To Whom It May Concern:
Hans-Claud Heidn was in my employ as my personal servant for nine months. I found him honest, intelligent, and a quick learner. He has a winning personality, a pleasant demeanor, and would give credit to any household in which he is employed.
(signed) Marek, Graf Strigoi.
Shaking sand upon his signature and waving it to dry the ink, Marek folded the letter and sealed it with candle wax and his sigil. As he handed it to the boy, he asked, “What reason will you give a prospective employer for leaving my service?”
“I’ll think of something.” The boy took the letter and placed in the pocket of his coat. “Thank you, sir.” Turning, he walked to the door, then looked back. “I return the livery to you when I’m resettled. Goodbye.”
He went out, leaving Marek sitting there, stunned.
I can’t let him do this.
Running out the door, he started down the stairs, meeting Dan coming up. There was a moment’s confusion as he tried to go around his cousin. Looking past him, he saw Hans-Claud, valise in hand, at the front door.
“Marek, I need to talk to you about Ruxanda.”
“Later…” Marek went on down the stairs.
Still talking, his cousin followed.
“Now. I think the time’s come for you to tell her the truth.”
“Isn’t that my decision?” Damn it, Dan. Not now.
Hans-Claud went out the door, shutting it behind him.
“She’s starting to ask questions.” His cousin pulled him into the drawing room as he went on, “Like why she hasn’t gotten her wings yet, and why she has to take blood only once a year and not continually as the rest of us do.”
Though no blood was needed once the enthralling was completed, they kept up the pretense by letting Ruxanda have the liquid annually to keep her unaware of her humanity, telling her females didn’t require as much blood as males. Having no close female relatives to say differently, she’d accepted their lie.
“We’ve been fortunate she’s seen very few female aventurieri who might tell her things she shouldn’t know.”
“There’ll be plenty of time for explanations later.” Marek looked back at the drawing room door, envisioning Hand-Claud trudging away from the town house.
“I don’t think so. She’s growing up, Marek. We can’t keep her ignorant much longer. In another year the young males’ll be circling.”
“Ruxanda’s still a child.” He wouldn’t admit his little sister was nearly an adult. She can’t be.
Picking up the decanter of brandy sitting on the mantel, he poured a generous amount into one of the small glasses, more for something to do than because he wished to drink it.
“She’s a woman, Marek, by both our own codes and the humans’. Besides, she confided in me one of the Graf’s sons asked if he might call on her.”
“When was that?” Marek lifted the little goblet, swallowing loudly. He’d have something to say to any young man foolish enough to think his little sister was old enough to receive callers.
“While we were living with the Graf. It was on one of those nights you were pursuing your investigations.”
“Why didn’t someone tell me?” He forced himself to concentrate on what Dan was saying.
“When did we ever see you?”
“I’ll speak to Uncle Karl.” He set down the glass so roughly liquid splashed onto the mantel. “Tell him to keep his sons away.”
“That won’t last for long.”
“Are you certain of this?”
“I’ve been at home with Ruxanda more than you. Believe me, it’s happening. Ruxanda’s a pretty girl and those young men are very susceptible.” Dan caught Marek’s arm, shaking him slightly. “She has to be told the truth. We can’t risk one of them becoming serious.”
“You’re right.” Wasn’t Dan always right? Damn it. “Where is she?”
It wasn’t something he wanted to do, especially coming right after Hans-Claud’s demand, but it definitely had to be done before disaster in the form of a lustful young aventuriera overtook them.
“In the study. She mentioned she was going to do some reading.”
Leaving the drawing room, Marek aimed himself for the study, the problem of Hans-Claud momentarilly set aside.
Ruxanda was sitting in a chair near the fire, a little book open on her lap. She looked up as he came in, directing a smile at him. Since the moment he’d told her what he did at night, she’d made him promise to let her be part of any future meeting he and the others held to discuss their findings.
I’ve as much right as you in wanting to know Ravagiu’s whereabouts, she argued, and Marek wholeheartedly agreed.
“What are you reading?” As good a way as any to open the conversation.
“La Vida es Sueño.” She turned the book so he could see the title. “It’s by a Spanish playwright. Are you familiar with it?”
He shook his head. His favorite writers had always been English. He pulled the other chair closer and sat down. “Tell me about it.”
“It’s the story of a prince who’s been imprisoned all his life because his father was told he’d commit a crime. Then his father has a change of heart and drugs him and takes him out of prison and back to the palace. Everyone pretends he’s been there the whole time and tells him his imprisonment was a dream. Then something terrible happens and the father gives him a potion to make him sleep and puts him back in prison and when he awakens, he’s told the short time he was free was also a dream, and he doesn’t know what to believe.”
She sighed and closed the book.
“Wouldn’t that be tragic? Not to know what was your real life and what wasn’t?”
“Xandi…”
How the hell am I going to tell her? Especially after that little speech?
“Do you believe a story like that could really happen? That someone’s life could be a lie?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps.” She shrugged, and regarded the book a moment. “I think it’d be a very cruel father to lie to his son so, especially twice.”
“Sometimes things happen over which no one has control, and that makes other things happen and it keeps getting more complicated and worse and worse,” Marek replied. “Like when Papa and your mother were killed.”
“Surely you’re not comparing that to this play?”
“Not exactly. There’s a lie involved in that drama.”
“Two lies,” she corrected.
“Two lies,” he amended. “But I’m afraid we…”
“Marek, what the hell’s going on?” Dan stood in the doorway. “Sandor just told me Hansel’s gone. Did you dismiss him?”
“Hell, no.” Marek got to his feet, glaring at his cousin.
Will you quit interrupting me? he wanted to shout at him.
“Excuse me, Xandi.” He pulled Dan to the door. “The young idiot quit, because I wouldn’t enthrall him.”
“Why not? Damn it, good servants are hard to come by. When you find one, you keep him.”
“I couldn’t.” Marek moved further into the hallway. “I’ve never made a thrall.”
“That’s not so.” Dan followed him. “Lily and Ruxanda…”
“Lower your voice,” Marek interrupted, nodding at the open study door. “They were different. If Hans-Claud’s bound to me, he’ll be in the same danger as we are. As long as he’s free…”
“You know what’s going to happen, don’t you?” Dan demanded, voice rising in spite of his cousin’s caution. “He won’t be able to find another position, and he’ll end up back at the Inferno, and next time he won’t have you to save him from some bastard with a prick like a bull’s.”
He didn’t wait to hear what else Dan was going to say, just called for Sandor to get his coat and have the coach brought round.
* * *
Diana was bent over a sheet of stationary, studiously scratching away with a quill, the round loud and rhythmical in the silence of the room. Her blond hair hung over her shou
lder, brushing the gentle curve of her breast before falling to strike the cream-colored paper.
“Diana.”
“Pappa?” She raised her head, smiling. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Only a few moments. Doing your lessons?”
“Mamma told me to write an essay. I don’t want to.”
“If it’s so tedious, postpone it for a while and come talk to me.” He walked over to the chair by the fire and sat down, holding out his hand.
“But Mamma said…”
“Who’s the head of this household, Diana? Your mother or I?”
Happy to rid herself of the chore, she dropped the quill, and came around the desk to take his hand.
Ravagiu studied it, shaken by odd thoughts. Such a soft little hand, so small. She holds my hand as trustingly now as she did that first night.
“It’s time for my nightly goblet of wine. Would you pour it for me?”
“Of course, sir.” Obediently, she went to the wine cabinet, opening it and selecting the crytal decanter holding the wine Mircea favored. She had learned early the expected ritual of after-supper wine…the daughter preparing the drink and serving it with her own hands. She knew the exact level to pour the wine, how to place a napkin under the decanter’s mouth so not a drop was lost to drip down its sides, the way to carry the goblet on a small serving tray without spilling a drop.
“Here, Pappa.” Smiling, she lifted the wine from the tray, presenting it to him with a little curtsey.
“Thank you, child.” Mircea reached to take the goblet from her, and…
…it happened.
Her fingers brushed his and with that brief touch came a stab of fire so sharp it was as if someone had driven a blade through her hand into his fingertips. With a gasp, Diana jerked her hand away, and Mircea dropped the goblet.
It struck the floor, upended, spattering wine in a crimson puddle.
“Oh! Pappa, I’m so sorry.” Immediately, she was apologetic. “I…what was that? My hand…” She looked at her hand, as if checking for a mark of some kind.
It took all Mircea’s control not to examine his own fingers.
“Never mind, child,” he soothed quickly. “Call a servant to clean this.” He nodded at the floor, thinking it a mercy this room had no precious carpets that could’ve been harmed. “Then pour me another goblet.”
She hastened to obey, stood watching the maid mop up the wine with a handful of cleaning rags and take away the now-dented goblet to be disposed of if it couldn’t be repaired. Only after the servant left did she serve him the replacement wine.
Again, there was that spark, arcing from her fingers to his, stronger this time, created a loud snap! and a flash in the silence of the room. This time, however, Mircea was ready. His hand closed around the goblet. He didn’t drop it, though once more, Diana jerked her own hand away.
“That hurt! Pappa, what is going on?” She looked frightened, rubbing her fingers. “It stung my hand…”
“It’s nothing to worry about, child,” he soothed. “A phenomenon called domestic lightning.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” she stammered, shaking her hand. That second spark had been truly stinging.
“No reason you should,” he answered, smoothly. “It doesn’t happen often, but when it does…”
He waved the hand holding the goblet as if to declare the event negligible.
“Moisture in the air…a cold cup…warm fingers sliding over its surface, and… Snap!” He clicked his thumb and middle fingers together. “Nothing to worry about.”
“If you say so, sir.” As usual, Diana accepted anything Mircea said.
Because she trusts me. He wasn’t so easily calmed, however, for Micea now understood what was happening. Oh, Oracle, it can’t be…
His thoughts went into a hasty tangle. In anyone else, they might’ve been termed frantic.
Mircea hadn’t loved anyone since the woman he wished to marry was given to a rival he thought completely undeserving of her. He’d experienced that miraculous sign whenever he was with her, and never again, until now…
With that small, painful flash, Diana was revealed to be his soul-mate.
This has to be the work of the gods, but how can they be so cruel? Can Life get more ironic? His mind might have laughed if it hadn’t been screaming. The daughter of my dead enemy is the woman I will love forever? Oracle, how could you?
This not only would ruin his plans but sent his mind and body into turmoil. Somehow, he managed to keep Diana from seeing, however.
Then, he remembered…there was one other test that would prove this true, and not merely a fluke of nature manifesting itself. Did he dare tempt the Oracle with his continued refusal to believe?
Whatever else he was, Mircea was no coward. He would do it, he decided, and know for certain.
When he spoke, his voice was steady, no sign of his inner turmoil evident.
“You look pale.” Setting down the goblet, he touched her cheek, fingers brushing against its soft curve.
“Have you been missing your feedings?”
“No, sir. I fed from my nurse only a week ago.”
“I think…perhaps you need more.” He pretended to look at her critically. She truly was waxen-fleshed., more so than usual. “You’re still growing, Diana. Now that you have your wings, you need more blood than an adult.”
That was true. He remembered his own nurse telling him and Mihnea that very thing when they entered their aberatie.
Growing aventurieri children are bottomless wells always needing to be filled.
“If you think so,” she answered, a little doubtfully, and gestured to the bell-pull by the hearth. “I’ll call Helga.”
“There’s no need to wake Helga. I’ll supply you with the blood you need, as I’ve done before.”
Diana was aware how ill she’d been all her life and how Mircea’s strong Ravaguisti blood nourished her, but...
“The doctor isn’t here,” she reminded him, thinking of the needles and tubes used to draw out Mircea’s blood and place it in her own veins.
“There are other ways to take blood,” he reminded her. “You’ll do it as you do with Helga.”
“Mamma said I shouldn’t,” she reminded him. “She told me that’s not proper.”
“Forgot your mother’s vagaries.” Damn Elsabeta and her jealousy. “You know she’s too
protective of you. Didn’t the leech explain this to you? That male blood will make you stronger?”
That was also true. As an infant’s blood held immortality, an adult male’s carried strength.
“We carry power within us, Diana, and I wish to share that with you, to make you strong.” He struggled to remain calm, not to show how he wanted this over and done, proving once and for all that the gods’ wills weren’t volved, that the entire episode was a mere fluke of happenstance. “You need it now and it will take too long for the leech to arrive.”
Thrusting a hand into the folds of his cravat, Ravagiu pulled it from his throat. He placed his hand on the back of Diana’s neck, gently pulling her toward him.
“Come, child, take from me. I give you my blood gladly.”
He had a quick vision of slender fangs sliding downward as she leaned forward. Her breath was soft against his skin when she touched the vein in his neck. It didn’t hurt. In fact, he felt an immediate easing of tension as they sank into his flesh. Ravagiu drew in his breath, closing his eyes as Diana’s lips pressed against the wounds and she began to suck.
Immediately, a coil of pleasure rippled through him. Though his body struggled to shudder, partly from a wish to heave himself out of the chair and away from her and partly with unwanted desire, he forced himself not to move. His free hand clutched the arm of the chair, nails lengthening to talons and shredding the delicate fabric as his enjoyment increased. His hand encircled the wooden rosette carved there, snapping it off. It fell to the floor and bounced away.
Diana raised her head and
he straightened in the chair with a sigh. To an onlooker, it might seem he was glad to be done with some necessary but bothersome chore.
“Thank you, Pappa. I feel much better now.”
She certainly looked it, her cheeks held a faint rosy tinge, her eyes were brighter. The sight didn’t please Mircea as it should have, for now his suspicions were confirmed…the Oracle had spoken and he—Mircea Ravagui who considered himself ruled by no one, not even his Prince—had to obey…
Mircea didn’t disbelieve in the gods. Far from it. Rather, he simply chose to ignore them and their laws. But now…
In this case, one didn’t flout the Oracle’s decision. There were times when even a lawless Ravagiu bowed to the gods…as he now did.
Elsabeta’s fate was sealed.
Dieties of Carpathius, thy wills be done…though he still had no idea why they would play this jest upon him.
I must rid myself of ELsabeta soon and put my plan into action, tell Diana she isn’t my daughter so I may court her.
Soon, he’d tell her of his enemies. How they were the reason they moved about so much. His version of the truth…that the Strigoisti murdered his family and hers also, and he risked his life to shield her and keep her safe. In her innocent mind, he’d be unjustly exiled, his brother murdered because of a family feud. She’d learn to hate her own family.
There was a sound from the doorway
“Mircea?”
“What do you want, Elsabeta?”
Stupid cow. Why does she have to show up now?
With this new revelation, he was in no mood to spar tonight. He needed peace and quiet, to think of how this turn of events would affect his plans for the Strigoisti.
Her face twisted into a scowl as she saw his untied neck-cloth. She stalked into the study.
“Is something wrong, Mamma?” Diana looked from Elsabeta to Mircea.
“No, darling.” Elsabeta’s expression changed, softening. “I need to speak to your father. Take your lessons and go upstairs.”
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