Chapter Text
Productive working relationships are valuable in my chosen field. Criminals span a broad range of humanity; some understand the importance of a shared code of conduct, others are animals in the service of their appetites. Recruiting and allying with the former while directing and mitigating the latter has been key to the Outfit’s success under my purview.
Little changed after I joined the Accorded Nations. The supernatural world, bizarre and varied as it was, contained a similar range of monsters. Those who understood the value of keeping their word, and those who understood only immediate advantage or appetite. Mab, the centre of order, had been a pleasure to work with.
The night Ethniu came and kicked Mab through a wall justified a decade spent in preparation. The peace talks nearly fell into chaos as LeChaise tried to slink from the hall, but I spoke of obligations and the Accorded Nations listened. They looked to Mab. They fought Ethniu and Corb’s armies clear of the city.
I’d stockpiled weapons, built staging grounds, and coordinated rival factions. But no matter how carefully I’d prepared, there was no obvious endgame without Dresden. That was part of the reason I’d ceded the eye to him; Dresden wouldn’t have forfeited the thing without forcing me to kill him. A strong breeze could have finished him off, but what would I do the next time Chicago needed to fend off an immortal power?
Everything I’d seen since meeting him seemed to indicate Dresden was a fulcrum to move the world with. There was some mystical nonsense explaining why he was always the eye of the storm, no doubt, but I trusted my instincts: I knew an asset when I saw one.
So too did Mab, who bound Dresden well enough to direct him to useful ends. But Winter clearly hadn’t touched the core of him, judging from the dramatic heroics involved in throwing himself off the roof to rescue his former neighbors.
That stubborn streak of virtue was the main reason he caught me off guard after the battle. Dresden could be cunning, but devious political manoeuvres had never been his style. He proved himself adaptable because just as soon as he acquired political capital by binding Ethniu, he leveraged it at a Ministry meeting.
The Accorded Nations had unanimously agreed to declare war on the Fomor in the aftermath of the battle. Aphorisms about barn doors and horses sprang to mind. Nevertheless, the first Unseelie Accords Executive Ministry meeting was intended to address the situation in Chicago. As host, I’d identified a suitable location in Oldstown for which attendance and security were tightly controlled, and the meeting began without fanfare. Queen Mab, Lady Sarissa, Evanna, Lara Raith, Donar Vadderung, the Archive and myself were present, standing in a circle in a room without shadows
The Archive was in the middle of her update when the doors swung open. No interruption was scheduled. The arrogance required to gatecrash such a meeting left me unsurprised to see Dresden framed in the doorway with a small pack of werewolves at his heels. He dismissed his retinue before striding in like he had an invitation, taking the position of a trusted lieutenant behind Mab. She shot him a look that would have withered lesser men, but he returned it calmly. Something passed between them before Mab asked the Archive to continue her update.
Dresden waited patiently as she did so. The marks of pain and exhaustion were clear on him, the lights in the room doing nothing to hide the shadows under his eyes. But those eyes were sharp and his stance was steady as he scanned the room taking everyone in. What was he doing here, other than distracting me?
The Archive concluded her report with confirmation that mortal authorities had decided to obfuscate the existence of the supernatural rather than confront it, and I dragged my attention back to the discussion. There was no consensus on whether the deception would hold, only a practical conclusion that delaying any mass revelation of our existence was wise. The topic seemed to agitate Dresden, who began to frown and lean forward.
Mab announced him before he could register his objections.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, my Knight requests audience. In light of his recent service to the Accorded Nations, I believe it right and proper to grant it. Will anyone here gainsay me?”
Only a fool would, but the look Dresden shot me was so full of weaponized glee that I was nearly tempted. I felt an adrenaline spike kick in, as if there was a rifle pointed at my head instead of a smile. Whatever this was, I wasn’t prepared for it.
Dresden moved carefully into the centre of the circle, and I noticed he’d somehow jammed his leather duster on over a cast. The scent of medicinal ointment came off him as he moved. He was vulnerable, and the attention of all those Powers seemed to subdue him for half a second, until he turned and locked gazes with me. Somehow, that helped him summon his usual bravado and launch into whatever left-field stunt he’d decided to inflict on me this time.
“The Summer and Winter Courts care about balance,” he began, “and what the Accorded Nations have done to Chicago has created a terrible imbalance. More than just the political and military consequences of our conflicts, we have violated the spirit of laws so old that they have never been written down. We were guests in Chicago. And we brought our troubles to their home.”
It was a surprisingly good speech, clearly practiced, and he hit his target. The invocation of guestright got a reaction from the audience. I made a rapid survey of concerned expressions and caught Raith doing the same. Dresden then threw in what must have been some rapid improvisation based on the previous discussion and framed his proposal as a response to the looming threat of the Librarians. He suggested that the Accorded Nations put on a good show by rendering humanitarian aid and assistance. It was a reading of the unwritten laws of Xenia so expansive it bordered on the ridiculous. My lawyers would have been proud. And yet the idea wasn’t without merit, a grander version of the philanthropy that burnished my public image on a local scale.
When I made a token point against the proposal to gauge Mab’s response she backed Dresden. Interesting. But she did so with the sensible proviso we recover the reparations from the Fomor. So when the proposal came to a vote, I voted in favor. It was unanimous.
But Dresden wasn’t done.
“There is also the matter of personal debt. Ethniu was my kill, before all the Accorded Nations in defence of the demesne of Baron John Marcone of Chicago.” He turned to look at me once more. “Acknowledgement of that debt is due.”
My demesne? As if he hadn’t been a Regional Commander of the White Council’s wardens with explicit responsibility for Chicago, living here with everyone he cared for? He’d have fought me to the mat for his rights in this town, and I knew damn well he wasn’t about to walk away from them either. But he knew damn well I wasn’t about to lodge a protest undermining mastery of my own territory. We stared one another down as everyone else in the room set their eyes on me.
“The Eye seems ample reward for such a deed,” I countered. But Dresden had the gall to look around with wide eyes and pretend he had no idea where it was. Dresden was generally a bad liar - had he deliberately mislaid the Eye of Fucking Balor in order to pull this off? This was my reward for letting him leave the beach alive.
“Are we to believe that you just left a weapon like the Eye lying upon the ground?” I asked. Surely, surely he didn’t plan to paint himself an idiot in front of the assembled powers.
He broke with the tone of the meeting. “Dude, there was an apocalypse on. The earth shaking. Giant waves. I almost drowned, you know, in this giant stupid concrete teacup some fool made. It’s all kind of blurry.”
Giant stupid concrete teacup. As if he could weave concrete out of its component elements. As if he could do more with what he’d call earth magic than splatter the people stupid enough to stand still in his blast radius. I could throttle him.
I throttled my anger instead, Dresden’s access to my emotional responses always disconcerting, and felt Mab’s gaze on me.
“Surely you don’t believe him?” I asked of her and Raith. Vadderung seemed, if anything, fond of Dresden, the svartelfs had been hosting him, Summer had been the most persuaded by his previous proposal and he’d once saved the Archive from perdition.
“The last I saw,” Raith pointed out with a provocative smile, “you were the one running off with the Eye, Baron.”
“Queen Mab?” I tried, fully aware I was losing ground.
“He has given me no reason to disbelieve him, Baron,” she said, a typically sidhe answer. She was letting this threadbare deception play out, and if Dresden outmanoeuvred me, she wouldn’t overrule him.
“I know you have it,” I said to him quietly, making space to think. Dresden didn’t afford me any, and drove the dagger home instead.
“Prove it, Sir Baron.”
Mab caught the addition to my title, allowing surprise to show on her face. The Knights of Hell might sound like a rock band, but it was one of the names the Denarians were known by.
“Much is explained,” Mab said, and my position was clear.
I no longer considered Namshiel a secret. I’d held his presence in reserve for years, and it paid off to catch Ethniu unawares on the beach. Nathan Hendricks had died to let me play that hand, God rest his— or no, there wasn’t much rest in Valhalla. But he’d died to let me win. I wouldn’t rely on that reveal again, but operational security was still prudent. I wasn't about to start broadcasting Namshiel’s presence. Unless I gave way on this issue, Dresden would do that for me. Even without that consideration, if I claimed my part in the final fight I’d be caught in a clumsy lie, and increase suspicion I might possess the Eye.
“Very well, Sir Dresden,” I conceded. “What is it you wish of me?”
Dresden leaned down towards me, all twelve miles of him, closer than was warranted. Close enough I could feel the heat from his body, close enough to slip the point of a knife under his chin if I were so inclined. He held my eyes for a second, making me wait, and finally said with obvious delight, “I want my lab back. Move your stuff.”
The castle. He wanted the castle because it was on top of his basement? As if he had some claim to the little patch of the city he’d been renting? The patch that burned to the ground? This was insufferable. Ridiculous. That had been an investment running into the millions— and Dresden was watching me, smile full of teeth. The Accorded Nations watched me.
I packed away the emotional turmoil Dresden was so adept at inspiring. “I’ll make arrangements,” I said.
Damn him.
Dresden inclined his head to me. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the debt is settled.”
Namshiel stirred himself. I’ve unearthed but a fraction of the castle’s secrets. We don’t know what we’re giving away.
You’ve had months to study the place, Namshiel, and millennia of experience. If there are magics there you cannot access they may not be accessible at all.
I had the mental sense of a sulky grumble. Namshiel was put out at having his research interrupted, regardless of whether that research could bear fruit.
Well, don’t come crying to me if he unleashes the questing beast in Chicago. Or becomes the Fisher King. Or—
Come now. He’s barely 40, and too busy fighting his way out of corners to hone his craft. How likely is he to succeed where you failed? I knew even as I formed the words that I was tempting fate.
Ah, wound my pride too, will you? Some magics are the domain of mortal men. He’s done stranger things, John.
He had, but there was nothing I could do about that at the moment. I shrugged Namshiel off and ordered my thoughts. There was still business to be done.
***********************************************************
I had the castle clear within 24 hours, and a rendezvous with Dresden to hand over the keys. I knew, rationally, that bursting into an Accords meeting and unleashing a little inspired extortion was how the game was played. And I wasn’t entirely unwilling to admit that Dresden was due a reward for his efforts. His insolence was a small price to pay for the fact most of the city was still standing, and he’d proven himself a suitable custodian for the castle. Having it pass out of my control wouldn’t weaken the city’s defences.
It should have been easier to stop thinking about strangling him. But Dresden had a unique capacity to irritate me.
Strangle away, please. It’s more tolerable than your other daydreams.
My atypical response remained, and some element of my frustration must have been evident at the Ministry meeting, as Mab herself manifested beside me when I pushed open the castle door.
I didn’t jump.
“Your majesty. Are you here to supervise?” I asked, lightly. Dresden was stripped of the support of the White Council, worn down by the battle, and despite his gleeful persecution of me, likely emotionally devastated.
And I was annoyed with him.
“Lady Molly indicated feelings might be running high,” Mab noted. “Lady Raith suggested she courier the keys for you.”
Yet Raith was nowhere to be seen. “You turned her down?”
“There are matters I would speak about with both of you.”
“I’m sure,” I said, and closed the door behind us. We stood in the entryway, and I withstood Mab’s scrutiny.
“So. A denarian.” Mab observed.
I inclined my head.
“Which?”
Dresden hadn’t given her the detail then, but doubtless he would if pressed. “Namshiel,” I said, and the queen’s eyes narrowed. Frost curled across the stone beneath her feet, and her clothes shifted into blackness. “Namshiel has not wronged you, to his knowledge,” I continued.
“No?” she said, and considered me. “And how sure are you of the truths told by a creature of Hell?”
“There’s no profit to him in lying to me about this.” I said. Is there, Namshiel?
Whatever this is about, I didn’t do it. I have more interesting things to concern myself with than antagonising Winter.
I knew how Namshiel defined interesting, and deliberately provoking the Winter queen of his own initiative didn’t fall into the category. I was inclined to believe him.
Mab tilted her head and let the silence stretch. I offered no further protestation of innocence, but held myself ready. “Very well,” she said, eventually. The hallway brightened, and Mab’s clothing shifted into women’s business wear, grey suit and pale blue shirt. Whatever that had been about, she clearly had suspicions but no evidence.
“I believe your knight should be in the main hall,” I said, and offered her precedence. She led the way.
We found Dresden there in the company of the Winter Lady, both staring up at the hole in the roof.
“And do you need a basketball court?” the Winter Lady said.
“It’s an idea,” he replied, then sensed our approach, turning to face us. It looked like he hadn’t rested or run a comb through his hair since we’d last met. “Wow. Molly to distract me and my boss to keep me in line? I swear I wasn’t going to punch him in the nose.”
He could try, I thought, and offered a small smile instead.
“I prefer not to test your restraint,” Mab said. “There has been enough fighting.”
“Amen,” Dresden said. “Guess I’ll just have to be gracious in victory.” He shot me a grin, just in case I’d forgotten how much he was still enjoying this.
“Should the utter lack of grace in our previous encounters indicate victory is a rarity for you?” I asked, instead of indulging in the desire to launch the keys straight through the teeth of his smile.
“Awwww, don’t be a sore loser, John,” he said, then held out his hand and twiddled his fingers. I took a mental three count before dropping the keys into his waiting palm.
Dresden bounced them up and down. “Great. Now get ou—”
“A moment, Knight,” Mab interrupted, somehow surprising us both. We turned to look at her.
“The Baron Marcone has long sought closer alliance with Winter,” she said. “He has proven himself a worthy ally. We shall formalise the alliance tonight.”
An alliance. I’d thought such a thing a good decade off, but war was a catalyst, and I had rallied the Accorded Nations to Mab’s side.
“Uh… ok,” Dresden said, with no indication he understood the importance of such a thing. “You need some pageantry from me for that?”
“You know how the sidhe seal agreements,” she said, as if he was missing something obvious.
“You’re kissing him?” Dresden asked, his confusion at his presence in this discussion mirroring my own. Mab had never brought him into our negotiations before. “Great. With all due respect and as your host I politely request you do that in your own castle.”
Mab sighed. “Alliances are traditionally sealed by marriage, Knight.”
Marriage.
“Oh. Wow. Good luck,” Dresden said, turning back to me with wide eyes. Marry Mab? I’d understood the necessity of being a junior partner in any alliance with Winter, but marrying a queen at my current rank would codify that lack of seniority permanently, and in areas outside the scope of any alliance.
“It is not the Queen’s role to marry,” Mab said, as if to a particularly dull student. “You need not look relieved, Baron,” she continued archly. I’d kept my feelings off my face but Mab, like Dresden, was difficult to hide from.
Dresden and I traded reluctantly confused glances, neither gaining illumination before he said, “You’re going to have to be less sidhe about this, my Queen.” Then he paused, blinked, and said, “Wait. No. Molly is not marrying a Denarian. Her mom will turn Arctis Tor upside down.”
“A WHAT?!” the Winter Lady yelped, one hand held out in a warding gesture. Wonderful. If that news hadn’t already reached the ears of the Knights of the Cross, it was one step closer. “Wait, I can’t marry, that doesn’t work.”
“Indeed it does not,” Mab confirmed. “It is the function of the Knight.”
Dresden blinked again. His eyes met mine. We stared at one another in mutually horrified silence for a long beat. This time I broke first.
“To be clear,” I said, turning back to Mab. “I have no relative or vassal suitable for this purpose. You intend Dresden to marry me?”
“No,” the Lady breathed. “Oh no. Your majesty, that’s like gluing a dog to a cat and hoping it turns out well.”
Quite.
Then Dresden chipped in. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he said, in a quiet and reasonable tone that caused me more concern than his usual dramatics, “but he’s a guy. I’m a guy. Nothing against that generally, for people who aren’t me, but no, two guys getting married is not how alliances are typically sealed.”
Mab ignored him. “Baron?” she said, as if Dresden’s cold and mounting fury were beneath her notice.
“You honor me,” I said calmly, frantically sorting through the implications and repercussions. Refusing would be politically disastrous. I didn’t want to refuse alliance with Winter; it was the cumulation of several long term plans. But the Winter Lady’s assessment had been accurate, and Mab was asking me to embrace a ticking time bomb in the form of Dresden’s eroding restraint. Time, I needed to play for time. “But I think the timescale poses difficulties.”
“Your problem is the timescale?” Dresden snarled, and I revised down my estimate on the half-life of his patience.
What do you expect me to do about this? I wanted to snap at him but settled for a speaking glance instead. Dresden opened his mouth again before flinching when the Winter Lady clamped a hand down on his arm.
“Yes, Harry. The timescale is unsuitable,” she said with significant emphasis. It clearly bounced off Dresden who simply glared at her until she made an exasperated face, which was somehow more persuasive. He shut his mouth.
The Lady turned to the Queen. “Our knight has lost his lover, and the Baron a dear lieutenant. They are owed a morning period, by the customs of their people.”
“Yes,” I said. Duty, obligation, reputation. Mab understood such things. I sent Nathan a mental apology at using his death for one last advantage. “My people would think I spend his life cheaply if I arranged a wedding right on the heels of his sacrifice.”
“Thrift, thrift, Horatio!” Dresden muttered nonsensically, but it clearly meant something to Mab who gave pause.
“Indeed? Your council is appreciated, Lady Molly. Very well. A period of a year spent in mourning.”
A year. Many things could happen in a year, I could work with that. But Dresden flared up. “You can take your year spent in mourning and shove—”
“Agreed!” Lady Molly said over him, with another familiar look. Something passed between them and whatever colorful defiance he’d been brewing stayed out of Dresden’s mouth. The leather of his coat creaked under the strength of her grip.
But Mab wasn’t done. “With the proviso that they make regular public appearances together. War does not wait for the mending of broken hearts. We must project the image of improved solidarity at once,” she decreed.
Dresden didn’t have the sense to bow his head. “No-one looks at me and Marcone and thinks of solidarity,” he growled.
“Oh? And what did Ethniu think when she looked upon you both, my Knight?” Mab asked.
“Mostly that we’re really annoying,” he retorted.
Hah. Dresden wasn’t wrong. The titan had been almost petulant at Namshiel’s appearance.
“Long may the enemies of Winter deem you both so,” Mab said with a smile. That smile grew sharper as she turned it on the Lady. “Lady Molly, you shall see to the details of the courting period.”
It hit the Lady like a gut punch. Carpenter had been in Dresden’s orbit for a long time, and from an impressionable age. Perhaps she carried a torch for him. But she swallowed whatever pain that caused her and simply nodded.
Mab surveyed us all. “The world we have been building is at risk. Defy me on this issue and you hazard much beyond my displeasure,” she cautioned.
Dresden wasn’t swayed by that either, continuing to scowl his defiance directly at Mab. She gave in to the inevitable need to let him air his concerns in a private forum before he offered her a public challenge. Wise, as he didn’t look physically capable of withstanding the punishment such insolence must bring him. It would be wasteful to break him now because he lost his temper.
“Lady Molly, Baron Marcone. Thank you for your time. I would speak privately with my Knight.”
“Thank you for your consideration, Queen Mab,” I said, and gave the exaggerated nod which was as close as I cared to come to a bow.
I offered my arm to the Winter Lady and she hesitated, conflicted eyes on Dresden.
“It’s okay,” he told her gently, as if he had any say in the outcome of a private discussion with his queen. “I’ll see you in the car.”
She gave her own nod to Mab and took my arm almost absently. I led her out, pondering the power dynamics between a Knight and Lady who had been master and student.
When we reached the entryway, and were nominally out of Mab’s earshot unless she chose to mark us, the Winter Lady announced. “This is a clusterfuck.”
“Indeed,” I agreed.
Lady Molly seemed to remember my presence and snatched her hand back. “A Denarian. Did you lose your freaking mind?”
“So speaks the former Rag Lady. I’m sure that’s not your concern, Miss Carpenter,” I said. The question had clearly come from the apprentice, the girl who’d never fully emerged from Dresden’s shadow before Winter swallowed her up. I wondered how much of her was left.
“He’s my Knight too,” she snapped. “Held in full esteem of his merits. And you aren’t worthy of him.”
Catty. I really did not want to be embroiled in high school histrionics about who got to take Dresden to prom.
“Your opinion differs from the formal position of your court,” I noted, which disconcerted her for a moment. She rallied.
“Treat my knight well, and treat him carefully, John Marcone. Or it will not be Winter you answer to,” she said. Then she vanished, leaving me uncertain as to who she intended to stand in judgement.
Dresden? The Knights? God? A little late for that. Or a little early, depending how you looked at it.
Well. It seemed I was facing a seismic shift in the nature of my working relationships with both Dresden and Winter.
I set off to make arrangements.