sari put her hand on Ava’s arm. “We’re done here. Orsala was right. I understand your position. I don’t agree with it, but I understand. You deserve to have your voice heard too.”

Renata’s voice was an ice-cold blade. “Even if she’s a fool?”

Constance lifted her chin. “Think that if it makes you feel superior. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m not the only Irina who believes compulsion is the best way to save our people.”

“I know,” Sari said. “And as much as I disagree with you, I hope the Irina council speaks for you too.”

“We have no council. We need none.”

“That,” Sari said as she walked to the door, “is truly ignorant. I’ll tell you the same thing I told your mate. It’s time. The elder singers are returning, whether you want them to or not.”

“Then prepare yourself,” Constance said. “The Irina of Vienna will not bow to your wishes. If you reform the council, you and your grandmother won’t get puppets.”

“Good.” Sari opened the door. “We don’t want them.”

IV.

THE MAN WORE AN IMPECCABLE three-piece suit when he entered the church. His dark hair was cut in the current fashion, and his silk tie was knotted firmly against his throat. After setting down his briefcase at the edge of one pew, he sat next to the ash-blond man in an overcoat who stared at the priest starting the evening mass.

“Where is he?” Barak muttered.

“Playing games.”

Vasu entered from the back of the church, not dressed as a human businessman as the other two were, but looking more like one of the artists or musicians crowding the pedestrian street outside. His hair was pulled back in a knot, and he wore a rough beard that tangled in the scarf wrapped around his neck. He sat next to Barak, his physical body making audible noise his brothers avoided.

Jaron and Barak both turned their heads to their brother.

“What are you doing?” they asked as one.

Vasu shrugged. An irritating human habit he’d decided to adopt. “It amuses me.”

“You did not ask my permission to track the girl.”

“I’m not tracking. I’m watching.”

“Enough.” Barak’s voice cut through their quiet argument. “Is he near? I’ve shielded myself so thoroughly in this city I’m having difficulty hearing at a distance.”

“Is it still so important your children think you’re dead?” Vasu asked.

“My reappearance at this stage would alter their actions. I want to see where things lead.”

“I’ve shown you,” Jaron said.

“Nevertheless.” Barak watched a human mother and small child as they made their way up the center aisle. The child was small. He was fussing in the incense-laden air and his eyes were running. “Where is he, brother?”

“Hungary.”

“Is Svarog in play?”

“He will be,” Jaron said. “He has created too many vulnerabilities. Volund will use it to sway him to his cause.”

“We shall see,” Vasu said cryptically.

Barak asked, “What do you know?”

“Know? Nothing. But I have my suspicions.” Vasu sat up straighter. “Grimold was never a surprise. He has long been Volund’s puppet. But the status quo has been beneficial to Svarog.”

“It has,” Barak said. “But he knows he will not sway Volund from his path. He may decide backing him will serve his long-term interests.”

“That makes little sense,” Vasu said, “considering the probable actions of the scribes. This city is complacent, but not without strong magic. There are more mature Irin here now than there have ever been, and Mikhael’s armory is here, along with their Library. The Irin blend in with the humans now. They control wealth and power. And their magic has been honed since Volund’s last attack.”

Barak said, “But they are still without their mates. Most of them are only a fraction of who they could be. And if the Grigora secret comes to light, the Irin will be on the offensive again. Their power will multiply with every mating. They will have purpose again, and a scribe with purpose is a dangerous thing. Volund knows he must strike now.”