“That, I have no idea about.” Gabriel shook his head. “It’s not like we’ve seen many resurrected scribes. It must have something to do with her particular magic. The scholars would drool over this.”
Leo said, “And the reason we’re not consulting them is…?”
“I finally spoke to Rhys last night,” Gabriel said. “He’s been here for a week now, doing research. Based on what he’s seen, he thinks there is too much division in the archives. He wants to keep Ava and Malachi as quiet as possible, at least for now. All the elders have their own scholars doing research into the Irina problem, trying to find writings or visions that back up their own position.” He shrugged. “Konrad does. And he’s one of the most honorable elders on the council. But he’s not going to actively support research that could favor compulsion any more than Edmund is going to support research in favor of restoration.”
According to Gabriel, the Irin Council had become fairly evenly divided into two camps: those elders supporting compulsion, which would hunt down the Irina and force them back into heavily guarded retreats “for their own safety and the future of the Irin race”; and restoration, which would petition the most respected Irina to reform the Irina Council so that Irina could come back to public life with full protection.
It was more complicated than Malachi had expected. Compulsion grated on his instincts, but the arguments were compelling. The Irin were dying off. Generations of Irin children had been lost. The Irina needed to be protected. In fact, some of the most pro-compulsion elders on the council had lost mates and daughters during the Rending. They were passionate about the safety of the Irina. Passionate about the need for them to be protected from the Grigori. And most did not downplay the Grigori threat.
On the other hand, many of the elders who supported restoration clearly had no idea just how much the Grigori were spreading. They dismissed the Fallen, almost as if they were something out of a myth. They claimed that those in favor of compulsion were fear-mongering bigots, that there was little threat to the Irina. They needed to simply step back into public life and everything would sort itself out.
Vienna was a city riddled by politics, confused by its own safety, and flush with more money than Malachi had ever imagined. It was lazy and indulgent. The city stank of greed.
“We should try to get some sleep,” Leo said. “Rhys will be by in the morning, and Max is supposed to call around noon.”
“Where is Max?”
“I don’t know,” Leo said. “He mentioned a message from a contact the last time I talked to him. I think he was in Berlin.”
“Berlin?”
Leo grinned. “They asked after you. If we’re going to keep your story a secret, we may need to avoid the city. You spent many years in Berlin.”
By noon, Gabriel had gone into his offices and Leo, Rhys, and Malachi met with Konrad in Gabriel’s library.
“So you are the scribes that nobody and everybody is talking about,” Konrad said. He was a gruff man. Not handsome in the least, he appeared to bear the weight of the world on his stooped shoulders. He was barrel-chested and gray-haired, clearly having cut back on the longevity spells after he’d lost his mate, Catherine. She had not died in the Rending but, of all things, a traffic collision while they were on holiday. It was a shocking reminder to Malachi of how dangerous the world could be, even in ordinary times.
“I don’t know about that,” Malachi said. “I’m not much for gossip.”
“Oh, we eminent politicians don’t call it gossip, Malachi. We call it ‘intelligence.’” He lifted the corner of his mouth in what could almost be a smile. “I knew your father for a time. You look like him. When we were young, we trained together near Jerusalem. Of course, that was very long ago.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You lost him during the Rending?”
Malachi looked at Leo. He was trusting that the story the scribe had told him was true, since he didn’t remember much about his parents. “They were in the conflict in Berlin. They were living in a retreat near there and both went into the city to fight.”
“And I suppose that is why the Grigori call you the Butcher of Berlin, eh?” Konrad sniffed. “Good work there. We need more soldiers like you.”
Malachi blinked, unaware of the nickname. Leo smiled nervously. Clearly, he’d forgotten to give Malachi all the details of his past life.
Ignoring it, Malachi steered the conversation in another direction. “It’s good to know that not all the elders are unaware of the escalating Grigori threat.”
“No, not all of us are unaware.”
Rhys muttered, “But enough to make it a concern.”
Konrad said, “Well, it doesn’t help convincing people when things like Grigori burning down scribe houses are left unreported.”
Rhys said, “That, I do not understand. I know Damien reported it. I heard him make the call.”
“Oh, we knew it had burned, but it was ruled accidental by the Turkish authorities.”
“No.” Rhys shook his head. “Damien was on the phone with someone in Vienna. He told them it was a Grigori attack. He told them that Volund’s soldiers were in the city. That Jaron has ceded control.”
Konrad said, “We never got that message. I only heard rumors and innuendo. Someone died. Someone found a mate. It was never clear what had happened to whom.” He nodded toward Malachi. “And now the story you tell me? If I hadn’t seen his talesm so depleted, I’d think you were liars. But no scribe reaches his age with so few spells. It’s unnatural.”