Chapter 135 The Palace
POV: Count Alteroni | Crimson Parliament Chambers
The Crimson Parliament met in a chamber that had no windows, which Alteroni had always thought was appropriate. Vampires governing vampire society in a room that admitted no light. Nobody had ever suggested this was symbolic. Nobody needed to.
The chamber stretched fifty feet from door to dais, the walls lined with portraits of Ancients who had held seats before the current members. Most of them were dead now, destroyed by war or rivals or the simple misfortune of existing long enough to run out of luck. Alteroni had looked at those portraits for three hundred years and drawn the same conclusion every time: longevity was not the same as safety.
He stood at the speaking podium with four pages of handwritten notes and the knowledge that he was probably going to lose.
"Reform package seven," he said. The chamber scribe noted it. Around the table, eleven other Parliament members settled into the particular quality of stillness that meant they were either genuinely listening or performing listening well enough that it didn't matter. "The proposal before this body covers four areas."
He laid them out. Consent laws for feeding: no vampire could feed from a human more than twice in a month cycle without documented voluntary agreement from the human. End to the thrall trafficking network: the buying and selling of addicted humans would become a criminal offense under supernatural law, punishable by seat removal. Permanent autonomous zone status for the Rookeries: the trial period ended, the territory became legally recognized. And fourth, hybrid recognition: supernatural beings of mixed heritage received full legal standing under Parliament jurisdiction.
He finished. The chamber was quiet.
Lord Declan Varis, who sat three seats to the right and had been Mordaunt's reliable vote for the last eighty years, looked at his nails. "Feeding consent," he said slowly, like he was tasting the words and finding them sour. "You want us to document our meals."
"I want us to stop treating people like a food source they didn't volunteer for."
"That's quite sentimental."
"It's quite accurate." Alteroni kept his voice even. "The Rookeries incident has drawn human journalistic attention to our community in ways we haven't seen since 1952. The Veil is not a wall. It's a preference. If we continue operating as though it's impenetrable, someone will eventually prove otherwise." He looked around the table. "Reforms protect us as much as they protect others."
Mordaunt sat at the far end of the table, which was where he preferred to sit. Watching. He had said almost nothing during the presentation, which was never a good sign. Silence from Mordaunt meant he was calculating rather than reacting, and calculation was always more dangerous.
He spoke now. "The Rookeries autonomous zone."
"Permanent status," Alteroni confirmed.
"You're asking this body to formally acknowledge a territory governed by packless wolves as a sovereign zone within our jurisdiction."
"I'm asking this body to stop pretending the Rookeries doesn't exist."
"It exists as a problem." Mordaunt's voice was pleasant, the way old marble was pleasant. Smooth and cold and immovable. "Formalizing it makes it a fixture. Fixtures are harder to remove when they become inconvenient."
"They were already inconvenient to remove," Alteroni said. "We tried. I believe the resulting international incident is still being discussed at the Ancient Council in Geneva."
That got a few shifts in chairs around the table. The Geneva meeting had not been comfortable for anyone involved.
The debate ran for two more hours. Mordaunt's faction fought every point, not loudly but precisely, the way you fought when you wanted to look reasonable while killing something. They conceded small language adjustments on the feeding consent clause, which meant they were accepting its passage while extracting whatever they could. They refused everything else.
The vote came.
Feeding consent: passed, eight to four.
Thrall trafficking criminalization: failed, six to six. Tied votes killed proposals.
Rookeries permanent status: passed, seven to five. Barely.
Hybrid recognition: tabled for further discussion, which was Parliament language for indefinite delay.
Half a loaf. Alteroni gathered his notes.
Mordaunt was already standing, already adjusting his coat with the unhurried ease of someone who had just gotten most of what he wanted by losing some of it.
He paused beside Alteroni's chair on his way out.
"Feeding consent and territorial recognition." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Two wins. Two losses. A draw." He smiled, which was never an expression that reached his eyes. "Let's see if your precious wolves think it's worth the political capital."
He walked out. His faction followed. The chamber emptied around Alteroni until only he and the scribe were left.
He looked at the portraits on the walls. All those old faces, all those centuries of survival.
"Two out of four," he said to no one. "Better than nothing."
The scribe didn't respond. That was, ultimately, the correct answer.