“I thought your pilot wasn’t pack,” Bonarata said.

“He isn’t,” agreed Adam pleasantly, dumping ketchup on his eggs. “But sometimes submissive wolves run into problems if they’re around too much violence. Since he is here because of me, he has the right to ask me for help.” Which was sort of true—violence became a problem for most people eventually unless they were true sociopaths, and there was no need to tell everyone that Adam had been the one in need of help.

The food was good, even cold, and Adam made his way through the meal with the dedication of a man drained from fighting off a vampire attack. As soon as he took the first bite, other people started eating, too.

A male vampire stopped by the table and handed Bonarata a note. He read it, frowned, and looked at Adam.

“This concerns the bad news I had,” he said. “I sent out word yesterday that my people were to locate your mate and assist her if necessary and otherwise just keep watch and send me word.”

As opposed to kill her on sight, Adam thought.

“My people have all been contacted except for one—and from him I have had no word at all.”

“He is in Prague,” said Adam.

Bonarata looked at him with narrowed eyes, and Adam knew he was right.

“Mercy has this . . . this uncanny ability to go where the trouble is thickest,” Adam told him. He had decided a while ago that it wasn’t deliberate, and that it had something to do with being Coyote’s daughter. He was pretty sure that Mercy was completely oblivious. “My wife went to Prague. A city where, my people tell me, there are two vampire seethes in a place that should only be territory enough for one. Hopefully she is safe with Libor of the Vltava.”

“You sent Bran’s foster child, whom he loves, to Libor of the Vltava,” said Bonarata. Because, evidently, Bonarata knew there was something up between Bran and Libor.

“Do you know what caused the bad blood between them?” asked Marsilia with interest.

Adam had discussed his qualms about Libor with his people, including the secret trouble between Libor and Bran. Marsilia suggested asking Bran himself. Adam had just shaken his head and explained that Charles had told Ben that the secrecy was powered by an oath of silence. Taking their curiosity to Bran would be useless. Bran doubtless knew, Adam had told them, that Charles had told Mercy to go to Libor. If Bran had had objections, he’d had plenty of time to voice them.

Bonarata shook his head. “Libor doesn’t talk much. He especially doesn’t talk to vampires. He informed me so when I attempted to meet with him a few months ago to discuss why his city had two seethes—one of which no one can pin down, not even my . . . the Master of the city. I have a few ideas about it.” He frowned. “It was probably a mistake to put it off, since the Master is no longer communicating with me. We tried him just before dawn, because we couldn’t reach my hunter.”

“Is the Master of Prague still Strnad?” asked Marsilia.

“No,” said Guccio. “Strnad killed himself seventy or eighty years ago. Kocourek took over the city from him.”

She frowned. “I don’t remember Kocourek.”

“After your time,” said Bonarata shortly.

“Is this Kocourek a rebel type?” she asked. “Or is he in trouble? Or is he just away from the phone for a couple of hours?”

“Maybe Mercy did something to him,” offered Adam dryly. “You can never tell with Mercy. I expect there are buses in Prague, too.”

Marsilia raised her eyebrow at Adam—an admonishment to behave. Adam raised one back at her.

“It is unlikely that Kocourek is away from the phone,” said Bonarata. “That is cause for concern, certainly. But anything further than that is speculation at this point.”

He didn’t sound like it was speculation. He sounded like he was seriously angry about it. Adam suspected Kocourek was not long for the world, but that was Bonarata’s business.

“I’m sure you will understand,” Marsilia said, “that Adam is anxious to collect his wife. Especially if your vampires on the ground in Prague are not responding. Perhaps we should get on with business. You took Mercy. Why?”

Bonarata pursed his lips, took a sip of his wine as if he enjoyed it. Then he looked up at Adam.

“You have made a bold move,” he said. “It was a brilliant move, perhaps, to claim your town as your territory and vow to protect all the people in it. You’ve made your town a place for humans to come and treat with the fae and the werewolves. A place where they feel safe. Humans come to see the fae, and the fae show their true faces—at least part of their true faces there. All because you have said you can keep them all safe from each other. It is a happy thing, a thing full of infinite possibilities and hope.”

He played with the glass. It looked fragile in his big hands. Then he set it down with a sigh and said, “And when it doesn’t work, you are going to spark a war with the humans that has not been seen on this planet since the Spanish Inquisition set off the Witch Wars. When I was a boy, every village had a coven of witches. Every city of any size had a witch as strong as Elizaveta in charge of it. The humans began it, driving the witches into breaking treaties that had been in place for centuries. By the time it was finished . . . I thought for fifty years that they had succeeded in killing off every witchborn person on the planet.”

The vampire spread his hands, then set them on the table on either side of his glass. “I do not believe that you—a pup not even a century old—can do this thing you claim. Even the Marrok has pulled his support from you, though your mate is this woman you claim is the child of his heart. He waits for you to fail, because if he did not think you would fail, he would join you. You are no match for the Gray Lords. You are no match for the werewolf packs who will move in on your territory because the Marrok no longer gives you the mantle of his protection. You are no match for me.” He gave Adam a sad smile. “No matter how much I wished it to be otherwise.”