Garrett grinned, feeling himself blushing at the attention, and still a bit dizzy. Marla pulled him down with her into a curt bow, hers slightly more graceful than his.
“Are you ready to learn a difficult one?” Lady Ymowyn asked, the tips of her fangs showing in her grin.
Garrett was spared this fate by a loud knocking at the front door. He started toward it, but Marla held his hand fast, pulling him back.
“Let someone else get it,” she said, pulling him closer still.
“But…”
“Let someone else get it,” she said again, her voice soft.
Garrett felt a bit uneasy as the knock sounded again, and no one moved to answer it.
“You expectin’ someone else?” Bargas grumbled, rising from his haunches to face the door.
Uncle Tinjin shook his head.
“I’ll get it, dad,” Warren said.
“Allow me!” Diggs said, placing his paw on Warren’s chest with an aloof expression on his face. He loped out of the room and down the hallway toward the front door.
Garrett gave Marla a nervous look, and she gave him a tense, but slightly reassuring smile in return.
They heard the sound of the front door being wrenched open and then Diggs roared out, “Who dares disturb the great and mighty necromancer?”
“Diggs!” Garrett groaned.
A moment later, they heard the door shut again, and Diggs came loping back into the dining room, holding a parcel wrapped in black cloth.
“Who was it?” Warren asked.
“Some skinny fella,” Diggs answered, carrying the parcel over to place it on the table before Uncle Tinjin.
Garrett saw that Master Jannis had taken an immediate interest in the parcel and had excused himself from his conversation with Jitlowe to approach the table as well.
“You recognize the sigil?” Jannis asked.
“All too well,” Tinjin said flatly.
Mrs. Veranu seemed to recognize something as well, for the pink drained from her cheeks and her eyes tensed.
“Perhaps I should open it,” Jannis said.
Tinjin smiled. “I very much doubt that it would be poisoned,” he chuckled.
Jannis shrugged. “She’d know you weren’t expecting it to be,” he said.
Marla slipped free of Garrett’s hand and drew close to the table. Garrett followed as well, curious to see what it was.
Uncle Tinjin sighed and carefully unfolded the cloth, opening the parcel. A black, hexagonal stone lay within. It was formed of glossy volcanic glass and carved with intricate Draconic runes. A single crack ran through the center of the stone, and the two halves lay, not quite touching one another, on the table.
Marla’s mother gasped, putting her hands over her lips.
Jannis muttered something unpleasant in Draconic.
Uncle Tinjin simply stared down at the stone, his face unreadable.
“What is it?” Garrett whispered to Marla.
“I don’t know,” she whispered back, “but it was sent here by Valfrei Senzei. That’s her sigil on the wrapping.”
Uncle Tinjin began to laugh, a low chuckle at first, growing into a long, hearty laugh that filled the dining room.
“What does this mean?” Serepheni asked, and Bargas looked every bit as confused as she.
“It means they’ve revoked his protected status among our kind,” Jannis said. The pallid vampire was obviously struggling to control his rage.
“It means Tinjin can never visit Thrinaar again,” Mrs. Veranu said with a hollow look on her face, “He would be killed the moment he returned.”
Marla went to her mother’s side, taking her hand, and the two shared a worried look.
Uncle Tinjin’s laughter trailed off, and he dried his eyes with the heel of his hand. He then picked up the stone, one half in each hand, and tapped them together like a child playing with a broken plate. He chuckled again and shook his head.
“I fail to see the humor in this,” Master Jannis said.
“It is Senzei’s way of telling me …and don’t come back,” Tinjin laughed, “She could not bear to let me go without getting in the final word.”
“This must be protested!” Jannis said, “She has no right…”
Tinjin waved a fragment of the disk at him, shaking his head. “Let it pass, Jannis,” he sighed, “Let it pass. When you are weary of fighting a pointless battle, it is better to retire, letting your old foes think that they have won. Let her believe that she’s run me off… at least I won’t have to be guarding my back against one of her knives for the rest of my life.”
“Pointless battle?” Mrs. Veranu said, a hurt look in her eyes, “Tinjin?”
Tinjin put his hand on her shoulder and smiled sadly. “Lyssa,” he said, “You are the strongest woman that I have ever met, and it is time you realized that you never needed my help to begin with.”
“That’s not true!” Mrs. Veranu said with a little catch in her voice.
“It is true,” Tinjin said, his voice hard, “Berrol saw the strength in you. He married you for it, and your strength helped him carry his burden through many dark times.”
Mrs. Veranu’s lips trembled and she squeezed Marla’s hand.
“I did my part, as Berrol asked, to protect you both and guide you through the worst of it,” Tinjin said, “but he knew that my part in it was only temporary. It was you, Lyssa, you that he was always counting on to protect your daughter. He and I both knew that the day would come when I would step aside and let you stand on your own.
“This,” he said casting the broken disk down on the table, “was only ever a temporary measure. I was proud to serve my friend in this regard… to look after his wife and daughter until they both had the strength to become what he always knew you would. Lyssa, you are ready now…”
Lyssa Veranu pulled her daughter close, fighting back tears. At last, she gave Tinjin a fierce nod and began to dab at her cheeks with a napkin.
Tinjin smiled. “I understood there would be music at this party,” he rasped, eyeing the silent musicians.
They began to play again immediately, and the guests breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Garrett caught Master Jannis’s eye as the vampire turned away. Jannis gave him a half grin and shook his head. He returned to the cask and drew himself another cup of blood, gulping it down before filling it again.
“They aren’t going to try to… do anything to him now, are they?” Garrett whispered, stepping up beside Jannis to fill a cup of his own from the punch bowl.
“Your uncle is probably right,” Jannis sighed, “She’ll let him go, so long as he never returns to Thrinaar… As far as she’s concerned, he’s already dead.”
Garrett felt a chill go through him. He thought for a moment. “What was that black stone?” he asked.
Jannis walked over to a nearby row of chairs against the wall and motioned for Garrett to follow him. He sat down and took a sip of his drink, and Garrett did the same.
“It was a kind of seal… a badge of office,” Jannis said, “Your uncle was one of the only non-vampires to ever hold one… the last in fact.”
“How did he get it?” Garrett asked.
“He saved the life of Lady Veranu’s husband,” Jannis said, “I never got the whole story… something to do with an order of religious fanatics from the North… Afterward, the two of them became fast friends. By that time, the Drinker of Sorrow, as they called Marla’s father, had become a vampire of some influence.”
“Did you know him?” Garrett asked.
“By reputation only,” Jannis said, taking another sip, “He and I did not move in the same circles.” Jannis drank again and chuckled to himself. Then, seeming to notice something in Garrett’s gaze, he asked, “What is it?”
“Oh,” Garrett said, “I just wondered why you guys seemed to like some blood better than others. Does this blood taste better or something?”
“Oh, gods yes!” Jannis laughed, red-lipped. “Would you ca
re for a taste?” He offered Garrett his cup.
“Ugh,” Garrett said.
Jannis laughed again and drained his cup in one gulp. He gestured with the empty goblet across the room to where Marla was now drinking from her own goblet. “The young lady seems quite enthusiastic about the taste,” he said.
“What does it taste like?” Garrett asked.
Jannis gave him a curious look and a bemused smile. “Why do you want to know?” he asked.
“Just curious,” Garrett said with a shrug.
“Well then,” Jannis said, handing his empty cup to Garrett, “Fetch me another, and I’ll tell you.”
Garrett took the silver goblet from the vampire’s hand, wrinkling his nose at the smear of red now clotting along its rim. He crossed the room, smiling nervously at Marla as he approached the cask of siren’s blood. He took a deep breath and worked the spigot.
“That’s blood, Garrett!” Marla warned him.
“I know,” he said, cringing a little at the sight of the thick red liquid oozing from the mouth of the spigot, “It’s for Mister Jannis.”
“Oh,” Marla said, smiling, “I’ll take another as well then.”
He took a moment to fill Marla’s cup for her before returning to find Jannis watching him with a pointed grin.
“Thank you, Garrett,” Jannis said, taking the cup. He brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply, savoring the scent. “I sometimes forget how to properly enjoy a good vein. This one smells of the night sea… and the wind before a storm.”
Garrett said nothing but watched as Jannis took a long, slow sip from the goblet of blood.
“The taste… is the promise of pleasures, unfulfilled,” Jannis sighed, “the best kind of pleasures, in fact, for you’ll find they always grow colder in the fulfillment.”
“So you can taste the memories of the creature whose blood it was?” Garrett asked.
“We taste the essence of the life we drink,” Jannis said, “which is why some blood tastes better than other blood… because some lives are better than other lives.”
“So, it’s sorta like what ghouls taste when they eat a dead thing,” Garrett said.
“Whatever do you mean?” Jannis asked.
“Well, they sorta taste the memories of the person that died, when they eat that person’s brain,” Garrett said.
Jannis stared back at him with a look of sick horror.
“I didn’t know that,” Jannis said, “I’m not certain that I wanted to know that.”
Garrett shrugged. “Well, it’s not much different from what you guys do,” he said.
“Yes, yes it is,” Jannis insisted. He looked down at his cup, still half full of blood, and then put it aside with a heavy sigh.
Marla came over to sit down beside Garrett, her own goblet held between her hands. “What are the two of you talking about?” she asked with a curious grin.
“The eating habits of ghouls,” Jannis answered in disgust.
Garrett smiled apologetically.
“Well, I’ll leave you two alone,” Jannis said, getting to his feet, “I think I’ve found a new customer, and I don’t want to let him escape my web.”
Garrett grinned and nodded at the elder vampire as Jannis moved off to find Jitlowe again.
Marla leaned close, laying her chin on Garrett’s shoulder. “It was a lovely party Garrett,” she said, “Thank you for the dance.”
Something in her tone told him this was a goodbye. “You have to leave?” he asked.
“I have to,” she said, “I’m sorry. The Valfrei is expecting me to have a thirty-seven page poem memorized by tomorrow.”
“The Valfrei!” Garrett scoffed, looking away.
Marla reached up, turning his face back to hers with her fingers on his cheek. “I know how you feel about her, Garrett,” she said, “I know what she is… now.”
“Then why?” he asked, “Why do you want to do anything she says?”
Marla sat back in the chair, sighing. Her eyes fell to the cup in her lap.
“At first, it was to please her,” Marla said, “I thought that maybe, if I impressed her with my knowledge and hard work, she would leave us alone and let my mother and I stay here in the city… now…”
“What?”
Marla’s eyes lifted to his again. “Now,” she said, “I understand why I will have to go back to Thrinaar someday.”
“Because she tells you to?” Garrett said, resentment creeping into his voice.
“No,” she said, “because I need to know, Garrett. I need to know what I am becoming. It’s like your uncle said… Let the Valfrei believe that she’s won… it doesn’t matter. She’s not the reason I will have to go back, she’s just the instrument of… revelation.”
“Revelation?” Garrett said.
“She’s just the messenger, Garrett,” Marla said, “They could have sent anyone, but once I realized… once I knew what I had to do… she doesn’t matter anymore… I have to do this! I wish I could make you understand…”
“No, I understand,” Garrett sighed, “I do… really. Just… don’t forget about me, Marla… don’t go away and never come back.”
She smiled and nodded before leaning close to kiss him. “I will come back,” she whispered, “I promise that, no matter where this leads me, I will come back.”
Garrett nodded. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. Together, they looked across the room to where Tinjin and Mrs. Veranu were standing together. Tinjin held Lyssa’s hands, both of them looking down, not speaking. Lyssa looked up then, whispering something to Tinjin. The old man smiled and nodded. Lyssa leaned close and pressed a delicate kiss against his lips before pulling away and gathering her cloak to go.
Tinjin watched her with a hollow look in his eyes, and Garrett saw him take a slow breath. Tinjin’s jaw stiffened, and he looked away, bringing his knuckles to his lips as though to cover a cough.
Garrett rose to greet Mrs. Veranu as she walked toward them. She blinked away tears as she gave him a nod and a wavering smile.
“Goodnight, Mrs. Veranu,” Garrett said, “Goodnight, Marla.”
“Goodnight, Garrett,” Marla said, “I’ll see you soon.”
He saw them to the door and opened it, letting in the night wind. He started a little when he saw the gaunt vampire in a black tailcoat standing silently on the threshold.
“Mister Klavicus!” Garrett exclaimed, “Why didn’t you knock?”
“I delivered the message earlier,” he said, “but I chose to wait that I might accompany my ladies home. In that manner, my time may not have been completely wasted.”
“Oh,” Garrett said, “I’m sure my uncle would like to meet you, if you have a minute.”
“No,” Klavicus sighed, “We must be going… My apologies to your uncle. I regret causing any offense… but my duty demands… obedience.”
“No, I don’t think the package bothered him at all,” Garrett said.
Klavicus smiled and nodded. “Then I imagine that it did not have its intended effect,” he sighed in relief, “All the better.”
“Thank you for waiting, Klavicus,” Mrs. Veranu whispered hoarsely, “It is time we took our leave.”
Garrett and Marla shared one final hung, and then he bade them all goodnight once more before the three vampires disappeared into the night.
He returned to find the dining room filled with laughter and sound. Warren and Ymowyn were stomping a ghoulish jig while Scupp and Bargas were doing a stilted imitation of the Astorran waltz. The three musicians had lost most of their inhibitions, thanks to Uncle Tinjin’s wine, and were pounding out a fairly good rendition of Marrow in the Barrow with Diggs acting as conductor, waving a soupy thigh bone in one hand.
Most of the necromancers were lost in their cups or gathered around the massive, black frosted cake that Chunnley was carving up to serve. Serepheni and Mister Jannis were saying their final farewells to Uncle Tinjin.
Garrett smiled, feeling a warmth inside that he had not f
elt for a long time. Then a sort of sadness crept in as he realized that he would probably never see all these people together in one place ever again.
He slipped out into the hallway, not wanting anyone to see him, in case he started to cry. He sat down at the foot of the stairs and remembered the surprise of finding Marla sitting there. The thought of her brought a smile to his face, and he lost himself in the memory of her.
A creaking sound behind him stirred him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see a man descending the stairs. Garrett jumped to his feet, his heart pounding in alarm for a moment, until he realized that it was only Caleb. The zombie had wrapped the satyr headdress around his face, covering all but his eyes… eyes that now looked down at Garrett with an unsettling intelligence behind their scratched pupils.
“Caleb?” Garrett called, his voice a little unsteady.
The zombie continued to walk, stiff-legged, down the stairs, stopping when he reached the bottom. He looked at Garrett and slowly nodded, moaning softly.
“What is it, Caleb?” Garrett asked, “Do you need something?”
Caleb grunted and lifted his right hand. He clutched a crumpled piece of parchment that he held out at arm’s length toward Garrett.
“For me?” Garrett asked.
Caleb nodded stiffly.
Garrett pulled the parchment from Caleb’s grasp with some difficulty and uncrumpled it. Garrett’s eyes went wide.
Caleb moaned questioningly.
“You drew this?” Garrett asked, staring down at the crude drawing of what looked like two hands, scrawled in charcoal upon the parchment.
Caleb moaned again, holding out both of his hands, palms up. Garrett grimaced at the many bloodless lacerations in the pale skin of the zombie’s fingers.
“You want me to fix your hands?” Garrett said, “I’m not sure I know how… I… maybe Uncle might.”
Caleb groaned and made a clawing motion at the wrist of his left hand. He repeated the motion on his right wrist.
“Gloves?” Garrett exclaimed, “You want gloves?”
Caleb sighed and nodded.
“Yeah, yeah,” Garrett said, “I can get you some gloves. We’ll go to the market tomorrow and find some for you.”
The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4) Page 22
