‘Deus! Have you any idea how it feels to lose a son?’ Marcus pointed towards the chateau. ‘I won’t find him sitting at his desk or striding through the grounds ... sharing a laugh, remembering the past....’ His hand shook as he leaned heavily on the hilt of the sword. ‘God forgave me for what I did in that village, yet still the punishment goes on.’ He sank to his knees in the dirt, head bowed low, his lips a taut line against the trembling of his chin.
I crouched until we were face-to-face. ‘Marcus, I do know how you feel. I lost both my wife and son. But unlike you, I never had the joy of seeing him grow to manhood, to enjoy his company for more lifetimes than any human can imagine. You did. You had more than I could ever wish to have had. Mourn him, carry his memory in here—’ I laid my palm on the crucifix next to his heart ‘—and see this through for him and Judith ... and Laura.’ I was seized by a great emptiness and forced back the tears that burned in my eyes.
He lifted his head and gazed at me as if seeing me for the first time. Scanning my face, and with a grim smile and nod, he rose and sheathed his sword then prised open the small red gem in the centre of the crucifix he wore. I hadn’t noticed until now that it was a reliquary. Within sat three tiny glass vials filled with a dark substance, which gleamed dully in the moonlight. He touched one, voice barely above a whisper. ‘Luc’s ashes. I gathered as much as I could. So you see, I carry more than just his memory with me.’ He closed the gem.
I guessed the other two were the ashes of his wife and daughter: Gallia and Julia, Luc’s twin. ‘Then you have more than me.’
In spite of his own loss, Marcus squeezed my shoulder in a gesture of understanding. The sadness in his eyes conveyed more than words. For a few moments we stood quietly, only the wind whistling in the topmost branches of the pine trees breaking the silence. He closed his eyes and turned his face heavenwards, his lips moving in silent prayer. The men stood at a respectful distance, heads bowed. They mourned Luc’s loss, each in their own way. Soon our entire Brethren world would be in mourning. I was sure news of Luc’s death was already spreading. Would it be greeted with sadness or rejoicing?
The king is dead. Long live the king.
We could expect visitors, and they would have questions. We needed to be prepared.
‘No one must know about—’ I glanced at the staff who’d resumed refilling the hole from which Jake and Marcus had emerged.
They dropped a large stone slab over the entrance, the thud reverberating through the ground and sending plumes of dust into the air. I stifled a cough.
The tomb of my friends was sealed forever.
They had no idea the bloodvault lay beneath their feet and I wanted to keep it that way. The Thierry’s treachery had been a blow. The family had been trusted servants for as long as anyone could remember.
‘Can’t talk here. Luc’s office.’ I said it without thinking. A shadow crossed Marcus’s face. When would we stop referring to that room in that way?
Jake raised an eyebrow and jerked his head in the direction of the staff. ‘Don’t trust ‘em?’
Terens snorted. ‘Fuck no! Not after what that bitch tried to do to us—locking us in the vault to die.’
‘Exactly.’ After the despicable disloyalty of Madame Thierry I doubted any of us would fully trust the household staff again.
We made our way to Luc’s office. Adjoining the library, it was one of the few Brethren-soundproofed rooms in the chateau. Although the staff were all personally handpicked, our experience with the Thierrys had created a deep rift in that centuries-old trust.
I leaned back against the front of the malachite desk, somehow unwilling to sit in Luc’s chair, the leather moulded to the outline of his shape. His scent—sandalwood and cinnamon—permeated the room coating everything in its lingering memory: paintings, framed photographs he’d taken and hung on the walls or perched on the shelves; books and scrolls, down to the Venetian glass paperweight my fingers brushed against.
I picked it up and rolled the cold, smooth polished object in my hands, letting my thoughts roam.
Marcus paced the room, occasionally glancing at Luc’s chair, while Sam secured the hidden tunnel, the same one Madame Thierry had used to spy on us, disguising her scent to avoid detection. Cal and Terens took up position near the door and along one wall. Only Jake grabbed one of the guest chairs and straddled it.
I set the paperweight back on the desk, shut out the memories and focused on our next move. ‘The Brethren mustn’t know about the loss of the vault.’
‘Could cause a few ... problems,’ Sam added as he swung the bookcase closed and clicked the lock in place.
Jake gave a derisive laugh. ‘Understatement. They’ve tasted Ingenii blood. They’ll want more, all right.’ He glanced at his friends. ‘We’re older and stronger, yet it still took a hell of a lot of discipline to wait a whole year for our share.’
The others nodded. In the century I’d known them, not once had I heard them complain over Luc’s exclusive control of the stored Ingenii blood vials. Collected over nearly two millennia, ever since the inception of the Bloodgifted, he’d kept them stored in a secret vault deep in the caverns beneath the chateau. One Christmas, he’d handed over several vials to each of them as reward for their faithfulness—a few days in the year in which they could daywalk—and it became tradition, a ritual almost, in which each man recounted what he’d do with his short time in the sun.
‘That’s the risk we took, so the sooner you and I can create a synthetic version the happier we’ll all be.’ I’d already sourced the lab equipment necessary. It was now a matter of ordering it and getting to work. We’d already managed to create an anti-white-oak serum so I was confident we could do this too.
‘Deus, Alec! Please. Sit in that chair. I cannot see it empty, do you understand?’ Marcus stopped pacing and turned to me with a pained expression.
Marcus needed the symbolic proof that his son had passed away.
Thoughtless of me—I should’ve thought of that. Perhaps meeting here was not such a good idea.
But there was no other room in the chateau where we would not be overheard. No, it was the right decision. Marcus would’ve had to enter eventually.
The leather creaked as I sat. I glanced up. Would Luc come marching through the door any minute and demand his rightful place? I almost smiled at the picture. Almost. No time for sentiment. We had more immediate concerns.
I leaned forward and rested my forearms on the desk. ‘From now on, the tunnels are off limits to the staff. They’re to use the stairs. Including the housekeeper.’ Whoever the new housekeeper would be. Laura and Kari were interviewing for a new one, while I was responsible for sourcing a new estate manager.
Laura! I longed to hold her in my arms, ease her heartache, and her nightmares. She had grown close to Luc in the few weeks she’d come to know him. And Judith ... no words could describe her terrible loss.
The warmth of the ruby-red eyes of the serpent ring tingled my skin. Red eyes. All was well. Absent mindedly, I’d been twisting it round and round my finger.
‘Damn tunnels.’ Sam groaned, shook his head and stared at the ground. I remembered him warning Luc about them. Madame Thierry hadn’t been the only one who’d made use of the old passageways. The chateau was a veritable rabbit warren—no doubt she’d ferreted them all out.
On more than one occasion Luc had complained about the constant beeping on his mobile alarm, due to movement in the passageways. Compliantly, Sam had switched off the beeper. Only the tunnels beneath the house remained alarmed.
Did Sam blame himself? But how could he have kept the alarms active without disobeying Luc? For all his precautions and meticulous planning, Luc had one fatal flaw—he had trusted his household staff, human and Brethren. Hell, we all did! They were extended family, descendants of the freed slaves who’d worked on Marcus’s villa through the centuries. He’d known each one from infancy. They were the First Families.
I cursed Constans Thierry for de
stroying that sacred trust. ‘Re-alarm all the passageways. I’ll inform the staff.’
Sam’s hands trembled as he removed his mobile and punched a few buttons.
Terens came to stand next to him and flung an arm around his shoulders. ‘Not your fault, bro. Get that in your head. Luc gave you an order and you followed it. He relied on the ward ring to give him warning. Nobody could have suspected her fucking housekeepership would turn bitch!’
‘Who of us would’ve suspected such a thing?’ Hands clasped behind his back, Marcus turned to the window. In the darkness beyond, his grim reflection stared back at him.
Daybreak was less than half an hour away. This was changeover time, when the human staff replaced the vampire. Both roamed the premises and with Sam’s alarm system now reactivated, we could expect to hear the beeper at any moment. ‘Best I let the staff know now.’ Marcus grunted as I strode to the door and stood in the open doorway facing the library. The Brethren staff would catch my whisper anywhere on the estate, but not the humans. ‘Hear me. All staff are to gather in the foyer. Inform your human colleagues.’
I glanced back. Jake gave me a nod and half-smile, but Marcus stood motionless. He was my sire’s father and his blood flowed through my veins. We had a connection and I felt his pain.
Footfalls and muffled voices came from the foyer. The sweet scent of human blood tickled my nostrils; the human staff were gathering.
‘Okay, let’s do it then.’ Terens slapped me lightly on the shoulder, no hint of a smile in his eyes. ‘After you, Princeps.’ He dipped his head in deference and stood aside to let me pass.
He rarely, if ever, called me princeps. For, compared to these ancient and powerful men, I was but a babe having been dragged into this office by Luc less than a century ago.
A new era, indeed, had begun.
The Rebels had been defeated, their leaders tried and executed, and the Principate had never been stronger. Soon, I hoped to manufacture a synthetic version of Ingenii blood, which would provide us with an unlimited supply.
Could I dare wish things would now go smoothly as the curse neared its end? Perhaps, if not for a deep gnawing in my gut. I ignored it and glanced back at the framed photos of Luc and Judy on the wall. Rest in peace, my friends. I strode through the library to the entrance hall where nearly a hundred pair of eyes turned toward me.
With a deep breath, I faced them determined to be as strong a princeps as Luc had been.
It was time to take the reins.
Chapter 3 - Housekeeping
LAURA
I once read somewhere that grief doesn’t really end; it simply changes over time. It’s not a place to linger. You move on and come out the other side, as spring follows winter. Sorrow passes, or maybe a part of it does. But like a virus, it lays dormant beneath the surface, out of view until a particular scent, a word, a name, or walking into a familiar room disturbs it and painfully brings it to the surface.
It’d only been a few days. I had to give it time. Although I’d known Judy, as my aunt, all my life, Luc had only entered it about a month ago. To avoid me being discovered by the Brethren world until I came of age, he’d kept his distance.
So little time with them. Now they were gone.
After a few deep steadying breaths, I slid my hands down the front of my lambs-wool dress and eyed myself in the mirror. My tummy was still flat, and would be for at least another month or so. None of the Brethren would guess I was pregnant, and that’s the way I wanted to keep it.
I leaned into the mirror. My fingers traced pale skin and then dark shadows under my eyes. Every time I dozed off, I was trapped back in the vault, clawing at the stone walls, calling out for help as the fire roared around me, staring at Judy’s lifeless body at my feet, Luc dragging the screaming Madam Thierry into the flames. I’d wake shivering, drenched in sweat and breathing as heavily as if I’d run a marathon. Sweet sleep evaded me.
The pregnancy-safe mild sedatives Alec had given me helped, but I now dreaded falling asleep. How long the nightmares would last, not even he knew. Pity mesmerisation didn’t work on the Bloodgifted—Alec had tried. I would’ve welcomed a bit of hypnotherapy.
I sighed, leaning into the soft plushness of the sofa. Yet another resumé lay on the coffee table. I drew it onto my lap. ‘Bring her in, Kari.’
Madame Sabine Gilbert came with great references. She would be the fifth prospective housekeeper Kari and I interviewed for the job. Although they all had come with impeccable references, I hadn’t felt comfortable with any of them. After my experience with Constans Thierry, would I ever trust another? Again, the last few minutes of her life flashed through my mind. I forced away the horrific images by reciting a biblical mantra: “The Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.” As I stared at the beautiful landscape painting on the wall and recited, the images receded.
The door swung open. Kari ushered in a middle-aged woman, dressed in tweed skirt and jacket, with the whitest skin and hair I had ever seen. Albino? Her short bob bounced around the edges of her chin as she came toward me—hair that looked as soft as cotton wool. I resisted the urge to reach out and touch it. She extended her hand and, behind her glasses, sympathetic pale blue eyes gazed into mine. ‘Milady Laura, may I convey my deepest condolence at your loss.’
Her voice was as soft as her hair and was comforting. Her grip was firm, yet gentle. Capable hands, short nails, no polish. Solid and reliable sprang to mind. Was it gut feeling? Whatever it was, I felt at ease with her.
‘Thank you. Please.’ I indicated the other sofa.
Kari sat next to me, one booted foot crossed over the other. She wore black leggings and a double-breasted military-style jacket in honour of Luc—a style he’d favoured and which had been adopted by his men this week. The brass buttons caught the glint of light from the window as she picked up the pot of hot coffee from the table. ‘Madame?’
The woman smiled and nodded.
‘You’re originally from the village. One of the First Families?’ I asked. The previous applicants were not locals, having worked at other Brethren estates. Kari had sourced them from recommendations.
‘Yes, Milady, on my mother’s side. I’ve been away a long time. It’s good to be home.’ She smiled and sipped her coffee.
I glanced at her resumé. ‘If you don’t mind my asking, why did you leave Derbyshire?’ The National Trust estate in England she and her husband had managed was a well-known, popular tourist spot. Anyone who could manage that should have no problems here.
She lowered the cup and saucer onto her lap. ‘My mother still lives in the village here, in a house very kindly given to us by Lord Luc. With the recent death of my father, God rest his soul,’ she crossed herself, ‘she’s all alone. And ... her heart isn’t sound.’
She said it matter-of-factly, though tears clouded her eyes. Madame Gilbert, too, had recently suffered the loss of a parent, and rather than uproot her ailing mother from her friends and familiar surroundings, the Gilberts had come home to take care of her. It showed a selfless spirit.
Kari beat me to the next question. ‘You’d rather live in the village then, huh?’
Madame Gilbert’s gaze darted from me to Kari. She blinked rapidly and set the cup and saucer back on the coffee table. ‘If that’s a problem–’
‘Heck no. Isn’t that right, Laura?’
When we first discussed hiring a new housekeeper and estate manager, we determined they wouldn’t live on the premises. From our first meeting, Madam Thierry made me feel an intruder in my family’s home. We would never again risk allowing the management staff to believe the chateau was their possession.
There was suitable accommodation on the estate grounds, and if the Gilberts preferred to live in the village, even better. It was within easy walking distance of the chateau.
‘I understand if you’d prefer to stay in the village with your mother. It’s not an issue.’
She clasped her hands together on her lap and smiled broadly.
<
br /> ‘More coffee?’ Kari asked.
Madam Sabine Gilbert ticked every box, even down to her sense of humour. She’d originally trained as a midwife, and explained, ‘I married Valentin—he’s an estate manager—so most of my deliveries were of the piglet and calf variety whenever the vet arrived late!’ She laughed, and the fob watch attached to the lapel of her tweed jacket bounced on her chest.
I smiled. It seemed so long since anyone had laughed in this house that I didn’t want her to stop. Just for a moment, the deep ache in my heart lessened. I craved more of that lightness.
Kari leaned toward me and whispered, ‘She’ll do.’
I agreed. ‘When can you start?’
‘Now, if you like.’ She looked at us expectantly.
Kari and I exchanged glances. The memorial service for Luc and Judy was scheduled for two days time, and, once again, all the dignitaries of the Brethren were expected to attend. Many would be bringing their donsangs with them—their human blood partners. There was much to prepare. The sooner Madame Gilbert could begin, the better.
‘Perfect. This couldn’t be better timing.’
‘I’m glad, Milady.’ She smiled.
‘Now, we need to show you around the house and grounds and introduce you to the staff, Madame Gilbert.’
‘Do call me Sabine.’ Her smile grew and she pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.
She reminded me of the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland.
‘Magnificent,’ she uttered, blinking up at the ceiling frescoes in the library. ‘I remember playing hide and seek here as a child.’ Her gaze travelled to the bookcases and the great globe in its stand in the centre of the room. It had been repaired since Alec had sent it careering across the floor. ‘Every Christmas Eve, all the First Families were invited for the celebration in the great hall. Lord Luc used to hand out presents to each child.’ Her eyes shone at the memory. ‘And for that night only, all the children were allowed free run of the ground floor.’
Another unknown piece of my father’s past slid into place. How little I knew of him. A wave of heat flushed through me at the short amount time I’d been given with him—all because of Madame Thierry. I’d never truly hated another human being before, but for her, I wished all the torments of hell.
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