Her words were confident, but she was very aware of the maimed Maskless capes to her left, close enough that they could have seized her by the neck, using a hand with nails through it. Morning Glory stood to her right, a man in a blue tunic with a blue mask over three-quarters of his face stood with his arm almost touching hers.

She clasped her hands in front of her, telling herself it wasn’t defensive—it was her moving her arm so an errant burst of power wouldn’t take a chunk out of the man.

“Enough,” Accord said. “Let’s keep to the rules of order. The night is only so long and we don’t have time to waste on the bickering of children.”

“I’m assuming our first priority is standing out in the water there,” the leader of the Mass said.

“You would assume correctly,” Accord said. “Blastgerm claims South Boston so long as the giant stands. They engage in the low-level drug trade, some robbery, and if their claims about their subordinate capes are to be believed, they’ll maintain some ideological commitments as well.”

“Protecting nature and all that shit,” Blasto said.

“Are we going to war, Blastgerm?” the leader of Morning Glory asked.

“If we have to. That big guy is strong, you know. If you fight him, you won’t come out unscathed. If you have some injured and others don’t, then that could be the point where the other people standing around this fire come after you.”

“Would you compromise?” Detente asked.

“Blastgerm gives up a fifth of South Boston, they share the rest?” Blasto asked. “No fighting, loose alliance, we all defend our borders from the outside?”

“We could discuss that,” the leader of Morning Glory said. “Speaking for my group, we had our hearts set on getting one quarter. Now it’s twenty percent? Give us a share of your revenue.”

“Say please,” Rotten Apple said.

“Please, Blastgerm,” the red-headed man said, and his accent was stronger as he injected a joking tone into his voice. “Might we have five percent of your territory and a five percent cut of proceeds?”

Rotten Apple smiled. “Five percent is a lot.”

“It’s a nice even number, isn’t it?”

“One point two five percent,” she said. “If we give you five percent, they’ll want five percent, and so will they, and so will they. All of a sudden we’re making twenty percent less. We’ll give you guys five percent of our revenue, but you split it between you.”

Damsel made eye contact with Rotten Apple. Rotten Apple shook her head.

She was being cut out. Treated like she wasn’t there.

To lose it all like this? Not a grandiose loss, no challenge, but to be reduced to nothing with no ceremony or tact? She had arrived at this fire tonight with every intention of taking and holding her place.