Predatory

53: The Ruling Council

SASHA POV

"Ah, you have returned...Commander Sukoshku," the tall, otherworldly elf who interrupted my conference with my team remarks as I open the office door. He looks me up and down, as though he's expecting some sort of fae trick. This one's loyal to top brass. And none of them are taking any funny business. I just look at him, waiting for him to continue. "The Ruling Council sent me to...check the status of your office. I imagine...they will be pleased to know that you are here."

I arch an eyebrow but otherwise do not react. I want him uncomfortable.

"Um.... They instructed that, if you were here, you should come with me to their Inner Sanctum. They would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience," he adds once it's clear that I will not be encouraging this conversation.

"Of course, I would be most pleased to engage in civil conversation with my colleagues," I reply. Berach ought to love that, if he's heard it.

The elf's face contorts for a moment, as though he's heard something unpleasant in his head or he's resisting some sort of destructive impulse. Called it. This elf is Berach's puppet.

"Are you all right?" I ask him. I hear Rika's stifled snickers in my earpiece. She and Zoe are out of sight, protected by Ariadne's and Tempest's wards. Good. Stay safe.

"Yes, perfectly fine, Commander," he responds, but he's tinged pink with embarrassment. "Please come with me, if you are ready."

"No time like the present." Neutral tone, clean poise, cool confidence. The elf grimaces again as he leads the way through the twisting maze of cold white corridors. I haven't missed this place while I've been in the field. My escort's shoes click with each step he takes, but I move without sound, which seems a great inconvenience to the elf in front of me; he pauses frequently to look back and make sure I am following him, and each time he appears more unsettled and displeased.

He breathes a quiet sigh of relief when we arrive at the doors to the Inner Sanctum, which is not far from what was once Anselm's office. With a mechanical hiss, the doors slide open before either of us has a chance to knock, revealing a room just as cold and white and unwelcoming as the corridors. The atmosphere in here is oppressive, stifling, stuffy; there's something unnatural at play, but I can't pinpoint what it might be. Tread carefully. Opposite the doors is a long, gently curving white desk; behind it are the four remaining members of the Ruling Council and the empty chair reserved for the Commander of Special Ops.
"Thank you, Duadhrin. You are dismissed," Berach calls from his place at the center of the desk. "Sukoshku. Step center, if you please."

I very much want to ignore him, as Duadhrin scuttles away and the doors hiss close behind me, but now is not the time to be tipping my hand. I comply with sedate grace, looking over the Ruling Council as I do so.

I haven't had the privilege of coming here or meeting the Ruling Council myself before, but I know them all from official portraits and the rumors about them. Furthest to the right is Ruadh, a russet-bearded dwarf with a permanent scowl and a massive warhammer. On his left is Anisha, who looks like a Bollywood version of Morticia Addams, beautiful and severe. To her left, sitting center, is Berach the Great and Terrible; the form he has chosen closely resembles American television reporter Anderson Cooper, with the sharper features typical of fae and longer hair, and he regards me with venomous contempt. On his other side sits Najwa, with the grey swirling eyes of an air elemental; she shows the only hints of kindness and empathy in the whole room.

Beside her is the empty chair where I would be sitting if any of them had any intention of letting me actually take Anselm's place.

"You know why you are here," Berach addresses me after a long, tense silence.