“I can’t believe you think you’re going to get out of this without some stern words, Val.” Those are the first words Robespierre has offered since everyone settled into the room, amidst an uncomfortable silence. King is standing stiffly at attention, and is tempering his own emotions harder than usual. Because he's furious, and he can't remember the last time he wanted to give in to emotions.

He takes a measured breath before he speaks. “I concur. Your conduct was an egregious waste of resources, and your actions led to the death of one of my best agents–and a personal friend of mine.” King is tempering his tone as best he can while sitting in the kimberlite mine where Valosterla has reluctantly invited them after the unprecedented disaster inside the Asqualia Research Archives. It has been almost a full day since the catastrophic failure of the ill-fated invasion. And King is not happy about the cost of this one.

They had lost over two hundred men, significant equipment, and not to mention the element of surprise on their capabilities. Val is sporting numerous injuries that her assistant Melissa is attending to. Crosomer is gripping his fists so tightly that King is worried he might try to strangle this dragoness right then and there, consequences be damned. He’s gritting his draconic snout in a decidedly unfriendly way at this frazzled, beaten, bloodied, and utterly reprehensible woman, who glowers at both of them with her ruby eyes.

“I made the move because you screwed up, King. Your little errand boy allowed people to observe the Talons last week and gain insight into our designs. I had to accelerate the timetables, and I didn’t have time to consult with you two.” She gnashes her teeth, while Melissa attempts an accelerated regen potion on the wound on her torso–she’s a mess of injuries, and King wonders just how she’s still alive. Scars, old and new, adorn her body. “You were going to lose the initiative, King. Lavernius was never going to get us the information we needed.”

"You presume that I didn't plan for all of that." He steps forward, the clank of armored boots and he grips his fingers in his gauntlets–he hasn’t even bothered to take off his armor set yet. He peers at her with the intensity of a hunter, because this vile woman caused the death of one of the few people in this world he truly trusted. “Val, I should kill you where you stand, for what you did. Lavernius could have gotten us the information. I had a deal established with Rashalda, and you torpedoed it. You have earned the ire of the Valkyries for this stunt. SAF is on full alert and mobilizing. We will not be able to hold those other teleportal platforms, we were not properly equipped for an occupying force at multiple positions.” He stepped closer. "Val? I knew Lavernius long before I met you. And you could be rest assured, If I'd known what you'd done beforehand, you wouldn't be sitting here, having this discussion."

“Yet you still made the decision to withdraw us both.” Her deflection finally cracks his patience, and he wants to reach for his holster and put a mana-coated round right through her forehead. It would be satisfying, and this might be the only time he could pull it off. Melissa might present a challenge to also subdue. Crosomer will likely break their partnership. Val’s guards are still outside and guarding the door, and given what he knows of Richard and William, will be relieved that their daily threat of a violent death will be removed forever.

And then he will have no way to undo this slow-rolling disaster and put Zacharias in her place.

He needs her. And even if he does kill her right now…

…It won’t be permanent, and it will betray a promise he made, long ago. He keeps his promises. Always.

He uncurls his fist, and lets his hand drift back to his side. Val has been eyeballing him, to see what his response might be, and she smiles. “Doing some calculations, King?”

“Calculations are how we create an enduring cause, and rout our enemies, Val. Calculations that did not add up when you did this.” That clench of loss–those bitter words from Rashalda echo in his head, because for the first time, that child has said something that rattles him to his core. You keep playing this game, you will always lose, King. Always. He’s not wrong, either. Val is dangerous for a multitude of reasons, and all his efforts have been calculated risk, with distinct disaster if he doesn’t use the right mitigation strategy. Crosomer glances his way, citrus eyes narrowed and snout clenched, like he’s figuring out what he’s thinking.

“King, I understand that this was a disaster. We will be establishing conduct rules after this. Val, if this ever happens again, ever,” Crosomer snarls when he turns to face her, “you can be rest assured, this partnership is over.”

“Do you gentlemen maybe want to save the childish insults and tantrums for after she’s healed? I am busy trying to stitch her together, and you’re laying into her like this isn’t your fault. You all played games with Rashalda and company, and the smart thing would have been to kill them!” Melissa gives a piercing glare to them, King in particular, but he’s not phased by it. She’s dangerous, loyal to Valosterla, but she is also a voice of reason when Val gets into one of her moods. A mood that is a low growl in her throat while she applies an injection at an energy burn on her stomach. “You all screwed up. Big time. Everyone in this room contributed to this mess. And you all need to get your shit together if we’re going to pull this off, now.”

“Thank you for the encouraging words Melissa, but we are quite aware that a few…miscalculations may have contributed to this.” King glances at Crosomser, and pulls a seat up to the chair–rich mahogany, plush leather, and as opulent as the rest of the room, and sits at the conference table, where Val has been established at a seat since they arrived past the metal barricade doors. Crosomer follows suit, though he sits down too abruptly, and sits on his tail.

“Ow! How do dragons use chairs, anyway?” he complains. King glances at him, and sighs.

“You usually curl it to the side,” King suggests. Crosomer huffs indignantly, and Val laughs with a crackle and a grunt–likely aggravating her much-deserved injuries. At least Crosomer can be a voice of reason, or he might have killed Valosterla the second he walked into the room. Even with the dire consequences that might carry. Crosomer gingerly swipes his tail to the side, a flash of mottled dark scales with patches of green and blue, taps a claw at the table, and clacks his foot claws on the floor. King leans toward the table, the bright light casting an unwelcoming glare on the shiny surface, and puts a finger to his lips, and contemplates his response.

“We are in damage recovery mode now, Val. And you’re going to listen.”

“‘Damage’ being the operative word. Val, let me see if I get this right, one of those kids took a magical sword, and hit you with some kind of radiant beam?” Melissa asks. Val winces and points to burnt and blackened skin that is slowly flaking off to reveal partially healed flesh underneath.

“They’re all dead when I’m done healing.”

“No. They are not. They are instrumental to our success now.” King has his solution, even if it’s something Val will despite. She presses emergent claws into her armrest, and snarls.

“Oh, you are not serious. Armed valkyries are raiding my office right now in London, and you’re talking about letting those brats get away with this? Or even working with them?!” A charge of dark energy erupts on her arm, possibly driven by her rage. “You are bold, King.”

“Your office is inconsequential. While you were busy sulking and recovering from serious wounds, I was having men seize hard drives, information, and critical personnel, and left them a ghost office center. That problem has been managed,” King replies calmly. “The Luminaires are a requirement to our success–”

“Your success,” she bites back with an unhinged fervor, and she bares those inhuman teeth of hers at him in an aggressive stance. “You think I’m going to forgive them for what they’ve done?! Their heads all have a preemptive slot on my wall!”

She thrusts her arms over to that mantlepiece, and King doesn’t even glance in the direction of the macabre collection of heads. It’s utterly grotesque, and not worth his commentary. He’s got bigger priorities than the trophies staring blankly at their killer at all times.

“You have already made enemies, Val. You established that when you killed Lyssa. Remember?” Crosomer spits with disgust. “You have no room to maneuver on this one. None. So you can sit down and listen to reason, or we are done, and we can collectively part ways. You won’t be able to grind an axe with Zacharias without us.”

King sees she’s doing the math, as she should be as a CEO who got to her role through poise, daring, and a hefty pile of corpses. She knows she is not in a position of strength, for the moment. She tilts her head to look at Melissa, who rolls her eyes in response. They both know that this is not a bluff, and she taps her manicured nail on the conference table. “Fine. I want her head on a plate. But when we are done, Rashalda and Shalinde are dead. Do I make myself clear?”

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“No Val, they are off limits. They need to be alive to enact the next phase, or this plan won’t work.” King has a few ins on the translation matrix without Volkir’s assistance, though if that sage is indeed alive–as he had predicted–then there are still a few options left, if their current leads don’t pan out. “We have two sites located regarding Kinsgard ruins that the dragons built over or had tagged, but never properly researched. One in the Amazon, the other in your home country.”

“Siberia is hardly my home country,” she scoffs. “It’s just the place where I endured nonstop torment. And killed my mother when I grew more powerful than her. You want to dig for the ruins, and find more translations for the Kilntstarnoth.”

“Yes, that is part of the plan. But to fully enact the plan, I still need Volkir’s journal. The records were copied. I have digital traces from one of the cell phones used to capture it, but it’s encrypted. I think Dillinger took a backup copy.”

Val raises her eyebrows in surprise. “How did you deduce that?”

“I know how the man thinks. Valuable intelligence would have never been left to be willingly destroyed. We were baited, successfully. We need their assistance as a backup, and we need to turn them towards fighting the Conclave. Even if some of them may despise us.” King leaves that less than subtle statement hanging to let her feel his disdain.

“You assume I will ever–” she sighs and taps her nails on the armrest for a good handful of seconds. “The price on this one is getting to more than I can stomach, King. This had better be worth it. But if they engage my men, I will not hold back, and they will be killed to the last. So you better work on your end to get us that information.”

“Splendid–”

“I’m not done setting terms, King,” she says before digging her claw into the table. An ill-thought slip of temperament that is likely going to cost a significant amount of money to restore. Not that she particularly cares since she is the richest dragon on the planet–at least, on paper. “Rashalda and Shalinde are the price of my cooperation. After you’re done getting the information we need, their lives are forfeit. But King?” she traces that claw eerily across the table in an unsettling screech. The wood sliver chips and curls in her wake as her expression morphs into a scowl, and she narrows her eyes. “If this proves too troublesome, I will kill every single one of them, their families, their friends, co-workers, and associates, and make it a bloody massacre.”

“This is not a negotiation, Val. You still need my help on this one,” Crosomer says with a sneer across his snout, and he furrows his eye crests before arching forward. “So far, all you have done is managed to kill people we care about, rather than the adversaries that matter.” She lets out a tsk sound.

“Still haven’t gotten over Lyssa? Pining over Alex’s dead wife? You haven’t changed a bit–”

Crosomer slams his hand down hard enough that the table cracks down the middle. Splinters of wood scatter and seem to hover in mid-air in the wake of him hitting the break point of his patience--and King figured he'd have cracked way sooner than this. She is instantly alert, energy crackling across her arms and snarling aggressively while Crosomer draws a wand, primed with deadly acidic energy. A wise weapon against Val, if only the weapon carried more power.

“Don’t you ever say that again.” His words carry deadly intent, and King brushes off shards of wood from his armor vest before putting a hand of restraint out.

“I understand the history between you two. And what you did back then cost you the war in a pyrrhic victory against the Valkyries, Miss Roshanikov. You would be well advised to learn from your mistakes, and not relive the past. Either of you.'' A glance at Crosomer indicates he is very unwilling to see reason, and Valosterla, despite her injuries, grits her teeth in sheer anger. Melissa throws up her hands in frustration and glares at them with venomous green eyes.

“You know what, have at it. Go kill each other. I’ll go shop my resume around, maybe I can line up a job with the cutthroats at SAF intelligence, it’s less stressful than you three.” Melissa's declaration finally snaps Val out of her murderous mood.

“Excuse me?” Val glares at her, teeth on edge. “You’d leave? You know that contract is in perpetuity.”

“Val, I wrote that contract to give me an exit clause for when you went full-on psycho, which is what you are rapidly approaching. Careless mistakes have been made, you are all vested in the destruction of the Conclave, are you not?” Melissa takes a step closer to Val, and stinging tendrils of dark energy lash at her like stray strands of hair blowing in the wind. “But you know I’ve stuck around for a lot more reasons than that.”

The violent rays of purple energy cease, and Val observes the room, glaring at each of them in turn. “Get me the information that I need.” She storms out of the room and Melissa follows, who gives them a quick nod of affirmation. The metal barricade door slams shut in a series of metallic clanks and pistons locking into position, and a magical ward of deadly intent traces across the paneling.

They’re back on track. King exhales–he’s been holding his breath for far too long at the volatile situation, and he may have miscalculated the animosity between Val and Crosomer, for once. Robespierre slowly holsters the wand, and and tips his head to the side. “She’s becoming problematic.”

“She’s also our only shot at taking down Zacharias. We are playing a dangerous game, Crosomer. More than I initially realized, and you should not have risen to her taunt.” He clicks his claws awkwardly together for a moment, and his gaze turns to the now-shuttered doorway.

“The whole world went to hell the moment Lyssa died, King. I swear I can pinpoint every bad thing to that point of no return. She was never supposed to be there. I got her killed, because I couldn't convince my former friends to see reason." Crosomer glances at the destruction of the table, and lets out a small tsk sound. "This is all Zacharias’ fault. Everything that happened, stemmed from her. But Val…there’s something really wrong with her, King. More than I can put my finger on besides her murderous tendencies and her odd taste for drama and music.”

King permits himself one small barb. “Yes, eccentricity seems to be in style around here.” Crosomer scowls at him, but quickly brushes off the shards of the desk from his cloak. “Just keep in mind our contingencies. And don’t let your obsession with gaining back Alex cloud your judgment. That kid is now going to come at us with everything he’s got, now that Val scuttled my attempt to win him over.”

“I don’t think you failed. I think there’s another angle to play. Josephine Pyromist.” Crosomer taps a tapered horn on the side of his head, and sighs. “I’m trying to learn your playbook, King. It requires a deft hand. If Drenar can see that the Conclave is the root cause of all that ails the mage world, then maybe, there’s a chance to get the Luminaires fighting the right people.”

“Not with Val as part of the equation. But we need her. So that’s…problematic,” King concedes while wringing his hands. That is going to require a complex solution that he hasn’t been able to piece together yet. “Promise me you won’t attempt to poison her, goad her, or slip a bomb in her bed chambers?”

“You left out stabbing her,” Crosomer comments shrewdly, before he pads out of the room with a click of claws. He stops at the doorway, and peers back, tail swishing lightly. “King? Let me pose something for you. If we do somehow manage to destroy the Conclave, undo a cultural genocide, and see those responsible for this current world meet justice…what’s there to say about us?”

King regards the question for a moment. “You mean where people praise us for our sacrifices? I think you and I both know that price paid is more than we can bear already.” Crosomer’s claw lingers by the door panel, and he ruffles the feather crest on his head. He lets out a frustrated sigh.

“There’s no good ending for us, King. There never was a promise of one.” The door unlatches, and he walks through, and tilts his gaze at King, narrow-lipped and weighing his words, before the bulkhead closes. Now that the room is empty, he practically falls into the seat, and rubs the bridge of his nose.

“If you’d failed for as long as I have, Robespierre…any ending is better than an eternity trying to save one person.” The confession echoes in the still room and the thrum of ghostly whispers in the mine.

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