by M. J. Scott
“Thanks to your oaths, we have no proof that Lucius tried anything at all,” Guy said, speaking through gritted teeth.
“And if it had been you and your oaths, then she’d probably be dead and we’d be no better off,” I shot back.
“Hell, Simon, you—”
“Either punch me or shut up and listen.”
His eyebrows shot up and I braced myself for a fist to the face, standing my ground. But then he backed off a step or two. For a moment he stood still, head bowed, breathing heavily. No doubt trying to rein in his own temper with a few pleas for his God to spare him from the plague of family.
Finally he raised his head and looked at me levelly for a few seconds. Then he bent, picked up his chair, and set it carefully back on its feet. “Say something worth listening to, little brother.” The drawl was back but he seemed somewhat calmer.
I eased back, giving us both space. Calmer wasn’t calm. One of us might yet end up with a blackened eye or two. “Even if you questioned her, what good would it have done? The Fae won’t take testimony given under duress, you know that. Do you think she would’ve cooperated if I’d turned her over? I don’t.”
“No,” Guy snapped. “I don’t.”
I could almost see the frustration rising from him. I understood it. I felt the same. Anyone who saw the damage inflicted by the Night World daily had to. But torture wasn’t the answer. I settled myself back into the chair, waited for Guy to do the same. “What if I could talk her into helping us?”
Guy gave one burst of incredulous laughter, then choked it off. “Did you melt your brain with one of your sunbeams?”
I ignored his laughter. “No.”
Pale eyebrows drew together like a lightning bolt of disapproval. “Fuck. You want to save her, don’t you? This is another one of your crusades.”
I didn’t react. Didn’t want him to see he was right, or partially so. The Templars were pretty damn pragmatic, and chivalry was hardly the priority in their code of honor these days. Guy cut down female Blood with no hesitation if they broke the law. Shadow wasn’t Blood but she was hardly on the side of the angels.
“No, it’s not. You’re the one who brought up the idea of her testifying.”
“I didn’t think you’d take me seriously. She’s Night World.”
“And that means she’s beyond hope?”
“Hell’s balls, you never learn. Same old story.”
“At least I try,” I shot back, anger and regret rapidly loosening my grip on my temper.
“At what cost?” Guy’s voice was rising again.
I sucked in a breath, held up a hand, palm out. “We are not having this argument again.” I couldn’t change the past and neither could Guy. Fifteen years of arguing had taught me that much. Opening old wounds wouldn’t help anything right now.
Guy held up his hands too, his face grim. “Fine. But you can’t save everyone, little brother.”
“That’s ironic coming from a man who has dedicated his own life to saving people.” Ever since I’d become a healer, people had been telling me I couldn’t save everyone, but no one ever lectured Guy.
“I’m sworn to defend, not save. There’s a difference.”
“Which is?”
“When you defend, the idea is to keep the greatest number safe. You know you’ll lose some of them. You know that some of them will always choose the other side. And you know how to choose your battles.”
“I am choosing my battles. Think about it, Guy. Think about what it would mean if she did cooperate. If we could present sworn testimony that Lucius tried to assassinate a human healer from his very own assassin? Putting aside the fact that you think I’m insane right now.”
He had to see it. It was his idea, after all. The treaty negotiations were a little over three months away. They only came around once every five years. And for the last five years, Lucius had been growing stronger. He wanted more. If we couldn’t push his power back during these negotiations, who knew if the City would still be standing by then?
Lucius had been steadily extending his power base, pushing into the border boroughs. Increasing the number of Blood and blood-locked. But thus far, he hadn’t broken any tenets of the treaty. None that could be proven anyway. Without proof, we humans had little chance of getting the Fae to agree to move against the Blood during the negotiations.
Guy’s gaze locked with mine. “I’m well aware of the politics. I’m the one out there keeping the peace.”
“And I’m the one patching up the casualties. I see just as much as you.” I leaned in closer. The wooden chair dug into the backs of my thighs, unyielding as Guy himself. “You always said there were things worth fighting for.”
He looked at me for a long moment. “I thought you’d given up fighting.”
“Just because I don’t swing a sword doesn’t mean I’m not fighting.”
“Some things you should walk away from,” Guy said quietly. There was sorrow in his eyes. Old pain. I imagined the same showed in mine.
“That’s my decision to make.”
Guy sighed, then shook his head. “You’re serious about this? You think you can convince her? Why?”
Instinct. That was why. My gut told me there was someone behind the ice of those gray eyes. Someone who wanted out. “Call it faith, if you would.”
That earned me a look of exasperation. But Guy at least stayed put. “What exactly are you suggesting? How would you even get near her?”
“From what I hear, Lucius keeps her on a short leash. Where he goes, she goes. So we find out where he’s going to be—one of the Assemblies would be best. That’s where your informants come in. They find out where she’s going to be. I go in and find her and talk to her.”
“And how do you get out again? Even if she does agree?”
“She’s a wraith. She can walk out unseen.” And as long as there was no trouble, there was no reason I couldn’t get in and out of an Assembly unmolested if I disguised myself somewhat. “I’ll leave the way I came.”
“You’re assuming there’ll be no trouble. What if she objects to your proposal?”
“If I can’t defeat her, you only have yourself to blame, don’t you?”
“I taught you just fine. If you get beaten by a girl, then it’s nothing to do with me.” For a moment his eyes lightened, but then they turned grim again. “This is risky.”
“I’ll have you as backup,” I pointed out.
He shook his head. “As plans go, it’s kind of thin. You’re putting a lot of faith in a woman who tried to kill you. And if you fail to convince her, Lucius will have an even better reason to come after you.”
“Isn’t it worth the risk?”
Guy looked down at the table for a moment—I wondered if he was praying for the strength not to flatten me—then his eyes rose. “It is if you succeed. If you don’t, we might be worse off. Tell you what, little brother. Let’s make a deal. You try it your way. If she won’t come, then we do things my way.”
My stomach tensed, the whiskey taste in my mouth suddenly sour. “Your way?”
“We take her anyway.”
Kidnap her? I ignored my instinctive protest, forced myself to consider the offer. Even if she didn’t come voluntarily, she would be away from Lucius and we had a chance of getting her to help us.
And I might be able to help her. But I had to make sure I wouldn’t be trading her from one hell to another. I met Guy’s gaze, mouth set. “No torture. You can hold her but not hurt her. I’ll even help you hold her. But only if you swear. Lock her up, keep her where she can’t do any more harm, but any information she gives us, she does so freely.” Time enough to worry about what might happen if she wouldn’t cooperate if it came to that. If Guy gave his word, he would stand by it. She wouldn’t be hurt.
Guy started to shake his head. “I—”
I cut him off. “Your oath. Right here. Or we forget the whole thing. Besides, if she testifies and the Fae suspect she’s under duress, they won�
�t accept it, you know that.”
“The Fae aren’t the only ones who could benefit from what she might know.”
“Your oath or nothing.”
“You’d throw away this chance because of your precious healer morals?”
“If we throw away our morals to win, then we’re no better than Lucius,” I said steadily. “You know that as well as I do. For once in your life, trust me, Guy. You owe me that much. Swear that she won’t be hurt.”
“Hell’s balls, little brother, you’ll be the death of both of us.” But he reached under the neck of his tunic and pulled out the heavy silver cross he wore. “All right. I swear in the name of God not to hurt the girl or let anyone else do so. Does that satisfy you?”
I nodded curtly, relief and guilt mixing uneasily in my stomach. “Yes.”
I woke when Ricco threw open the door to my room with enough force to make it crack against the wall. I bolted upright, hand flying to my hip automatically. Where my dagger wasn’t. Ice water flowed down my spine as the events of the previous night flooded back.
“Had an interesting night, did you?” Ricco said with a nasty smirk.
Hells. Ricco being smug meant the conniving bastard thought he had the upper hand. Which probably meant that somehow he—and Lucius—knew I hadn’t killed Simon.
“You didn’t tell me he was a sunmage.” I rolled to my feet. I’d slept in my hunting clothes. They were rumpled and sweaty but far preferable to facing Ricco in a nightgown. I’d known I’d be summoned sooner rather than later.
Another smirk. “I didn’t know.”
Either he was lying or Lucius was playing games and Ricco was confident that the play was in his favor. Hells upon hells.
Of all the Blood who formed Lucius’ inner circle, Ricco was the worst. Even by Blood standards he was vicious.
We existed in a state of perpetual mutual loathing. It was safest never to let him see any fear. Thankfully, his lack of restraint when it came to his temper meant that he would likely never rise as high in the Court as he aspired. Lucius never minded viciousness in his lieutenants, but he expected it to be accompanied by intelligence and control.
Still, Ricco was dangerous, like a half-trained attack dog. I smiled coolly at him. “I guess we’ll see what Lucius has to say about that.”
His smug expression didn’t change. “I guess we will. He wants you. Now.”
Cool fear swept through me. Hells. I didn’t want to face Lucius. Not yet. But now meant now. And if Ricco’s pleasure was anything to go by, Lucius was unhappy with me. I glanced down at my clothes. I was in no way dressed for the hall. Lucius indulged my preference for trousers over the formal dresses of the Blood, but I was still expected to look presentable. So, did I choose informality over the risk of angering him with a further delay while I changed?
My gut said faster was safer. I ran a hand over my braids. Redone in haste during my ’cab ride back to the warrens—the last thing I needed was anyone wondering why my hair was loose—they were, at least, intact, if less elaborate than my usual style. It would have to be enough. “Let’s go,” I said to Ricco.
Despite my efforts to appear calm, my knees shook as Ricco half pulled me through the corridors of the warrens, my feet skidding on the worn flagstones. When he headed upward toward the public levels of the Court’s mansion, my stomach turned uneasily.
At least he let go of me as we left the lower warrens. Protocol dictated that I walk alone in public, afforded the same courtesy as the Blood themselves. When he led the way to the hall, I cursed under my breath, wishing desperately to be elsewhere.
I’d hoped for Lucius’ office, but I should have known better. When truly furious, Lucius rarely administered a punishment in private.
He preferred the added humiliation of an audience.
But the tremors in my legs weren’t all fear. No. With every step I took closer to Lucius, the need was coming in too. Calling me with its hated song. Maybe I should have goaded Simon into killing me. It might have been easier.
An end to this life. And a way of ensuring that he would never see me as I really was rather than whatever idealized picture had fueled the warmth in his eyes as he’d told me not to go.
No man could would look at me that way if he ever saw me as I was soon to be.
The towering wooden doors that guarded the hall were shut. Usually they stood open, guarded by the Trusted. Tonight those at the door were Blood. Private session. Blood only. Not a good sign. My throat tightened as the urge to turn and flee bit into my stomach.
Show no fear, I reminded myself as the nearest of the two guards opened the doors. I straightened my shoulders as I passed under the carved threshold and stepped into the vast room, trying to pretend I was perfectly at ease.
The liquid murmur of the gathered Blood halted as we proceeded down the main aisle toward Lucius, the groups and pairs falling silent as I passed until the room became a still life in black and white, the silence swelling until the eerie lack of noise completely filled the space between the black marble beneath my feet and the highest points of the vaulted arches far above my head.
The Blood stood motionless, silver haired, pale skinned, dressed in their customary immaculate black. The identical expressions of studied detachment on their faces were spoiled a little by the fear I sensed running deep beneath the surface.
I wasn’t the only one made uneasy by Lucius calling a private meeting of the Court, it seemed.
The only color came from their eyes—the eyes of the Blood do not fade after they turn, unlike their skin and hair—and the clothing of the vampire I walked toward.
Lucius always wore a touch of red amongst his stark black-and-white. A cravat. Ruby cuff links. A crimson enameled watch on a red-gold chain. Tonight it was more than a touch. Tonight his long velvet frock coat was the color of the blood he commanded me to spill. I wondered if he’d donned it to avoid any coming stains and had to suppress a slightly hysterical urge to laugh.
His eyes tracked me as I moved closer, the deep brown seemingly tinged the red of molten iron. There was nothing for me to read in those depths; he could be about to kill me or kiss me for all I could decipher.
“Good evening, my shadow,” he said as I came to a halt in front of his chair.
“My Lord.” I inclined my head the correct degree, wishing again I’d had more time to make myself presentable. But at least the mess of my braids might hide the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. “Night keep you.”
He didn’t nod in response, or offer me the customary greeting in return. Just watched me with eyes like banked coals, as if regarding an insect crawling across the floor.
He knew. That much was obvious. Knew I’d failed to carry out my mission. Failed him for the first time.
Not many were given a second chance at failure.
I kept my gaze on his. Might as well see what was coming. Behind me, Ricco’s breathing and the small rustles and creaks of the near-silent Court sounded like thunder in my ears, matching the pounding of my heart. Ricco’s continued presence reminded me that any retribution Lucius might care to mete out could come from behind just as easily as in front. Sweat beaded on my back.
It was always hot in the hall. The light of hundreds of candles carefully shielded in glass lamps hanging from chains bolted to the ceilings warmed the air. The Blood preferred it warm even though, in truth, neither heat nor cold truly affected them. Maybe because heat gave them more excuse to keep the Trusted—the humans who served them—scantily clothed. The Beast Kind and the Fae share their love of warmth. Normally I appreciated it too, but tonight the air pressed in on me: suffocating and clinging, perfumed with too many expensive colognes.
I made myself breathe slowly, waited for Lucius to speak. He was pale as always, as unmoved by the heat as an iceberg would be by a lit match, a perfect statue carved in white and black and red.
The silence stretched until my pulse echoed in my ears.
“You look tired, my shadow. A
re you well?” He shifted in his seat, easing the right hand cuff of his jacket and the linen below it upward, exposing his wrist.
I didn’t let myself move. I wanted to look down, look away, deny. But I knew he could read the need in me anyway, hear the hastened heartbeat, see the tremors that quickened my skin now that he was so close.
“I am well.” I kept watching. He’d never made me do this in public. Let me keep my sordid little secret—and the knowledge of the chain he used to bind me—to myself. Let others think he controlled me through fear and strength and will. It added to his power. But I knew the truth.
The pulse in his wrist drew my eye. The tiny shivers of skin vibrating a little with every slow heartbeat. Vampire hearts do beat. Not with the same rhythm of the human life they have left behind. But blood still pumps through their veins, and the muscles beat to drive it so.
Don’t think about the blood. I swallowed softly. “Did you have need of me, my Lord?”
One side of his mouth curled slowly. My stomach clenched, willing him not to do what I thought he was about to. To punish me in such a way that only I would know it was a punishment, a sharp yank of the leash he held around my neck to remind me of where I was, who I was, and that my master was displeased.
Given that he had not tasked me with the sunmage’s—Simon’s, I couldn’t help adding silently—death in public, then he was not going to reprimand me for failure in public. Doing so might risk lessening the fear with which the Blood regarded him, and to some extent, as the weapon he wielded, me. And that would never do.
So tonight it was not going to be the easy way—a beating from which I could take a few days to recover and lick my wounds in private before he dispatched me to perform the next act of revenge or intimidation or simple malice.
Tonight he would do something much worse and disguise it as a reward.
“Oh no, my shadow,” he said, beckoning me closer with one long finger. “Tonight I think you have need of me.”
Someone behind me sucked in a breath, a shocked sound that rang like a siren in the closely held silence. Maybe my secret wasn’t so open after all.
