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My fingers itch to throw a few cyclones in his direction, tie those windstorms around all four limbs, and use the air pressure to draw and quarter him. To be sure, we’d have one less nuisance to deal with. That is, if we discount the Faeries who follow him and outnumber us.

Elixir stalks forward, his fingers choking the forked daggers. Protectiveness isn’t the only thing that propels my brother forward. It’s the fact that Scorpio’s lucid eyes are focused on him. Somehow, my brother can sense this.

Elixir’s glare ignites. “I blinded you.”

“You did, didn’t you?” Scorpio pretends to mull that over, then hitches a shoulder. “So…I guess you missed?”

“That’s impossible,” Cove utters.

“Not really,” the merman dismisses.

Elixir and Cove had told us what happened during the flood, how Elixir had blinded Scorpio while underwater. That, plus everything else that transpired during Cove’s game had been enough to fuel Scorpio. It had motivated him to lead our kin against us.

Yet my brother’s powers are supposed to be irreversible.

So how the Fables is this bastard able to see us?

Scorpio has the nerve to genuflect to the owls. “Esteemed ones.”

The raptors dissect him with their medallion eyes. My father bristles right up to the horned tufts.

An order from the owls sails to me through a current. I disarm at their behest, and the rest of our band takes the hint, lowering their defenses.

Rather, everyone does but my dear brother, whose capacity for venom exceeds Scorpio’s by a thousandfold.

“Elixir,” I say. “The Parliament has spoken.”

I’m the only one who’d been able to hear the command, but the impetus behind my actions had been obvious. Reluctantly, Elixir complies. While jamming the daggers into the baldric beneath his robe, his pupils blaze with rancor.

With all the vicious elegance I can muster, I gesture toward the table. “After you.”

And with all the malicious entitlement Scorpio fails to contain, he strides into the aviary while barely paying the resident birds notice.

Ah. So he doesn’t expect any of these avians to take his side, nor is he interested in trying for them.

I parcel this observation to my father, who agrees. His counsel flocks to my ears, cautioning me to take heed.

Scorpio’s intentions are selective rather than random. To that end, I reserve this fact for later but keep the shield in place.

In any case, Scorpio has less interest in the fauna and more interest in Puck. They’ve never officially met, and while my brother’s sinful, seductive, shameless reputation precedes him, it’s hardly a shock when the cobbled muscles and stag antlers draw Scorpio’s appreciative eye. Most Faeries can’t resist the lustful magnetism of a satyr, especially if that satyr is Puck.

As Scorpio passes my brother, the merman’s uncensored gaze wanders south. No stranger to physical temptations herself, Lark catches the exchange and snorts, “Get in line, bloke.”

Puck isn’t clueless. He knows the effect he has on others. “There is no line,” he corrects, then aims his gaze at Juniper. “Not anymore.”

Juniper pelts Scorpio with a possessive glare. But the sight of them together only causes the merman’s mouth to twist in distaste, as if he’s lost his appetite.

With a flourish, I offer Lark my arm and guide her to the table.

The players take their seats. The Parliament won’t intervene, preferring to observe unless it’s imperative. Tímien will communicate on their behalf, but only if necessary. Owls take care with what they say, every utterance between them and Faeries is heavily measured, and the raptors prefer to suspend judgement until the end.

Puck slouches in his chair, props his hooves atop the table, and crosses them. He picks up a stirring spoon meant for the nectar and twirls it between his fingers. “Well, fuck me. I was hoping we’d start guzzling without you. Rude, I know, but the nectar was getting warm. Nobody likes it room temperature.”

Scorpio unhitches the trident and sets it beside him as he fills his seat. “You were also hoping for a larger head count.”

“About that. Where are your minions? I went to all this trouble, setting the table. What happened? Only you could find time in your schedule? Or did the prospect of Elixir scare everyone away?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Scorpio fetches his chalice, pours wine, and lifts the vessel in a mock toast. “I’m just here for the drinks.”