by Elle Cross
"She needs to know what the potential reception might be going in there. I mean, we can't assume that we all would be welcomed back with open arms."
"I know I'm good, the old man likes me," Mischief beamed at Immortelle charmingly.
Strife rolled his eyes behind him.
"I don't think she needs to know any of this," Death began again.
"And I think she does," War egged on.
"Agreed," Mischief added. Somehow, he was on her left side and captured her hand in his.
Immortelle shook her head. "Whatever might have happened, anyway, would have no bearing on me. Thorne likes me."
"True."
Death actually looked relieved. "Good, see she didn't want to know what happened."
Immortelle laughed then. "Oh you. Of course, I want to know."
"But you just said that it didn't matter."
"Of course it doesn't matter. Which is why I want to know."
War picked up the pace in his triumphant glee, and since their arms were linked, she went right along with him. "Well, when we had heard that the prick Vincente sent an army to your house, we wanted special dispensation to get there as soon as possible. Thorne wasn't open to allowing it. Certain people were a little bit annoyed by that."
The look on Death's face made it seem like he was more than annoyed, but she thought it was wiser not to comment on it. "Annoyed. I can see that."
It was in the middle of a laugh that the double doors in front of her opened, and a compact and elegant man appeared. His tailored suit complemented his dark hair, dark features, and maroon eyes. Il Torero, the Consigliere of the Cabal and the one known as the bullfighter displayed the implacable calm that was necessary to staring down a raging bull and immortal egos alike. "Annoyed? I hope no one here was annoying you, Ms. Lucy."
Immortelle nodded her head toward the consigliere. "Considering that everything has annoyed me at one point or another, it would do me no good to answer that." They greeted each other. Il Torero nodded tersely to the rest. "I would ask that you not choke the life out of anyone today."
Immortelle’s eyes widened and whipped around to Death, who glared daggers at the Consigliere for the Cabal. "As long as there's no one standing in my way, there's no problem."
One more moment passed between them, and then an elegant smile curved Il Torero's lips. The man lived up to his unflappable reputation. He extended his hand out to Immortelle. "Come, you've been expected, Ms. Lucy."
The Chancellor’s rooms were the same dark wood and leather she remembered. The books and fireplace softened the décor a little, but it was otherwise a strongly masculine room. There was a kind of comfort to how familiar and unchanged it was.
The Chancellor himself had been seated in his chair, staring off into space. The old ones did that a lot: sat still and staring. Il Torero knocked on the threshold. "Chancellor. She is here."
And like flipping a switch, Chancellor Thorne went from an empty doll to a being imbued with endless power.
That was one of the scary truths of the immortal clans. The old ones were always able to hide their power and strength. And they played a long game. For all of that, they didn't lie, and the way Thorne looked at her with a gaze full of relief, it was oddly like coming home.
The men at her side had stepped back to give her space to greet her mentor, and she stepped to him. "Chancellor."
The Chancellor beamed at her, broadcasting so clearly how much he cared for her and was happy that she was alive. "I am pleased that you came here. I'd heard that you were here in the Underworld with us, and hoped you would be by. Have you been availing yourself of the accommodations in the guest wing?"
She coughed to hide her discomfort. Of course, she shouldn't feel uncomfortable, why would she need to hide any awkwardness or embarrassment? She was an adult, and as an adult, she should be able to tell him that she had spent the night with Death. She was sure that was what she was going to say. But what left her mouth was a strangled, "Yes. Very nice. Have you changed the place?"
"Well, so good of you to notice. Yes, I have been changing the place. It seemed so unsettled before, and now with the Fae wing being as it is..."
Chancellor Thorne trailed off, his face hardening into a mask of anger. It must have been hard for someone like him. Someone who preferred order and structure.
Immortelle gulped. "I do want to talk to you about that actually, although not right now.”
Confusion marred his timeless skin. “Of course. What do you want to talk about?”
“Bianco. And the fact that his trial and execution were scheduled for today.”
Chancellor Thorne folded his fingers over his desk. “And?”
“And why wasn’t I told? I should be there.”
Chancellor Thorne glanced over to the dark blot of Death’s presence. “Quite frankly, it was none of your affair, as you had told us repeatedly that you did not want to be part of the Cabal any longer. I did not think you wanted to know.”
If Immortelle hadn’t been shocked into silence she would have vaulted over that very nice desk of his and played a re-enactment of Death’s supposed choking session.
As it was, the Chancellor was able to continue his explanation. “In fact, I was actually experiencing my own quandary. You see, as part of his rights, Bianco had asked for something.”
Something cold twisted in her gut. “What did he ask for?”
“Well…you. This morning, I had been making up my mind to reach out to you. You ended up making my mind for me by reaching out to Il Torero.”
Words finally worked in Immortelle’s mouth. “What is this talk of a trial, though? Don’t tell me that there’s a chance that he would be acquitted of all he’s done?”
Chancellor Thorne’s eyes rounded in shock. It was almost comical if the subject they were talking about weren’t so traumatic to her. “Oh gods, no. It is not that kind of trial, the kinds that are portrayed in the Mortal Coil. No. The trial is the transfer of power and memory of the Della Serra House to its heir. Since Vincente Della Serra is no longer in line to inherit, there is a matter of finding an heir, is all. I remember when we used to chop body parts off first and ask questions later. This is a more civilized affair compared to all that.”
Considering trials from the Cabal’s earliest origins seemed to be awash with blood, anything less would be civilized.
Chancellor Thorne continued. “Do not worry, Immortelle. Justice for your peace will be satisfied. In fact, Il Torero will be able to explain further.” He nodded to the Consigliere for the Cabal.
Il Torero took up the explanation then. “The meeting that Lord Bianco asks for is simply that. A meeting where he can speak his piece. Nothing is expected of you other than to be present to listen to his words. He won’t be able to harm you.”
Il Torero stated that as if he sought to protect her. As if she had been afraid to face Bianco.
Immortelle smiled sweetly to the consigliere. “But can I harm him?”
The false sweetness and saccharine smile were met with a raised eyebrow. That was more of a reaction than she had expected from the bullfighter.
Il Torero acknowledged her response with a slight bow. “I would hope that you wouldn’t, Ms. Lucy, but your actions are yours and you may do what you see fit.”
As long as she was willing to take any repercussions or punishment from said actions. Immortelle wasn’t foolish. She wouldn’t be able to openly move against Bianco or anyone else in the Cabal without blowback.
“Any other concerns?” The bullfighter asked.
“Yes, plenty. But I’ll narrow them down to things you have influence in. First, I want access to the Fae wing and see the ambassador’s suite, or what had become of it.”
Il Torero and Thorne looked at each other, and nodded slightly. “Access granted. Anything else?”
“I just wanted to clarify that I am still invited to be here as a fully vested member of the Cabal, correct? That is part of my marker and olive branch that you
had extended to me?”
“Of course,” Chancellor Thorne answered. “You are regarded as my ward, for all intents and purposes.”
“Oh good. So that means I could attend the trial and see Bianco executed with my own eyes.”
“Of course,” Thorne promised. He searched her face again, almost as if he was afraid to ask a third time. “Anything else?”
Immortelle shook her head. “No. Thank you.”
Chancellor Thorne nodded. “Good. Well, since that is resolved, I will make sure your escorts arrive to take you to the trial and execution at the appointed time later today. And, you of course have the freedom to investigate the Fae wing as you like.”
He rose to his feet. “Now then. Since that is settled, if you would follow me here to the chambers. It would be safest.” Chancellor Thorne headed to a set of double doors that was opposite of the exit.
Immortelle’s feet rooted where she stood. “Where are we going and why?” she asked.
The elder Vampire turned to his ward and regarded her as if seeing her for the first time. She fought against crossing her arms or even moving under the inspection.
If he had an issue with the number of questions that she was asking now after a millennium of unquestioning service, he kept it to himself. Finally, he said, “We are going to meet with Lord Bianco.”
Bianco? Now? Was she ready to see him? What if she needed to know something and didn’t ask the right question.
Or, what if she asked, and he wouldn’t answer? She would need to know how to work him, what levers to pull, his weaknesses, his triggers. Even if she didn’t use them, it was good to be prepared.
Immortelle said none of that to the Chancellor. “I didn’t realize that the meeting was now. I’ve barely scratched the surface of what all he knew about Vincente’s alliance with Lady Maeve and the Fae. I wouldn’t even know where to begin with questioning him.”
“I think you will find that your worries are unfounded. Come, see for yourself.” The chancellor strode through the double doors toward the meeting.
“You don’t have to go,” Death said. “You could always find answers elsewhere.”
“That’s true,” War chimed in, ticking off ideas as they came to him with his fingers. “There are allies, enemies, hells the Della Serra blood bank. And that’s just off the top of my head. You don’t need this fool.”
Mischief rubbed a tattooed hand on his chin, eyebrow lifted over his white spiraling eye. “Yeah, and I don’t particularly enjoy how he presumes to have an audience with you like that.” He snapped for emphasis. “Feels like a trap of some sort.”
Strife mirrored his twin. “Yeah, seems awfully cheeky to demand an audience unless he’s got a purpose for it.” His spiraling eyes were hypnotic as he weighed out possibilities.
Death placed his hand on her shoulder. “Whatever you decide, we’re here.”
Their support for her decision, whatever it might be, was as unsettling as it was heartwarming. “Of course I do. I want to. I just wish I were more prepared. I wouldn’t put it past the old man to have something up his sleeve.”
“It’s Bianco. He’s been playing with conflict before the Cabal was formed,” Strife said, tasting the air as if sampling an intoxicating bouquet of wine. “It’s best to assume his sleeves are full at all times.”
The council’s chambers had the unsettling feeling of being set outside of time and space. Despite its black and white veined marble and otherwise opulent furnishings, there was a feeling of being in a pressure-sealed chamber. If she closed her eyes, Immortelle could almost imagine that she stood inside an underground bunker.
Perhaps learning what made this room feel so different from the rest of Omnia was one of the guarded secrets of the Council of the Cabal.
She never had the luxury of speculating about Cabal secrets or why. As their weapon, she was sent on missions or campaigns. Her role took her far from the Omnia Compound, and even when she had time to rest, she did so in the privacy of her chambers.
Il Torero had invited them to sit in the place reserved for the Mircalla Circle. Lord Bianco would have the floor for his speech. Chancellor Thorne was already seated at the High Table, with a few others on either side. They were there as a witness to the proceedings. “Ms. Lucy, though Lord Bianco asked for an audience with you, since he has betrayed council laws, any council member is welcome to enter these chambers to witness the proceedings.”
“Great. Witnesses.”
“It is for your own protection as well. He would be far less able to plan an attack that way.”
Immortelle’s wan smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Seeing that I survived his attacks outside of a controlled environment when my guard was down, I think I’ll be fine, Consigliere.”
The unflappable bullfighter met her thinly veiled barbs with his usual neutral aplomb. With a slight nod, he excused himself to see if all was prepared.
“Damn, I’d never seen the bullfighter put in his place,” Mischief whispered a little too loudly.
“What do you mean?” Immortelle reviewed their interchange in her mind. She didn’t seem to have said anything particularly insulting. She said so.
“It’s not what you said, it was how you said it that was funny. All starchy and proper the way he did.”
“I’ve done that before. Multiple times.” She wasn’t afraid of Il Torero. If anything, he honored the letter of the laws, the black and white, and so she followed suit whenever she dealt with him.
“No wonder he likes you. Even gave you that little nod thing. He only does that with the Chancellor, and even then, not all the time.”
Immortelle shook her head. She was sure that Mischief was overstating things. He was easily entertained, and every extra bit of mocking or teasing was something he rolled over his tongue like sucking candy.
They headed toward the semi-circle benches that were reserved for the Vampire delegates. Immortelle skirted around the large spheres floating atop their respective pedestals. They made her nervous. They were convenient to communicate over great distances, but they were still made up of a toxic substance from the outer realms.
The spheres were bespelled to keep their death curse at bay, but she didn’t trust them enough to be anywhere near them. One touch could kill anything, and if it didn’t, it would hurtle them toward the outer darkness, which was essentially a death sentence as well.
Immortelle shivered at the thought and found her seat.
“Are you all right?” Death asked quietly, concern etched on his forehead.
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I was just thinking of something else.”
Death had followed her gaze and nodded in understanding. “Ah. Those spheres. You never liked them, did you?”
“They give me the creeps. This entire room does. Doesn’t help me come from a position of strength.”
“Bianco may not openly attack you here, his words can still twist and confuse—a powerful weapon. A twisting knife that may lead to consequences further down the line and leave you with regrets.”
Immortelle laughed a little to herself. “Is this your idea of a pep talk?”
“No, it’s the ‘be prepared for anything’ talk.” Death ran his hand over her hair. She stiffened under such a public display of affection. Before she could recover from the surprise and explain her reaction, he withdrew from her.
Wisps of smoke danced in the corners of the chambers. Shadows curled and twisted along the ceilings. The walls. The whispers of gossip and rumor trickled in even here.
Strife rubbed his hands together in glee. The heavy portent must be intoxicating to those that fed on conflict. “Something wicked this way comes.”
From the opposite wall, a troupe of sentinels and their handlers entered the chambers. In their midst was Lord Commodore Bianco, the head of the Della Serra House of the White Rose court of Vampires.
Prison didn’t diminish his pride and swagger. He had on a gray suit with his family crest swinging like a carnival charm from
around his neck. His silver mane was sleek and styled in a way that made him look like he was about to announce his bid as the next chancellor.
Where did the Cabal keep their prisoner? Judging by Lord Bianco, he was held in a luxury rejuvenation spa.
The sentinels and guards fanned around Bianco as he stood at the podium facing the High Table. Normally, that was the place from which any grievances were aired for the Council. As such, Bianco gave a cursory head dip toward Chancellor Thorne, who responded with his own stiff-necked nod.
This particular request though was for an audience with Immortelle. So when he then turned his body to face her and bowed at the waist, Immortelle was confused at this show of deference. Even more so when he chose not to meet her gaze.
She had fallen into his soulscape when she caught up with him. That meant that he had been privy to her own soulscape. What had he seen inside of her that made him hesitate to look at her?
“Gentlemen. My lady. I stand before you, not as the head of the Della Serra House, but as a man who had been played for a fool.” Bianco paused for dramatic effect, posing his body in just the right way. “Gossip and rumor will flow that was for sure, and over the coming days, more information will surface. You will know that there was a bigger game at play.” He narrowed his eyes and fixed them on Immortelle. “Isn’t there a mortal phrase? Follow the money?”
Immortelle was unimpressed by his pageantry. “What, you lost money, Bianco?”
“You and I both know that money is just currency, it holds its own energy. Coins are merely pressed metal after all.”
And yet they all knew that was the least of what they were. Metal pressed into something that carried faith and belief.
Bianco played with the cufflinks at his sleeve. “Maybe you would like to see who would benefit from the disruption of my house and why.”
If Immortelle was shocked by Bianco’s arrogance and disrespect, the men around her were downright pissed. The undercurrents of male fury on her behalf gave her the calm she needed to address Bianco. “Your last request on your last day of life is to give me a task? Who do you think you are and who do you think you’re speaking to?”