Carnal Magic: The Wraith Accords, Book 1

by Lila Dubois

  Where were they?

  “It appears I’m early.”

  “No.” Aed, who had followed her, stepped up beside her. “The Tuatha de are here.”

  Isabel examined his profile. Treacherous he may be, but the strong yet vulnerable warrior persona was still appealing. She still wanted him.

  “You should announce yourself.”

  Isabel looked around again, this time spotting the long banquet tables on either side of the hall in the space between the columns and the walls. Sparkling crystal goblets were filled with blood-red wine, and bowls of fruit glistened in the light of hundreds of pure white candles. The table was ready, the wine already poured, but where were the diners?

  Isabel examined Aed’s profile again, debating what to do. She had every reason not to trust him but no other source of guidance.

  Reluctantly taking his advice, Isabel stepped forward until she was standing on a large silver circle in the floor just before the lowest step of the dais.

  “I am Isabel Santiago, Sage of the Bucharest Cabal, Counselor to Duke Drakul, leader of the Vampire.”

  Light flared, so bright she could not keep her eyes open. Though every instinct she’d developed since becoming vampire begged that she run, Isabel held her ground.

  When she opened her eyes, Isabel couldn’t stop herself from falling back a step, her fangs elongating as fear spiked through her. The once-empty throne room was now full.

  Each chair at the banquet tables was occupied and the space between the columns was crowded with tall, pale people. While their sudden appearance was alarming, the most startling figures were those on the dais.

  High Queen Albha sat in the gold-and-pearl throne, the colors the perfect foil for her red hair and creamy skin. She appeared no older than a human of thirty-five. Her tawny gown was made of brocade and velvet, the lines clean and sharp. A gold diadem decorated her brow. The white statue was a very good likeness of this formidable woman.

  If the queen was warm gold, the king was polished steel.

  High King Cormac appeared much older than his queen. His hair was gray and there were lines at the corners of his eyes. He wore medieval-style dress—a long emerald tunic embroidered with silver thread. His boots were black leather and worked with the same patterns as his tunic. Like his throne, the king was all tones of silver and green, his shining argent crown and jade eyes the final touches.

  “Lady Isabel.” The High King’s voice was smooth and powerful. Though he hadn’t yelled, his words echoed throughout the room. “Welcome to Tara. You are our most honored guest.”

  “Your Majesty, the honor is mine.” Isabel curtseyed. “I bring you greetings from Duke Drakul.”

  The corner of Cormac’s mouth twitched. “Tell your duke that I too send my regards and regret that he was not able join us here.”

  Isabel smiled demurely. The Warrior of Bucharest would never have let Drakul come to Tara. It was far too dangerous. Plus, Drakul hated politicking. He was good at it, but would much rather make someone else do it. “I will carry your message, and wish to extend an invitation for you and your most beautiful queen—” Isabel smiled at Albha, “—to join us, either on the Plains of Moytura or at one of the Vampire palaces in the human world.”

  Mutters ran through the assembled onlookers, the first sound any of them had made. The queen’s brows rose and Isabel heard Aed groan. Let them wring their hands and whisper. Isabel was not their subject, and the invitation was not so shocking.

  Cormac’s lips twitched again. “A most intriguing invitation, which the queen and I must consider.”

  Isabel inclined her head to the monarchs.

  “Lady Isabel.” High Queen Albha’s voice was higher pitched than Isabel had expected, younger sounding than the age and wisdom in her eyes. “May I introduce my children?”

  Four people appeared on the dais, one step down from the rulers. This time Isabel was not startled by their sudden materializing and was able to keep a pleasant smile locked on her face.

  Three men and one woman, each breathtaking in their beauty, stared down at Isabel. She recognized Cairbe, who wore a pale green jerkin and tawny pants tucked into rich leather boots. A half-cape hung from one shoulder, the elegant and pale garments showing off his gold hair.

  “This is our oldest child, Prince Cairbe, Lord of Spring.”

  Lord of Spring? She’d never come across a mention in literature or mythology of the prince referred to by that title, though Aed had used it when they encountered him. She’d assumed it was a title used only by the Fianna, but it seemed it was not. Once she was home she’d have to investigate the issue.

  Cairbe bowed, his eyes glittering as he smiled, seemingly daring her to mention that they’d already met. She was once more stuck by an intense desire for him, but now that she knew it was born of some magic it was easy to control the feeling.

  Isabel curtseyed and said nothing.

  Beside Cairbe was a man whose features were practically a mirror of his, save for a scar that cut across his lower lip. It was crude in an otherwise refined face, pulling his lip down on one side so that his mouth didn’t quite close.

  “Prince Oisin, Lord of Summer.”

  The scarred man bowed. His gold hair, three shades darker than his older brother’s, was pulled back. He was the most modern of them, wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt open at the throat. A heavy amber velvet cloak hung from his shoulders. Besides the cloak, his garments were hardly court-worthy, and his bow was short and perfunctory. The Lord of Summer hadn’t dressed for the occasion and didn’t want to be here. Another interesting note.

  “Prince Fionn, Lord of Autumn.”

  Unlike his brothers, Fionn had rich, red-brown hair and a close-cut beard. He looked the most like the queen, but like his father he wore garments reminiscent of the medieval era—hose, tunic and boots. A sword hung from his hip. He had the air of a warrior, like Aed.

  Fionn bowed solemnly.

  “And my youngest child and only daughter.” Albha’s voice changed, tinged with both affection and weariness. “Princess Niamh, Lady of Winter.”

  The princes, for all their size and strength, did not feel like a threat. Isabel could not say the same about the princess. Everything about her set Isabel’s nerves on edge.

  White-blonde hair hung to her knees, blending with her snowy-white silk dress. She was the coldest day of winter made flesh, her cheeks and lips holding only the barest hint of pink. The only relief from the whiteness of her appearance was her eyes, which were such a dark blue that they were almost black.

  When Isabel curtseyed in acknowledgement, she didn’t drop her gaze. Niamh returned her stare, her face impassive, giving no hint to her thoughts.

  “It is an honor to meet you, Your Highnesses.” Isabel curtseyed one last time, choosing her words carefully, grateful they were using elegant Old French, which made niceties easy.

  “Lady Isabel, will you join me for a meal?” Cairbe descended from the dais and offered his arm.

  “She doesn’t eat, Cairbe. She’s dead.” A hush settled over the hall at Niamh’s words.

  Isabel turned slowly, focusing on Niamh. With great deliberation, she let her gaze roam from the princess’s head to her toes and then back, ending her study by focusing on her neck.

  Isabel smiled wide, making sure her fangs, which were fully extended, showed. “You’re concern touches me, Princess. I will not eat, but I enjoy the company of those who do. I’ll settle for having some wine.”

  Again the onlookers whispered amongst themselves. Oisin and Fionn shifted, looking between their sister and Isabel as if they weren’t sure if Niamh needed their protection. Isabel turned back to Cairbe, placing her hand on his arm.

  “Your Highness, thank you for your most gracious offer.”

  Cairbe grinned, the expression without subtext. He went from handsome to b
reathtaking, as if honesty increased his appeal. “I’m going to enjoy your visit, Lady Isabel.”

  Aed positioned himself against one of the columns. There were other members of the Fianna there, warriors who like him didn’t partake in the revelry—they were there as guards. Some were protecting heads of their own houses, though they’d renounced allegiance to any but the Fianna when they joined the band of warriors. Others were here taking the place he usually held—guard to the High King and High Queen.

  Members of the high houses were seated at the tables closest to the thrones. Those from the lower houses stood until the royal family was seated at a table that appeared in the middle of the hall. If Isabel was startled by its appearance she gave no indication.

  Aed doubted she knew how shocking her words and behavior were. He was both terrified for her and proud of her. She was stronger than he’d thought, and so it was likely that others would underestimate her, but that element of surprise would not save her—the strength of both will and magic in the princess and princes was fearsome.

  When she’d finally opened the door to her chamber, the anger and hurt in her eyes had stilled the explanations and warnings he’d prepared. He should have forced her to listen so she would know to be on guard against an enemy strong enough to enchant him. As Cairbe guided her up the steps to the royal table, he whispered something that made her laugh. Heads turned at the sound of her mirth.

  Isabel waited with the prince while the king and queen took their seats. Once she too was seated Aed stepped forward, taking a position ten feet back from her chair. He’d been awake for nearly three days straight, and his stomach rumbled at the smell of food, but he would not rest or give in to weariness. Whoever had orchestrated the attack would be looking for an opportunity to strike again, and if this banquet was anything like past events, there was a very real possibility that things could quickly turn bloody.

  Chapter Six

  “Did you rest well, Lady Isabel?” High Queen Albha smiled as she asked the question.

  “Most well. I thank you again for your kind hospitality.”

  “And Aed, how did you find him?”

  Isabel examined the queen’s face, looking for the motive behind the question. It was highly unlikely Aed had simply decided to murder her—he was following orders, and that meant the orders came from somewhere. Did she detect a hidden meaning in the queen’s words? Was she testing Isabel to see if Aed had already made the attempt?

  “He was a most gracious escort.”

  “A quiet one, I’d assume.” Prince Fionn motioned, and a servant refilled Isabel’s glass with strong red wine.

  “Quiet enough. He reminds me of warriors I knew long ago.”

  “How old are you?” Niamh ignored her father’s frown. “When did you die?”

  “I have yet to die. I was made vampire in 1340, by the human European calendar.” Isabel took a sip of wine. “And how old are you, Princess?”

  Niamh looked shocked at the question, but caught herself before remarking how rude the inquiry was. To do so would highlight her own breach of manners.

  “I was born a thousand years after the false God entered Ireland.”

  “The false God? You mean Christianity.”

  “The monks of that religion did great harm to our people.” Prince Oisin spoke softly. “They perverted our history into propaganda for their religion.”

  “I had not thought of it quite like that,” Isabel said honestly. She looked at Niamh. “From what I know of Ireland’s history, I suspect you count 430 AD as the date the ‘false God’ entered. That means you were born around 1430 AD, meaning you’re a hundred years younger than I am.” Isabel smiled sweetly. In this company, being the youngest was no virtue.

  Niamh stiffened. “How do you know that date?”

  It was the High King who replied. “Isabel is the Sage of the most powerful of the Vampire Cabals. The Sage is—and correct me if I misspeak, Lady Isabel—a record keeper and holder of knowledge.”

  “You are correct, Your Majesty, and you honor me with such a lofty description of my humble role.”

  “May I ask an indelicate question?” Fionn broke into the conversation with a smile.

  “Fionn.” The High Queen spoke sharply, sounding very much the exasperated parent.

  “I will answer, if the High Queen does not object, and if my answer is appropriate for the company.” Isabel smiled at the quiet redheaded man.

  “Is it true that you drink human blood?” Fionn seemed merely curious, though Isabel saw Niamh make a face.

  “It is. That is hardly the Vampire’s greatest secret.” She smiled, opening her mouth slightly so he could see her fangs.

  Oisin frowned and Niamh leaned forward to get a better look at her teeth.

  “There are no humans in Tara,” Fionn pointed out. “Your visit is not a long one, but you will not have any way to eat.”

  “The older a vampire gets, the longer they can go between feedings. My body does not need human blood to function the way it once did. I could, if I wanted, eat as you do. Sadly, food never tastes as good as I remember from when I was a human.”

  “You…you can eat? So you don’t need the humans.” Niamh looked disappointed, which was strange.

  “Each vampire is different.” Isabel spoke with care. There was something going on with the princess that she didn’t understand.

  Before she could explore this any further, the High King rose. He’d eaten very little. “Lady Isabel. I hope you’ll join me tomorrow so we may speak on things. For now I must retire.”

  The rest of the table rose as the High King departed. Around the hall, chairs scraped as the assembled Tuath scrambled to rise at the sudden departure of their king.

  He walked toward the throne and, mid-stride, disappeared into thin air.

  Isabel carefully examined the faces of the other members of the royal family. The High Queen’s face was pinched with sadness, as was Prince Cairbe’s. The expressions were fleeting, gone as soon as they resumed their seats. The other princes and princess showed no reaction to the High King’s departure.

  Isabel’s thoughts raced as she contemplated the past six months and all that had led to her arrival here. The royal family continued to chat, occasionally including her in conversations that were entirely innocuous.

  The pieces clicked together. Isabel brought her wine glass to her mouth to cover her reaction to the conclusion of her musings.

  High King Cormac was dying, and only High Queen Albha and Prince Cairbe knew.

  Well, that certainly changed things.

  The moon was at its highest point in the night sky when Aed heard the words he’d dreaded.

  “Lady Isabel, might we interest you in a game?”

  The formal dinner had finished hours ago. Servants had cleared the tables—disappearing them to the kitchens where the plates and goblets could be cleared without disturbing the revelers.

  Most of the assemblage was gone, and the fifty or so people who remained had moved to one of the smaller receiving rooms off the great hall.

  A fire cracked in a hearth large enough that Aed could have stood inside it. Fine, woven rugs covered the floors and the walls were painted with a living mural that depicted the midnight garden far below them. Three sets of double doors led out to a balcony that overlooked the sea. From the gate it was impossible to tell that the cliff Tara sat atop was bounded on one side by a rolling, violent sea. Two doors were thrown open, letting in the cold night air that tasted faintly of salt. The most highly ranked of those who remained—mostly friends of the princes and princess—were seated on long low couches and chairs near the fire.

  Those not in favor with the royal house, and members of the lower houses, stood against the walls—hopeful spectators.

  Isabel was lounging on a chaise, a glass of wine dangling from her fingers. Her body was lush
and tempting in her fitted dress. Reclined as she was, her breasts were on magnificent display and Aed couldn’t stop himself from thinking what it had been like to touch her.

  “A game? Is it one I would know?” Isabel spoke casually, gaze focused on the fire.

  Deocha, the daughter of Fionnin, head of one of the most powerful high houses, slid to her feet. She was slim and elegant in a dress the color of irises.

  Aed went on alert. Deocha was devious in the extreme. She’d given herself over to Cairbe dozens of times, seeming to revel in the most extreme debasement at his hands. More often than not, she turned around and tormented members of the lower houses or servants once Cairbe was done with her. But unlike the prince’s companions, not all of Deocha’s survived.

  “What would be the fun of playing a game you already know? You’re here in Tara—let us teach you our game.”

  Prince Oisin made a disgusted noise and got to his feet. The woman who’d been draped against him fell inelegantly against the couch cushions.

  “I’ll have no part of this.” He ripped off the tawny cloak and tossed it into the air, where it disappeared. “Brothers, sister.” He nodded to Fionn, Cairbe and Niamh. “Psychotic leeches.” He bowed to the other Tuath seated by the fire.

  Fionn snorted out a laugh as Oisin disappeared. The courtiers shifted uncomfortably, though some of them tried to laugh it off, pretending Oisin’s words had been a joke.

  Deocha’s smile tightened in the silence following Oisin’s departure, but she would not be deterred. “A game, my friends?”

  “I’d like to play.” Niamh was smiling.

  Isabel sat up. “Perhaps I’ll watch you play, before I participate.”

  “That wouldn’t be fun,” Niamh said.

  “I would not want to ruin your game with my inexperience.”

  “Oh, but I insist that you play,” Deocha said.

  “You insist?” Isabel raised one eyebrow.

  Deocha realized she’d overstepped and looked at Cairbe.