They were some of the last to arrive.

Every Council of the Shimmering Men called, though they were few and far between, were always held in a different location. A couple hours before the meeting, messengers approached each person who was to attend and revealed to them the location of the meeting.

This time, they were to meet in the Surflux Plaza. More specifically, in a large conference room located deep within the heart of the building on the basement level.

Though the roof of the room was high and arching, there was not a single window. This was to ensure the safety of the Shimmering Men, so that snipers couldn't shoot them through the windows. The room was also in the centre of the sub-level, with a myriad of rooms branching off from it and rows upon rows of identical hallways, so that it would be hard for an assassin to reach them.

On the two or three floors above them were a bunch of offices, and workers going about their day without any knowledge of the Shimmering Men meeting right below them.

Remi knew that all of this also meant that anything could go on in that room among the Shimmering Men, without consequence, so she made sure to keep her guard up.

Killure trailed casually after her, his body loose and relaxed, but Remi knew that his sharp eyes saw every threat that came within their vicinity, and more.

All eyes were on her as she walked through the doors. A pleasant smile was plastered to her face. She was expected to play the part of a lady, and she would do a wonderful job.

There were only two open chairs. One was at the head of the table, and the other was on the side. Remi sat on the side, respectfully leaving room for a man she had no respect for.

Killure paused at the entrance, stepping aside and casually leaning against the wall. Every eye in the room instantly honed in on the sight of him, expanding in surprise. Killure seemed to enjoy curling his lips into a feral grin and baring his teeth at them—an action that instantly made some avert their eyes.

He noticed her watching him and sent her a cocky wink, as if he couldn't feel the tension hovering thick in the air. She knew he must. Killure was remarkably perceptive, and always seemed to take notice of everything that went on around him, reading between the lines and drawing scarily accurate conclusions. The easy, nonchalant way in which he moved, talked, and existed was something Remi had never seen before in any person, and it flared up her curiosity.

She quickly focused back on the situation at hand. All of the eyes that had been on Killure were now trained on her, as if they were finally acknowledging the true danger in the room—the demon's puppeteer.

Lord Wallathore regarded her with skittish, restless eyes. They darted back and forth between Remi and Killure, as if he didn't want to take his eyes of them for even a second. "Miss Goldridge, surely you don't mean to keep your hound in here while we speak."

Remi raised a strawberry-coloured eyebrow at him. "Is he not the subject of contention?"

"How did you—"

"Then I don't see his presence as a problem."

A voice flitted down from the ceiling. "I don,' either. If any o' ya can't handle one crazy Icix, then ya shouldn' be 'ere, eh?" His voice was light and heavily accented with lilting syllables. His eyes took on a dangerous glint as he added with a smile, "If a whole island of Icixes could be wiped out, then we don't gotta worry 'bout jus' one."

Killure's body tensed in her peripheral.

Remi glanced up to the ceiling, where Lord Sookie hung upside down in the air, his legs wrapped around one of the rafters as he noisily chewed on an apple. Although he was much older, he looked like he was ten or eleven years old, with young, soft facial features and a mischievous glint in his eye. He sent Remi a wink, but she knew he hadn't stuck up for her as a favour. No, the agile lord was highly intelligent, and anything he did was only to benefit himself. He would allow Remi to keep herself in a position of control, so long as he could analyze their interactions, the way both of them moved—individually and together—and discover any weaknesses hiding beneath the surface. And that made Remi's heart pound in her chest.

She steeled herself not to look in Killure's direction. If Sookie were to discover that she cared for the Icix, he would use it to his advantage, and the results would be devastating.

"Who cares, so long as we can get on with this meeting. I have much to do," Lord Corinth, a broad-shouldered bald man wearing a deep red tunic droned, his words doused in boredom. His thin lips were pursed, as if this was the last place he wanted to be. The air about him was heavy, burdened with the weight of thousands of invisible secrets. Corinth could give any wanted man an entirely new identity and life, but he carried the true identity of every man who employed his services with him.

"As you wish," a new voice said from behind them all. Everyone, including Remi, whipped their heads around to stare at the newcomer, who'd snuck up on them as silently as the night creeps up on the day.

Remi stole a glance at Killure, only to discover that he'd already been looking at the man. Knowing Killure, he'd probably known before the man even arrived.

Lord Cynfael always led these types of meetings. He was the one who arranged every meeting's location, and took charge as they spoke of whatever matters needed to be discussed. As the leader of a highly-trained guild of assassins, his entire person demanded respect, and he often settled quarrels with only the sharpness of his tone. The air about him seemed to crackle with electricity and power.

Remi regarded him with disguised interest. She'd heard a lot about this dangerous man, and knew that underestimating him was the worst thing she could possibly do.

Cynfael's eyes narrowed in on her, and a predatory smile tilted up the corners of his mouth. "Remi Goldridge, I presume."

"You invited me by name, so I'm unsure as to why any presumptions are necessary," she bit back, though the friendly smile on her face remained, making her words sound like a joke, though anyone could hear the barely-disguised sincerity of her despise for the assassin leader.

"One can never be too cautious," Cynfael replied lightly, though his words held a dangerous undertone that he, too, didn't bother to hide. He moved as fluidly as water, sitting down in his seat. "Welcome to the Council of the Shimmering Men. I assume you already know why some members of the Council felt it necessary to call this meeting and call you in place of your Uncle Fahrem, who is your usual family representative."

Remi pursed her lips, her eyes never backing down from his all-penetrating gaze. "Some of you are concerned about my recent actions, I assume, and wonder if my wrath extends to any of you as well."

"Young, but intuitive," Lord Cynfael smirked slightly, licking his lips. "You hold your ground well in a room full of monsters. Surely—"

"That twig?" a familiar voice laughed sharply, interrupting the assassin leader. "My niece couldn't hurt a fly."

Everyone sharply sucked in collective breaths of air. No one dared to interrupt Cynfael, aside from . . .

"Uncle Shaam, you always have so much faith in me," Remi rolled her eyes in annoyance, though a hint of remained on her tongue.

Her big, burly uncle gave her a half salute from the other side of the table. His face was covered in blonde hair—beard, moustache, and the hair on the side of his face all blending together.

Ever since a falling out occurred between Uncle Shaam and Uncle Fahrem over fifteen years ago, the Goldridge family split apart. While Remi's father and oldest uncle stayed in the family business, their youngest brother made a name for himself by starting from nothing and creating an entire empire.

Now, Uncle Shaam had become important enough to have his own chair on the Council of Shimmering Men.

However, that didn't mean that many people liked him. He was often thought of as too outspoken and brash, without a single ounce of respect for anyone.

"I'm just saying," he bellowed out a deep laugh that echoed throughout the entire room. "Anyways, back to what's-his-face was saying. Something about your kitty cat over there?"

Killure raised an eyebrow in response, holding his hand out in front of him and examining the long, terribly sharp claws protruding from the tips of his fingers. "Perhaps after a proper demonstration of what my claws can do, you won't be so cocky."

Gasps echoed in the large room, bouncing off walls and throwing themselves around with no regard, for what Killure had done was unheard of.

Firstly, slaves never attended Council meetings. Secondly, a slave who spoke in the presence of just one of these men would be given a gruesome death.

It had happened before—in fact, it was a common occurrence. Slaves were considered disposable.

No master ever cared for their slave, and they surely hadn't made out them either. Remi was guilty of both.

Expectant glares directed themselves at Remi, annoyed at her hesitation.

They were waiting for her to give the order to have Killure executed. Any less may be seen as a sign of weakness on her part.

Remi gulped.