Where the hell are they?

Brooke couldn't see Capper and Gliss anywhere, and their absence had her alarm bells singing like the tower of the cathedral. The incident in the Drucatta still had her mind racing with utter confusion. She'd felt a tangible sense of something not quite right within the chamber, an instant before Vandel had gone berserk. And now she couldn't see Capper or Gliss anywhere among the delegates.

After the guards managed to restore order and Vandel had been dragged off by his brother, their procession to the debating chamber had resumed as though nothing had happened. She still couldn't make sense of the vampire's actions – he just suddenly lost all control of his body and destroyed a priceless heirloom. She'd never seen anything like it. The timing was far too convenient to be coincidence. Somehow they'd managed to trigger Vandel into that action in order to slip away.

She could only pray to the First that they weren't doing anything insane. Or at least, no more insane than bringing Gliss to the Synod in the first place. She had no idea how Capper had managed to convince the Elders to let him bring her, and every glimpse she caught of the newcomer filled her with anger and apprehension in equal measure.

There was nothing to be done about it now though.

In the meantime, she had her own problems to worry about, and she sure as hell wasn't about to rock the boat by pointing out the absent duo. She now sat in the vast, vaulted debating chamber that engulfed a huge space within the estate. Each wall was dominated by rank upon rank of crimson upholstered chairs, now full of throbbing Aspects from all across the city.

Next to her, Marshall sat, elbows on the armrests of his chair and hands clasped together, his brows creased in thought. Being on his arm this evening hadn't been as bad as she'd imagined, though his hands were a little too eager to glide the contours of her body. Beyond that, he behaved more or less as a gentleman, letting her speak her piece when needed, doing the rounds and gauging exactly how plausible his scheme actually was.

So far, Brooke didn't hold out a whole lot of hope for any kind of alliance. The interactions so far had been respectful at best, and downright acidic at worst. They'd avoided making any direct requests, but even still, none of the Pyre Elder-Bloods seemed very amenable to any kind of friendly interaction with anyone.

And it wasn't just Pyre. The whole chamber crackled with pent up energy, as though at any moment a single spark might ignite the whole spectacle, burning away the veneer of diplomatic goodwill that had been draped over the evening like a shroud. The hatred of centuries threatened to erupt at any moment – Brooke could feel it crawling beneath her skin, desperate to get out. Being around so many other clans and Aspects made her head hurt, feeling the push and pull as those around her tried to project themselves onto the very air around them. She had to do the same, forcing her Aspect out in a protective bulwark, jockeying for space with the hundreds of other Elder-Bloods in the room.

Vandel seemed to have calmed down after the incident – they had been offered no actual explanation for what had happened and she wasn't about to upset the apple cart by asking. Instead she tried to focus her mind onto the greater problem at hand.

Trying stop the whole Synod from falling apart around her.

"I hope you're ready to do this," Marshall said into her ear.

She grimaced as he leaned so close. "I know how to handle myself," she hissed.

"It's not you I'm worried about. It's the rest of these people."

"Let's see if Baelock come out swinging before you hit the panic button." She gave him a withering look. Marshall may have had the inkling of a good idea in forging some kind of a cooperation with other smaller clans, but if he didn't keep his cool he would undo it all before they could even start.

What a mess, she thought grimly.

Her eyes flashed to the large plateau at the far end of the room, a raised platform where a much smaller bank of seats rose up, currently empty. The Elders of the Clans had yet to take their seats but it wouldn't be long. The bickering between Elder-Bloods would be tolerated for now, but once the most powerful beings in the city took their seats, order would be restored. Once the Elders arrived the true purpose of the Synod would be laid bare. All clans present would be allowed to air their greivances in front of all their piers. Truces could be born or destroyed in a single speech – she'd seen it before – but never on this scale. It seemed that every clan was well aware of the importance of the coming clashes.

Time seemed to drag on interminably, minutes scrawling past in a grim procession of dull noise. But then she felt the atmosphere ripple. It was soft at first, almost too gentle to notice, but it was drawing nearer, like a rising tide. She knew instantly what it was, and when she caught Marshall's eye she could tell he knew it too. The Elder-Bloods sank down into their seats with a rustle of clothing, their bickering silenced.

The Elders were coming.

They came in a subdued procession, single file and none of them so much as casting their eyes on the now silent assembly of Elder-Bloods. Right in the centre, in the biggest chairs on the highest steps, a phalanx of Baelock Elders took up their station. The one in the middle was a living legend in Veridian Shores and the sight of him filled Brooke with the cold grasp of fear.

Druven. She'd never heard his first name – she wasn't even sure he had one. A long-limbed, cadaverous individual, his leathery grey skin was drawn over an angular skull. His white hair was slicked back against his skull and two dark eyes, dark like dried blood, glared across the assembly hall, cutting through lesser Aspects like a hot blade. His thin lips were set in a permanent sneer, ready to condone or condemn with a single breath.

He was flanked by half a dozen other Elders from the clan, some she recognised and others who were apparently more reclusive in the day-to-day running of their private world. Then radiating out from them in descending order of importance came the rest of the Elder vampires. She was gratified to see that Jocasta's mountainous frame positioned not far off to the right, a clear symbol of his high status among the clans. They might risk pushing other clans to the margins, but as an individual, Jocasta was not to be trifled with.

Silently the others filled the seats from left to right, until a block of concentrated presence, orders of magnitude greater than the force of Elder-Bloods that filled the benches, blossomed like a super nova at the far end of the room. Brooke took a steadying breath. It was time for the Synod to unfold, for better or worse.

"Honoured Clans," thundered the skeletal Baelock seneschal. "We have gathered on these hallowed grounds, at the call of Clan Baelock, to put to the Synod the growing tensions that have risen in our city."

Hallowed grounds? Our city? Brooke felt her hackles rising at the man's words. Everything from the moment they'd walked through the front door of the estate had been geared to engender a sense of superiority. She caught the sidelong flicker of Jocasta's eyes towards the senseschal, and the pool of Aspects rippled in the air as other clan members made their displeasure known.

The seneschal didn't seem to notice any of it, continuing on unhindered. "We all know the events of which I speak, and the severity of what they may mean for the continued existence of our society. Conflict between us can be sustained no longer. So we have called this Synod to bring all of you here, to find common ground and settle our differences before force of arms become our new diplomacy."

A murmur of agreement from the Baelock Elder-Bloods and some of the smaller clans that were under their heel passed through the room, but over half of the vampires on the assembly benches did not give such a warm reception. The words were a poisoned chalice and they all knew it. Common ground with Clan Baelock meant: get in line or die.

"We will hear from all Clans present – we will hear your grievances and do all we can to resolve this, so that our world may return to a state of equilibrium, out of the prying eyes of the human world."

At least they could all agree on that, Brooke thought. She cast her eyes to the block of Elder-Bloods from Pyre who had installed themselves far from the Elders and high in the assembly benches. Their nominal leader, Khymera, was sporting a glare that could have cut glass. Clearly Baelock's grandstanding wasn't playing well with their major rivals.

"We now recognise," the seneschal continued. "Elder-Blood Arcil Mendallus of Clan Baelock, of the lineage of the grand Elder Mendallus IV, whose lands formed the basis for the city we now inhabit."

Hush descended on the chamber and all eyes turned as the Baelock Elder-Blood stood. He inclined his head respectfully to the Elders and the seneschal before addressing the assembly. When he spoke his voice no longer carried the half-disdainful sneer that it normally did.

"I thank you all for attending," he said, and to Brooke's surprise, sounded like he meant it. "The last few weeks have been ... troubled, to say the least. I've seen clans at each others throats. I've seen challenges and incursions, disrespect from those who should know better." He waited for an indignant murmur from the Baelock vampires to settle. "None of this in insurmountable. I believe I can speak for everyone in this room when I say that none of us seek a return to the old ways. Blood for blood – ash for ash – war as a way of living.

"However, there are many here in this room who have lost respect. There was a time we could coexist – each of us knew our place. We had equilibrium in Veridian Shores. Now, it seems that others want to challenge us. They feel threatened by our size, by our reach, although we have done nothing to warrant any hostile response."

It certainly hadn't taken him long to start spinning the victim narrative. Brooke's jaw tightened as he continued, extolling the virtues of the supposedly blameless Baelock Clan and simultaneously pointing fingers at their main antagonist – Glaive. With a conscious effort she stopped herself from rising to Arcil's bait. It was all a game and this was just the first move: garner sympathy, get the other clans to direct their anger elsewhere. On he went, outlining in excruciating detail the lack of respect his clan felt. They would not stand for such behaviour, he assured the assembly. There would be responses to incursions into their territory, however small.

"I would like to conclude by saying, I hope we can reconcile our differences here today," he told the assembly earnestly. "I hope, that once my fellow clans leave this great house, natural order will be restored."

He sat down, prompting a rapturous round of applause from the Baelock Elder-Bloods and Brooke felt a bitterness in her mouth. They really believed it – all of it. They actually thought they had the right to run roughshod over the other clans in the city. Survival of the fittest, and no-one else.

More speakers followed and she sat through it all, having no intention of rising to the plate until absolutely necessary. A handful of smaller clans made their claims known, some sympathetic to Baelock, others less so. They seemed concerned with the short term, however, securing hunting grounds, the lessening of tithes to larger clans who permitted their existence in the first place. All of it struck Brooke as sickeningly trivial.

But eventually Pyre's representative among the Elder-Bloods turned her gaze towards the Elders and raised a clenched fist skyward, indicating her desire to speak. Druven nodded once to the seneschal. When the current speaker had finished the man stood forward again.

"This Synod now recognises Elder-Blood Khymera Van Ghast of Clan Pyre, of the lineage of Elder Cousland of the thirteenth upheaval."

The crimson haired vampire rose with an elegant finality, her emerald dress glittering in the light of the gas-lamps. Her eyes, however, were frightening to behold, changed to the single dark daub of a pupil that betrayed her vampiric lineage. She swept her gaze around the room, as though hunting for a target. When she spoke her voice was slightly gritty, holding a faint rasp from the back of her throat.

"I think there are important things that should be discussed in the open," Khymera began icily. "Not behind closed doors in smoke-filled rooms. We deserve better than that. The rumour mill has been ... unsettling of late. I would like to know why Baelock and Glaive guards have been skirmishing across their borders. I would like to know why five times in the past month my own people have had to defend themselves in what we were assured were secure hunting grounds. I would like to know why some clans have elected not to attend this Synod. Something is coming, and whatever it is will have dire consequences for everyone in this city."

Her stare suddenly locked onto Brooke. "There is one party who have remained silent through all of this, though they stand accused of much by our hosts. I am well aware that my clan is considered little more than a pawn in the game between the two of you, so let me make something abundantly clear: Clan Pyre is no-one's lapdog." She virtually spat the last sentence out and a surge of approving roars erupted from her surrounding clan mates.

"We will not be played. We will not be manoeuvred into backing one side or another. Any dispute between your clans should remain between your clans." She turned to the Elders. "I have nothing more to say, except that I would hear Clan Glaive's side of this. I want – I demand – answers for me and my people."

With that, she dropped back into her seat, fury etched across her perfectly sculpted features. Murmurs passed through the Elder-Bloods on all sides and eyes started to turn.

Marshall squeezed her arm lightly. "Now's your chance."

Brooke jerked her arm free irritably. She didn't need him to explain the obvious. Khymera had made it clear she expected Glaive to play their hand, and had even opened the door for them to do so. There wouldn't be a better time.

Steeling herself, Brooke raised her fist and looked to the Elders.

"This Synod now recognises Elder-Blood Brooke Hellos-Illecanthe," thundered the seneschal a moment later. "Of Clan Glaive, of the lineage of the Elder Illecanthe of the forty-second upheaval."

Her body tingled as the Baelock announcer's voice carved a furrow through the air between them. This was her chance to level the playing field, somehow. So far Baelock had made their tacit intentions clear and only two clans in this room truly had the spine and the numbers to tell them no. If she led, there was a chance Pyre would follow. Failing that, she could at least stop them joining the Baelock regime.

Feeling every nerve in her body begin to tremble, Brooke stood up. Every eye and every Aspect locked onto her like a pack of predators, judging; expecting. She held her ground, willing her own Aspect into a solid force around her, pressing out against the crush and sweeping her eyes across the opposite benches. Many faces from the larger clans looked pensive, or curious. She was not unknown to them – it was not her first time trading barbs in the assembly rooms of her own or other clans. They knew whatever she said would change things.

Wouldn't want to disappoint anyone, she thought wryly.

"Elders, Elder-Bloods – fellow clan members," she began, voice ringing out high and clear throughout the assembly hall. "I have watched and listened with great care. I hoped to come here to extend a hand of friendship, to put an end to the madness that has gripped this city before it could spiral out of control. I see now that that is impossible." She flashed a hard glance at the Baelock Elder-Bloods as she spoke. "It seems the will no longer exists among us to cooperate, or to stem this tide. We came here as supposed equals. That too was false.

"We are lectured on the importance of respect, when we ourselves are shown none. We are accused of warmongering, when we merely defend ourselves. We are called thieves, when we are the ones being stolen from. This farce has gone on long enough, and I, for one, will no longer suffer the hypocrisy!" Her voice climbed through the tirade into a powerful roar that echoed out across the room like a ringing bell. Her body shook with anger, frustration and desperation. It was a truth, and a calculated gamble that could bring the wrath of Baelock down upon her and her clan-mates.

The Baelock benches burst into an indignant clamour at her outburst, Aspects crashing into her and voices rising to contest.

"How dare you!"

"Weak-blood!"

"Outrageous!"

As the hubbub subsided Brooke bared her fangs, a breach of etiquette in the chamber but one she was willing to risk.

"I have heard enough from our hosts," she hissed, acid dripping from every word. "We were brought here under the guise of friendship, all of us, but we are really here to be shown our place. The honoured Elder-Bloods of this house will not say it openly, so I will say it for them. We are here to come under their heel or be crushed beneath it!"

Confidence flooded into her when she caught a glimpse of Khymera out of the corner of her eye, nodding. She was on the right track. There might have been no way to create an opposition to Baelock through friendship, but she might just manage it through mutual hatred. Another swell of indignant anger rose from the Baelock vampires but it was matched by the clamour of voices that supported her.

She looked over at the seneschal, half expecting to have her time curbed for being so insolent, but the man simply stood there, impassive. At the centre of the Elders' dais, Druven's eyes were locked on her, narrow and scrutinizing, but there was no hint of anger.

If they weren't going to stop her, then it was time to hammer the point home.

"Those opposite do not wish to hear this. They'd have you all think that it is their right to lord over you. Or us." Brooke cast a sidelong glance at Marshall. "They might be the largest single clan, but they don't outnumber all of us. They do not get to dictate who roams where in this city. I've been told we are here to air grievances – well I think you now understand mine."

With an effort she softened her tone, not wishing to push the Baelock vampires too far on their home ground. "But in one respect, I will agree with Elder-Blood Mendallus. I hope we can put an end to this today. I have no wish to wage war in the streets, but if that is what is required for us to be allowed to live as we choose, you should know that Clan Glaive will not hesitate." Then she pointed to Khymera. "And Pyre? You may not wish to be pushed into action, but could you stand idly while one by one the clans of this city were strangled from existence?"

A rumble of dissent bubbled up from the Pyre contingent and she saw Khymera sling a vicious glance toward her Baelock counterpart. A fire ignited in her mind. She had them. Damn him, for all his preening smugness, Marshall had been right after all. When presented with the choice, Pyre would fight, if not out of cooperation, out of self-preservation.

"And Wolf? Wrath? Would any of you stand back and watch this happen? Regardless of who it may be, whether Baelock, or my own clan, could you sit on your laurels knowing that it was only a matter of time before you were the next to be wiped from existence?"

Another angry swell came from several of the smaller clans and she saw more pairs of fangs scattered through the benches. The Baelock vampires still tried to heckle and shout her down, but her Aspect blazed a trail as she spoke over them, voice unyielding as steel.

"You see the path we are treading!" she shouted. "And I will be heard because I won't allow this to come to pass. Should we change nothing – should this escalate then all out war between the clans is inevitable. None of us will escape that."

And it was then that she remembered Capper's words to her when she'd mentioned the idea of an alliance. If all the big clans in Veridian Shores fall into a war then we've all failed. It doesn't matter who's siding with who ...

Brooke hadn't appreciated just how right he'd been.

"So I now implore every single person in this chamber, from clans large or small, listen to my words. Baelock seek to rule this city. They would see Glaive, Pyre, and every one else cast down to do it." She shook her head grimly. "And the unpalatable truth is that none of us are any better. No-one in this room can claim innocence to that charge. We have all killed. We have all placed the needs of our own before those of outsiders. We have fought and played games of power and influence without so much as a forward glance. That must end, and end today.

"I tell you – no, I promise you – if this chain of events is not halted then there will be no winner; no last clan. There will be no grand rulers standing tall and proud when the dust settles. All that will remain is ash, blood, and the ruins of the world we once had. That is a future I have no wish to see. Whether we can avoid it or not, that rests upon each of us." She spread her hands wide, looking around her at a sea of stunned faces. When she spoke again her voice was calm, tinged with sadness.

"Elders, Elder-Bloods, if your consciences cannot show you the insanity of war, then this city is damned to hellgates already."