Shadowflame

by Dianne Sylvan

  “Goddamn it!” Miranda snarled. She tried to escape first to one side, then the other, but David was too fast for her and kept her pinned.

  He was calm as always—Faith was sure it infuriated Miranda, because it infuriated most people. “Eventually you’re going to have to learn to listen to me,” David told her. “Sometimes life is unfair, beloved. If there were a war between our territories, Hart would hire hunters, send assassins by the dozen, and rally other Signets against us. If you want to do something for those girls, you’re going to have to think of a better idea than charging in there to liberate them like some avenging man-smiting angel.”

  They glared at each other for a long moment, and Faith wasn’t sure whether they were going to start fighting again or jump each other and have sex on the training room floor. She was pretty sure both had happened at least once.

  “So you don’t care at all what happens to them,” Miranda accused. “You’ll be fine with him taking them back to New York and using them as toys until they die.”

  Finally an edge of anger crept into David’s voice. “I never said I was fine with it. But I have considered the consequences, which apparently you have chosen to ignore. In this case the price of their lives doesn’t weigh more than all of those that would be lost in a war. They don’t outweigh the thought of Hart having you killed, or worse, in revenge. This is how it is, Miranda. The decisions we make aren’t pretty, but we have to consider the Shadow World as a whole, not just individual lives.”

  Miranda slapped his sword away, and he stepped back to allow her to stand. She ignored his proffered hand up. “Individual lives are what make up our world,” she said. “If we’re not willing to step in and help when someone is suffering, then why are we even here? To maintain some bullshit social order that in the end means nothing without justice and compassion? I tell myself you’re not as heartless as you act, but sometimes I wonder if I’m wrong.”

  If anyone else had tried to bait the Prime, Faith would have run for cover. David, however, simply took a deep breath, retrieved both swords, and handed Miranda hers. He took his own and wiped the blade down, then sheathed it.

  He addressed Faith. “I’ll be in my workroom for the remainder of the evening.”

  Without looking at or speaking to Miranda, he walked away.

  Miranda’s anger seemed to deflate once he was gone, and she shook her head and went over to a bench to examine her sword.

  Faith sat down next to her. Miranda still had no idea that Sophie’s motives were in question. As far as she knew, the warrior had been her teacher and friend and had died helping her. Miranda treated Sophie’s sword with reverence, even though it wasn’t the ideal weapon for her—she needed something balanced a little differently, and a little shorter. They’d tried her out on other blades, including some from Sophie’s collection, but so far nothing had been perfect enough to persuade Miranda to give up the one she had.

  Miranda obviously didn’t want to talk, and that was fine, although Faith knew in a few minutes she’d probably change her mind and get angry all over again.

  Before Faith could offer any sort of conciliatory advice, however, her com chimed.

  “Star-three here,” Faith said.

  “This is Elite Sixty-two, door guard at the guest suites. I have a situation here that needs your urgent attention.”

  Miranda sat forward, listening keenly, though the guard probably had no idea she was there.

  “Go ahead, Elite Sixty-two,” Faith said.

  “I have a woman here from Prime Hart’s . . . entourage . . . asking to see the Queen.”

  Faith and Miranda exchanged a look of shock, and Faith raised an eyebrow at her; Miranda nodded once.

  “Request forwarded,” Faith replied. “Stand by for further orders.”

  Miranda lifted her wrist and said, “Elite Sixty-two.”

  “This is Elite Sixty-two, my Lady.”

  “Bring the woman to the first-floor audience room. Keep her under heavy guard. I’ll be waiting.”

  “As you will it, my Lady.”

  Miranda hit the door running with Faith one step behind her.

  The audience chamber was one of the most pretentious things in the Haven, but under certain circumstances it was extremely useful. It was about the size of the other meeting rooms and studies where the Pair conducted receptions and business with the visiting Primes, but it was not set up to create comfort and camaraderie; it was a royal chamber whose entire design was meant to intimidate visitors and remind them who was in control.

  Primes were occasionally called upon to settle disputes among the more powerful vampires of their territory, known as the Court—those who weren’t warriors, but who were allies of the Signet, were considered noblemen and assisted the Signet in various ways. In return they were protected from gangs, hunters, and human interference in their affairs; smarter Primes like David kept up good relations with human institutions as well, particularly state and local governments, so if someone from the Court had, say, an issue with zoning laws or trade regulations, the Prime could use his influence—and occasionally his cash—to smooth things over. David had lent Elite to some of the higher-ranking vampires to help train their own personal security forces or run investigations into various forms of unrest, especially in other cities in the South where he couldn’t be a constant presence as he was in Austin.

  Some of the Court were entrepreneurs, and some came from old money. David’s Court was made up of a combination of the two, weighted toward the former, as most of his friends were involved somehow in security, technology, or finance.

  Vampires learned quickly that they could easily outlast their own money, and living in poverty wasn’t exactly a fun way to pass the centuries, so those who were remotely intelligent found ways to save and invest. That was part of how David had become so wealthy even before taking the Signet. He knew a good thing when he saw one and had invested in little-known start-up companies like Apple and Intel. He still had a large sum in the market, but most of it was socked away in accounts all over the world, and he could live on the interest alone for another five centuries. Miranda was entitled to half of the Signet account, but she had her own separate account for her musical earnings as well, and with David’s shrewd advice it had already grown by leaps and bounds.

  Miranda and Faith made it to the audience room in less than a minute, and the Queen took her chair, to the right of the Prime’s at the far end of the room facing the doors. Aside from those two chairs the only other furniture was long benches lining the sides of the room, so that whoever came before the Pair had to stand. Their seats were elevated, as they would be in any throne room.

  She really hated the place, but it seemed appropriate for the situation; there was no way to know what this woman wanted, whose side she might be on, or what her true intentions might be. David had said Hart had brought his “girls” here to taunt the Pair, and if he knew they would oppose his perversions, he might have sent her as bait. David might not think much of Miranda’s diplomatic abilities, but she wasn’t a complete idiot.

  They waited a few minutes, long enough that Miranda started to wonder if the whole thing was Hart’s idea of a joke, but then there was a chime, and Faith had a brief conversation on her com.

  “They’re here,” Faith said. “It took a minute because they had to find someone who speaks Italian—the girl’s English is rudimentary at best.”

  “Bring them in,” Miranda replied.

  Faith nodded and strode over to the double doors. Miranda took a minute to compose herself—too bad she hadn’t had a chance to shower beforehand, so she wouldn’t be such a sweaty mess—and sat up straight and tall in her chair, one ankle crossed over the other, her hands folded. Her Signet was plain to see, as was her sword, and she quickly reached up and yanked the elastic from her hair so it fell loose down her back. A ponytail wasn’t nearly as impressive.

  Faith held the door open as Elite 62 and three other guards escorted a pitifully thin f
igure into the room. She was leaning on Elite 62, who treated her with surprising tenderness, helping her walk the long expanse to the dais, steadying her when she stumbled. The other three guards followed at a respectful distance, as if the woman were an honored guest and not a potential enemy.

  Miranda saw Faith’s mouth set in a grim line at the sight of the woman, and as she got closer, it was clear why. The girl couldn’t be more than seventeen physically, perhaps even younger; she was so skeletally thin that it was hard to tell. Her skin, once olive and probably beautiful, was ashen, her eyes sunken in with dark circles beneath them. Her dark hair was waist-length, but lank, dull. She was dressed in a gauzy thing that barely covered her wreck of a body. Miranda saw the shadows of bruises on her breasts and legs, and she had a fading black eye that, on a vampire, should have healed in thirty seconds.

  Miranda gripped the arms of her chair until her fingers went numb.

  One of the Elite, 29 if Miranda remembered correctly, stepped forward and offered herself as translator; Miranda nodded to her. Elite 29 went to the woman and touched her shoulder lightly, gesturing for her to speak.

  The girl’s voice was tremulous but held the faintest hint that it might once have been very different. “My name is Cora,” she said through Elite 29. “The Master brought me here to your Haven.”

  “Welcome, Cora,” Miranda said. “I am Miranda Grey-Solomon, Ninth Queen of the Southern United States. How can I be of service to you?”

  Cora looked like she was sure Miranda, or possibly one of the Elite, was going to strike her down at any second for what she intended to say. “I . . . I need your help, Lady Queen. I want to leave my Master’s house, where he keeps me as a slave to his lusts. If I do not get away from him, I will die like all the others do. I want . . .”

  She looked around helplessly, waving her pencil-thin arm weakly as if to take in the Elite, the Queen, and everything around her. “I want to be free of him.”

  Miranda took a deep breath. “Come here, child.”

  The Elite helped Cora approach the dais, close enough that Miranda could lean forward and look directly into her eyes. “Are you here of your own free will?”

  Cora was taken aback by the question. Apparently the thought had never occurred to her, but slowly, she nodded. “Yes.”

  “Be still a moment, please.”

  Miranda extended her empathic power toward Cora, who seemed not to feel the intrusion at all; she wasn’t shielded, but as weak as she was she probably had no need for psychic protection. If she had any gifts, they were buried under years of hunger, fear, and shame . . . but something was there, some barely shining potential struggling to be released. Miranda held the girl’s mind and heart in her palm, looking her over, trying not to be harsh in her touch. She knew how it felt to have one violation piled on top of a mountain of others. There was no need for that.

  Miranda clamped down on the immediate reaction of her body, which was to charge into the guest suites and rip Hart’s dick off and feed it to him. Right now she had to think of Cora . . . who had risked her life and everything she knew to crawl toward something better. That simple courage sparked something fierce and protective in Miranda.

  She would not allow Hart to hurt Cora again. If David didn’t understand, he would just have to, as Kat would say, put on his big-girl panties and deal with it.

  “Very well, Cora.” Miranda stood and walked down from the dais to stand eye to eye with her. The girl shrank back, but Miranda caught and held her gaze. “If it is your will to leave Prime Hart’s . . . employ, then as Queen of this territory, I offer you asylum here at our Haven until such time as you are safe and strong again, after which you may choose your own fate. As a refugee you bear the same concomitant rights and responsibilities under the law as any other vampire under the mantle of our authority. Do you accept?”

  Cora was shaking hard, tears running down her face, and her relief was like rain coming to the desert. “Yes. I do.”

  Miranda nodded. “Then welcome to our Haven, Cora. Let’s see what we can do for you.”

  The Queen looked over at Faith. “I want her in one of the suites nearest our wing, with twenty-four-hour guard as long as she’s here. She’s not to go anywhere without a bodyguard and is to be restricted to the gardens and common areas for now. Have the Elite medic look her over, then see to it that she has as much blood as she needs, and for God’s sake, find her some clothes.”

  Faith bowed. There was satisfaction in her face. “As you will it, my Lady.”

  Cora was still crying, swaying back and forth, but she looked up and met Miranda’s eyes. “La ringrazio,” she whispered. “Grazie mille.”

  Miranda smiled. “Prego.”

  Just then, the doors opened and David walked in, his expression grave; when Cora saw his Signet and realized who he was, she all but melted into Miranda’s side, trying to hide from him.

  The other Elite parted to let him pass and he came up to them, silent for a moment as he stared hard at Miranda.

  She stared right back. “Go ahead,” she said. “Look Cora in the face and tell her she has to go back to him.”

  David shook his head in exasperation, but when he turned to Cora, his expression softened, and he spoke in a low voice, in perfect Italian that, Miranda had to admit, made her insides shiver a little.

  “Welcome to our Haven, young miss,” he said—the Elite translator leaned closer to Miranda and told her so. “I am Prime David Solomon, and I would like to assure you that you are safe here for as long as you need sanctuary. Please allow the guards to escort you to your room.”

  She stammered a question, and he smiled. “No, you will not have to share it with anyone. You’ll have a bed of your own and your own bath as well. Once you’ve fed properly, you’ll feel much better.”

  He gestured to the guards, and Elite 62 bowed politely to Cora, then took her arm and slowly led her away.

  Then he faced Miranda. “She asked for asylum?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Completely of her own volition. I don’t know what motivated her to do it, but I looked into her as deeply as I could, and she’s clean. Innocent. And broken.”

  David’s eyes followed the girl and the guards out the door. “Well, she’s safe now.”

  “What about Hart declaring war?”

  The Prime crossed his arms, giving her an unreadable look. “I told you. Going in and taking the harem would be a declaration. She came to you. That’s different. Cora is a refugee. Under the law we can take her in and Hart has no recourse against her or us. Any action he takes against us therefore becomes an act of war and he’ll have the full Council to deal with.”

  “What about the other girls?”

  “Unless they ask for asylum as well, things are exactly as I said before. But depending on how he reacts when he finds out about Cora, he might tip his hand and give us the opportunity to take the rest—we’ll just have to see how—”

  “Where is she?”

  David’s com chimed a second after the voice roared in the hallway, and one of the Elite said, “Sire . . . incoming.”

  Prime James Hart flung open the double doors of the audience room, scattering the Elite who were still in attendance as he shoved his way past them toward the dais. “I demand an explanation for this!” he thundered. His eyes were pure silver, practically glowing, and his teeth pressed downward, though not quite enough to impair his speech as he yelled, “You will return the girl this instant!”

  Miranda wasn’t afraid of Hart, but the sheer strength of his rage almost made her take a step back. She stood her ground at David’s side, and the Prime crossed his arms and regarded Hart coolly.

  One of these days she was going to figure out how to do that.

  “Be very careful, Lord Prime,” David told Hart. “You are not in your home territory and there are now four crossbows pointed at your back.”

  Miranda kept her eyes on Hart, but she heard the creak of wood from the corners of the room, where four Elit
e had appeared and were now awaiting the order to shoot.

  “This is an outrage,” Hart ground out, towering over David, who merely looked up at him with a completely neutral expression. Hart was a tall man, imposing, used to intimidating people, but he couldn’t intimidate David. It simply wasn’t possible. “Give her back.”

  “No.”

  “This is an act of—”

  “Say it, Hart,” David hissed, eyes narrowing, their blue going silver at the edges. “Say the word and I’ll have you shot before you take another breath. Start a war between us right now and it will be finished right now.”

  Hart snarled, “You had no right to steal what rightfully belongs to me.”

  “I stole nothing. Cora came to my Queen and asked for asylum. She has exposed your cruelty and your participation in illegal slavery—and we’ll see what the Council has to say now that we have evidence to back up the rumors.”

  Hart turned on Miranda. “You did this, then. I should have known. You stupid little whore—no woman takes what’s mine. I’ll teach you—”

  Hart raised his arm to backhand her, and Miranda felt David start toward them, but finally, Miranda’s rage and hatred toward this sick excuse for a man had an outlet, and she let it fly, drawing up her power and pushing—

  Hart flew backward, thrown hard across the room, and the sound of a body hitting the far wall and the crunch of breaking bones caused the Elite to freeze where they stood, staring with huge eyes at their Queen . . .

  . . . their Queen, whose palm was outstretched toward where Hart had been standing.

  She was breathing hard, but her body sang with pleasure and satisfaction, and she knew she was smiling.

  David crossed the room to stand over Hart, and she heard him say very quietly, “You have exactly one hour to leave my Haven. If you stay one moment longer, you will die. You are to leave the other three women here. Now, go.”

  He turned his back on Hart and returned to where Miranda stood; the armed Elite converged upon Hart and waited while he got to his feet, one arm sticking out at an unnatural angle, and limped away with the four crossbows still trained on him.