Gareth heard the sarcastic edge to her question. "We use your clothes because your skin is too fragile to wear." Despite the savage words, his tone was melancholy. He knelt and dug into a pile of detritus, lifting a tiny figurine made of translucent alabaster. Gareth rolled the lustrous white object along the tips of his long fingers with a tenderness that surprised Adele.
He said, "We make nothing. We create nothing." He pushed his other hand deep into a mound of shattered clay fragments. "And we leave nothing behind."
The vampire stood and tossed the figurine back onto the waste pile. "We are parasites. Which is fortunate for you. It would have taken little effort to make your kind extinct. But we need you to survive."
"Yes. But we don't need you."
Gareth inclined his head graciously. "Among our greater failings, vampires are notoriously slow to appreciate irony. We have grown lazy and decadent, with no desire to go back to living in crypts and holes in the ground. We like the houses and the clothes. Not enough to make them, of course, but enough to want slaves who will make them. And we like having meals that don't require hunting or danger. It seems that we aren't even good parasites anymore."
"So you don't care about the survival of your kind?" Adele's voice was incredulous, perhaps slightly sarcastic.
The prince wiped dust from his hands. "I think only the valuable should survive. It remains to be seen where my kind falls. I'll take you back."
Adele watched his lonely figure as it disappeared among the toppled magnificence of ancient humanity. Then she stooped to recover the precious figurine. It was a washabti. In ancient times they were placed in tombs to be vessels where the wandering souls of the dead could rest. She blew the dust off its lustrous surface and followed Gareth.
CHAPTER
ESARE STARED ANGRILY as Flay concluded her report. The vampire prince let his twitching meal slide to the filthy floor of the empty House of Commons. His appetite was gone. Feeding meant little to him these days. Merely sustenance. He remembered the dark days hunting humans in forests and sleeping in catacombs, but those days were gone, and it was his duty to see they never returned.
Cesare asked, "How long were they closeted together in that museum tomb of his?"
"Not long," Flay replied. "An hour at most. Then he led her back to the Tower."
Cesare wiped blood off his face and absently licked his hands. The manshaped lump at his feet fumbled feebly at his throat in a vain attempt to stanch the flow of blood. His pitiful moan attracted Cesare, who indicated the wounded man to his war chief with a brief nod of invitation.
Flay smiled a polite decline, but when Cesare looked away she shot him a fierce glare. As if she would deign to feed after him. It took a conscious effort to remove the disdain from her face, but when Cesare looked up she again appeared the ever-patient retainer awaiting orders.
Cesare was bare-chested; he often removed his coat and shirt while feeding. He claimed it reminded him of the old wild nakedness of pre Conquest times, but Flay suspected it was because he didn't want to stain his clothing.
Cesare put on his white shirt and pulled suspenders over his shoulders. Flay held out a long grey morning coat for him to slip into. He tugged at his cuffs and inspected his dark trousers for blood spots. "I'm going to have King Dmitri call the clan."
"What? But you didn't want the clan lords interfering with your plans."
"Plans change." Cesare buffed his shoes on his dying dinner and muttered angrily to himself, "What is wrong with that Clark? Doesn't he think I would kill her? Doesn't he know who I am?"
Flay watched Cesare's face. The young prince was obviously annoyed by the situation, but there was something more. Cesare had assumed his fearful reputation would terrify the humans into inaction. Senator Clark's attack had been unexpected. For the first time, Cesare had lost the initiative, and he seemed mired in doubt.
The prince continued, "That attack on Bordeaux is meaningless, just a symbol for the people at home. Clark wouldn't dare start a major offensive. Even he isn't that idiotic. I will certainly kill her!"
The war chief didn't respond. She was occupied watching Cesare fidget. The careless movements made him seem small and worried. Then a thought occurred to Flay-a thought that astonished her. Cesare was afraid of Clark. The senator was an unpredictable human.
Like Greyfriar, Flay thought sourly.
But no, it wasn't the same. Flay dreamed of destroying Greyfriar with her own hands. Cesare seemed to want to avoid fighting Clark. He would rather isolate the human than kill him. Clearly, the prince did not relish the idea of coming to grips with the great vampire killer.
Flay sensed a gnawing emptiness in her stomach where her duty used to burn. Cesare had never been her ideal as a male, but at least he had seemed powerful and determined.
Until now.
She thought back to the Great Killing. She remembered seeing Gareth in a frenzy, driving a regiment of human soldiers before him through the gory snows of the Great Glen. Magnificent. Not a wasted move, not a lost opportunity. He was a machine of blood and claw. Flay had dreamed of being Gareth's war chief.
Those had been heady days for the clan. Dmitri still had some sense and was the most respected king in Europe. The future of the British clan had seemed bright. Dmitri had two sons who were both capable in their own way. Gareth had an aura of power and superiority. When the Great Killing began, he threw himself into battle in his father's name and showed his mettle with violence, demonstrating that he was in line to be the next great king. Cesare, on the other hand, was a chilling manipulator and a political strategist who would make a perfect advisor to his brother. Over the last century, though, civilization had drained the soul of the clan, of all the clans, and Dmitri had spiraled into senility. The two brothers, who had never been close, gave up any hope of coexistence. Surprisingly, it was Gareth who abdicated his natural role as leader, wandering into his solitary wasteland of Scotland, barely deigning to attend clan gatherings unless he was compelled to do so. Cesare filled the void and became the king's right hand, which served Flay well, as Cesare's war chief. The younger prince was cunning and completely ruthless. He could be a skillful king, but he was no Gareth.
Cesare's voice snapped her back. "And why would Gareth choose this moment to show his miserable face in London?" It was almost as if he knew she was thinking of someone else.
Flay found herself secretly enjoying Cesare's discomfort as she reclined on one of the long benches lining the Commons. The prince settled into a thronelike chair at the end of the chamber and crossed his outstretched legs at the ankles. Several bloodmen dragged his bleeding meal from the chamber as the vampire drummed his claws on the chair. He began to pontificate, as he always did, thinking of himself as the brooding lone genius, but in fact he found the sound of his voice intoxicating, no matter which language.
"If my brother had just stayed away, I could've maneuvered the king into naming me heir. Father listens to me. And the lords fear me. I can work the clan to my advantage. I had the princess to my credit and the attack on Bordeaux to panic them, but now Gareth is here. The king and the old lords are too spineless to shove my brother aside while he is looking at them. They pretend to respect tradition." Cesare paused, his mind flicking through images of the outsider Gareth among the bloody old clan lords. It was a jarring picture, but one he could twist to his advantage. His brother had no proficiency in politics, and that would be his undoing. Then a long, toothy grin spread slowly across Cesare's face.
"If I allow Gareth to reveal himself to be the coward and failure he is, the elders will all see that he couldn't be their king, and the only choice is me." Cesare looked at Flay and laughed. He pounded his hands down on the chair arms with a thud that echoed through the chamber. "Think of it! Played properly, I can destroy a century of progress by the humans, throwing them back so far it will be another century or more before they dare threaten us again. I will be the savior of our kind. I could soon lead every major clan in the world." He rub
bed his hands together in expectation and leapt off the dais, settling to the tiled floor with feather lightness. He was almost giddy. "How amazing! It's an absolute boon that Gareth bumbled in here. This is the beginning of the end for him. And the beginning of a new era for me. For us, Flay. Bring my packs to order and lay them close by. I want the city firmly in my hands when the clan gathers and I start the war chant."
As the prince passed, he reached out and stroked Flay's cheek. She flinched with surprise, but managed an uncomfortable smile.
Cesare held her eyes with his. "Come. I'm off to tell the king what to do. Believe it or not, Flay, it's possible to be too cunning. There are times when killing is the only thing for it."
Flay smiled, but this time it was real. She believed much the same thing.
After Gareth left Adele alone in the Tower, she was startled by a sound from the corner of her room. Her hand went for the stone blade, but she saw Selkirk detach himself from the shadows and step forward. He held a finger to his lips and waited, giving Gareth time to withdraw.
After a moment, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "Your Highness."
Adele's whisper was barely audible. "Can I speak?"
"Quietly, if you please."
"How do you do that? Walk around in broad daylight without fear!"
Selkirk's blue eyes sparkled. "I assure you it's not without fear. But as long as I stay near a ley line, I can shield myself from them. Of course, it isn't foolproof. They could still tumble into me and I'd be dinner."
"Ley line?" Memories of some of Mamoru's more eclectic lectures in geology and geomancy came back to Adele.
"Yes. They are lines of power that run along the surface of the Earth. Dragon spines, they're sometimes called in the Orient. They're troublesome to vampires; they interfere with the creatures' senses for reasons we don't quite understand."
Adele pointed at the odd astrolabe on his belt. "Does that instrument manipulate the power of these ley lines? Is that how you move safely?"
"No." Selkirk paused. He looked hesitant. "I'm not at liberty to say more. I'm sorry, Your Highness."
"Are you Equatorian?"
"Yes, Highness. I was born in Aswan. Educated in Alexandria and Siwa."
"Then I could command you to answer my questions."
The man glanced at the ground, embarrassed. "I cannot. I'm sorry, Highness. But I can tell you that I sent word of your location to Alexandria. It should be in Mamoru's hands, and no doubt the emperor's by now. A rescue mission is on its way. Do you have your talisman?"
Adele touched her neck where the crystal pendant used to hang. "No. The vampires took it."
Selkirk tried to suppress a look of concern. "I wish I had the power to fashion a replacement for you, but I suspect you won't be here much longer in any case."
Adele took a deep anxious breath at the thought of home. She smelled the lemon tree in the courtyard outside her antechamber in Victoria Palace.
"Why can't I go with you right now?" Adele asked anxiously. "Can you hide me from the vampires too?"
"No. That's impossible, Your Highness. I can cloud my presence from vampires, but only with great difficulty. But I couldn't hide you at all. I assure you, if it was possible, Mamoru wouldn't have suffered you spend one extra minute in this place. But no, it's best to wait for a proper rescue. In this case, trust your army to get you out."
Adele smiled to assuage the man's discomfort. Selkirk's belief that she would soon be rescued buoyed her feelings. Adele realized with delight that apparently Cesare was right to be concerned about "spies" in his country. The power to hide in plain sight would be an invaluable weapon in the coming war.
Selkirk said, "Your Highness, I must go. I don't dare remain in one spot for long. It becomes more likely they will detect me with each second. Hopefully you will be rescued before I see you again."
"Thank you, sir, for your help." Adele took Selkirk's hand, causing him to start with surprise. "If you are ever in Alexandria, I hope you will call on me. You will be welcome."
The man lowered his head with gratitude and slipped quietly from the room.
When Cesare reached the throne room, he found the king already in conference-with Prince Gareth. Flay made a soft trill of surprise as Cesare shook himself slightly, recovered his wits, stepped over several bloated footmen sleeping by the door, and strode into the vast throne room.
King Dmitri squinted toward the approaching blur. Gareth sat back slowly and crossed his legs, posed in the chair next to the throne, the chair usually occupied by Cesare. The king demanded who it was that neared, and the elder prince murmured to him.
"Greetings, Majesty." Cesare bowed to his father and then swept an arm low to the floor in Gareth's direction. "And Prince Gareth. At least I assume that is who you are, since I've so rarely seen you here. What a delightful surprise. Father, I have something to discuss with you."
The king merely sat blinking furiously at Cesare.
Cesare said to Gareth, "Would you excuse us?"
Gareth didn't move. "Speak. There should be no secrets between brothers in times of trouble."
"You couldn't be troubled to appear at court for nearly a century. Father, we haven't time to explain details of state to him. Why should we waste our time when he will simply return to Edinburgh when it suits his whim?"
Gareth peaked his fingers at his chin. "I'm here, Cesare. I've taken my rightful place at father's right hand. I am the heir, and have been since before you were born." The elder prince smiled. "If you have something to say, say it."
"Father?" Cesare extended his hand at Gareth. "This is ludicrous."
"Stop this!" Dmitri shook his head irritably. "You are brothers. The clan depends on both of you. I don't have time to create more to replace you, although I would if I could. You both exhaust me."
Gareth chuckled comfortably at the old king's wit. Cesare stared, annoyed as much by his father's sudden ability to jest at his expense as by Gareth's presence.
Dmitri snapped, "What do you want, Cesare? Speak!"
"Very well." The younger prince inclined his head passively. "I believe you should gather the clan."
Gareth stirred while trying to maintain an aloof calm. Cesare noted the consternation with mute pleasure.
The king said, "But didn't you recommend against calling the clan just the other day?"
Cesare tried to hide his surprise that his father could remember back that far. This burst of reason by the king was distressing. Without missing a beat, he replied, "The situation has changed, Your Majesty. You were correct when you suggested gathering the clan. I wasn't wise enough to see as far as you. I now believe, as you do, that war is imminent and we must gather the clan to prepare."
King Dmitri sat up with alarm. "War imminent?" He looked at Gareth with eyes that were now cloudy with confusion. "Why was I not told?"
"Because it isn't true, Sire," Gareth said slowly. "Cesare is panicking. He claimed his entire reason for capturing the Equatorian princess was to forestall war. Surely he won't admit that his plan was so far off the mark?"
Bristling but keeping his voice even, Cesare said, "I only admit underestimating the viciousness of the humans. The Equatorians apparently don't care that we have their princess. They attacked Bordeaux, and they continue to gather their forces."
Gareth asked, "But what about the ambassador you sent to Alexandria? We should wait to see if there is any movement toward a peace treaty."
"No," Cesare retorted. "The ambassador was a failure. Flay's spies report that he was murdered by the Equatorians and his head displayed to the mob." The young prince turned to his war chief for confirmation.
Flay added quietly, "As Prince Cesare says."
Her face was stern, but her eyes flicked briefly to Gareth's, and he knew she was lying. Anything to support her master.
Cesare continued, "Equatoria's goal is clear. They want us all dead. There is no doubt about that. Their threat to attack us if we don't release their princess is u
nambiguous." He regarded Gareth. "Do you deny that?"
Gareth replied in a matter-of-fact tone, "Then perhaps we should release the princess. That will remove their excuse for aggression."
The younger prince scowled. "As if they need an excuse. How extraordinarily naive of you, Gareth. Why don't we just give them London in the bargain? Why don't we just kill ourselves to save them the trouble of doing it? I won't give them the princess because I was right to take her. She was in our territory! I am trying to save our kind. Did you learn nothing from the Great Killing? When we have the chance to crush them, we must!"
Gareth stirred uncomfortably in his seat, but said nothing more. He avoided the triumphant glare of his brother. His suggestion to release Adele, although glib, was a terrible misstep and made him look weak. To argue further, or to seek to set the record straight on the Great Killing, was pointless and would merely put him deeper under his hawkish brother's thumb.
The king now leaned toward Cesare, body language making it clear that he had slipped back into his comfortable place following his younger son, as he always did. Cesare sighed with relief now that his father's moment of lucidity had passed.
"Just so," Cesare said with obvious contempt for his brother, then regarded the king with a renewed aura of a wise man. "The Equatorians are coming. Would you try to prepare for war while their ships are bombing us? We must ready the clan, as you wisely suggested in council. As king, you can do no less. Would you have your people taken unaware?"
"No," King Dmitri muttered. "No. I am their king. I must act, yes?"
"I will see to it, Majesty," Cesare replied. "I will call on the lords, and they will gather here in two days. I will see to everything."
"Yes." The king was relieved to have the burden of decision taken from him. He reached out with a feeble hand and patted Gareth on the knee. "Yes, thank you, Cesare. You're a good son."
Gareth felt the gnarled old claw stroking the wrong son. He would've liked to take comfort in his father's touch, but he felt only rage at the king's impotence. Cesare bowed with a smile and withdrew.
The Greyfriar (Vampire Empire, Book 1) by Clay & Susan Griffith;Clay Griffith;Susan Griffith Page 14
