by Nathan Spain
“No,” he admitted. “I had a drink before setting out, but I wouldn’t be opposed to a taste of a Wineblood brew.”
“Come then, we’ll break open one of my best bottles.” As Draven began to turn toward the entrance to the dining hall, she added, “No, not in there with the Blackwing rabble. Too many listening ears. We’ll drink in private, in my quarters. I have some matters I wish to discuss with you.”
----
Selene had laid claim to one of the largest available rooms in the lodge. As with the rest of the building, candles were arranged around the room to compensate for the lack of electricity; the little flames filled the space with a dim but warm glow, casting tall shadows in every direction.
Opposite the large bed stood a small table, and it was there that Selene ushered Draven and sat him down. She produced a pair of wine glasses and a bottle of rich, dark red blood from a drawer.
Draven felt a surge of thirst. This would be a rare treat, one he hadn’t had in quite some time. There was blood, and then there was a Wineblood vintage.
Clan Wineblood, in keeping with their name, had a tradition of excellence in the practice of making beverages from blood. Some had taken to referring to it as ‘blood brewing.’ It was more than just blood, of course; secret recipes and ingredients were used to alter and enhance the flavor, and the brews were numerous and varied, with something for every person’s tastes. They’d learned to make the most of their sources; just a few captive humans, regularly drained, could produce enough blood reserves to keep the entire clan fed. The humans were well cared-for, though they weren’t allowed to leave; the Winebloods believed in minimizing human suffering, at least as much as they were able to. While other clans still hunted for prey, they preferred to keep things in-house. Besides, there was less risk of being discovered that way.
They must have taken a big chunk out of their reserves, Draven thought, to produce enough brews to feed the delegations of all four clans. But Selene had never been one to cut corners on shows of lavish hospitality, and perhaps she hoped her fellow rulers would find the premise of her summit easier to swallow with some bottles of Clan Wineblood’s best vintages to wash it down.
With Selene, a bottle of blood was never just a bottle, which was how Draven knew that the drink the two of them were sharing now was more than just a generous whim. It was a peace offering, reconciliation in liquid form.
Selene raised her glass, and Draven did likewise. “To what shall we toast?” she asked.
He considered for a moment. “To the future.”
This was more for Selene’s benefit than his. She was the forward-thinker, while he was still adjusting to the idea of a future that extended beyond the repetitious loop of survival.
“A fine proposal,” she said. They clinked their glasses together, the liquid splashing back and forth, and then together they drank.
The blood was offset with prominent traces of cinnamon and vanilla. It was the most delicious thing Draven had tasted in years. He quickly drained the glass dry, and Selene refilled it for him with a playful smile. “It seems you have an appetite.”
“It’s been a long night.”
“That it has. I’ve spent the whole night being pulled in all directions. This is the first chance I’ve gotten to just take a moment to unwind.”
“I’m honored that you allowed me to join you.”
“Please,” she scoffed. “Yours is the first truly friendly face I’ve seen here, outside of those I brought with me. I’m very pleased that you came, Draven.”
He sipped at his glass, taking it slowly to mask his thoughts. The first truly friendly face. It was presumptuous of her to assume that after enduring thirty years of exile by her decree, he would still consider her a friend. And he had never known Selene to presume anything.
She was watching him with keen interest, marking his reaction. “Meaning no offense, my Lady,” he said slowly, “but I’m beginning to wonder if I was right to come. Apart from yourself and Damian, even the familiar faces I’ve encountered today have been a little less than friendly.”
Selene snorted. “You’re referring to Ariadne, I presume? I’ll admit, you’d have saved yourself a lot of trouble if you hadn’t gotten mixed up with her. Or I suppose I should say, gotten her mixed up with you.”
Draven sighed. “I know, believe me. It was…irresponsible of me. I came to realize that, after the fact.”
“Good,” Selene said. “I assume that means you’re ready to start taking responsibility for her now. You’re her sire, and the two of you have missed time to make up for.”
“She doesn’t need me,” he said. The words tightened his throat on their way out of his mouth.
“Of course,” Selene agreed. “She’s demonstrated that over the last few decades. Quite capable of existing without you. But while she may not need you, she needs something from you.”
“What does it matter to you?” Draven asked, trying not to sound too impudent as he said it. “Surely you have bigger concerns.”
“I do. But big concerns are built out of smaller ones.” She leaned back in her seat, fixing him with an intent stare. “We’re about to enter a period of delicate negotiation. I invited you here because I think you can be an asset to that cause, but we must be focused and unified. We will have enough minefields to navigate with the Blackwings and the Nightcloaks without having to tread lightly around each other as well. So whatever mixed feelings you and Ariadne may have about being around each other again, I need you to sort them out.”
Draven stared into the flame of a candle on the table for a moment, contemplating his reply. Ultimately, he just said, “I’m not sure I know how.”
“Think, Draven. What is it she needs from you?” When Draven met her question with a blank look, Selene continued, “Something definitive. She needs you to close the book on any lingering doubts she still has from a time when she did need you, and you weren’t there.”
“And whose fault is that?” The words were past his lips before he could think better of it.
Her eyes flashed, and her features became stern. For a moment, Draven feared he was about to regret his rash insolence. But then her expression softened, and when she spoke, it was in a gentle tone. “You must understand that I gave you the lightest sentence I could, under the circumstances, without giving the appearance of providing you with preferential treatment.”
“I understand,” he said with deference. “It was a just punishment for my carelessness.”
“There were some in my court who argued that a truly just punishment would have been a much harsher one. But I put my foot down and used my authority to protect you. And, I might add, Ariadne and her father. I made sure they did not pay the price for your mistakes.”
“Thank you,” Draven said. “For that, and for providing them with a home when they were still newborns in need of guidance. I never did express my gratitude.”
“And now you have. Clan Wineblood will never fail its newborns while I rule, no matter what the circumstances of their turning. Besides, you had earned that much at least, after all your prior years of faithful service in my court.”
“How is the court, by the way?” he asked. “How’s your sister?”
“She’s well. I left her and Gregario in charge while I’m away.”
“She doesn’t regret not being able to attend the summit?”
“Oh, you know Callidora. All this social mingling is more my forte. She’s more comfortable taking care of things at the Manor. And it’s good to know that someone I trust is minding matters in my absence.”
“Give her my regards, won’t you?”
Selene raised an eyebrow. “Give them to her yourself. You understand that I’m ending your exile, don’t you? There’s nothing stopping you from returning to the Manor once we’re done here.”
Draven considered this. His exile had been a fact of life for so long that he hadn’t really stopped to think about what would come after the summit. “I’m not sure ev
eryone would be as happy to see me as you,” he said finally.
“If Gregario doesn’t like it, I will remind him who sits in our clan’s throne, and who merely sits beside it. The same goes for anyone else. You still have a place with this clan, Draven. It’s where you belong.”
“I’ll think it over,” Draven said. “I have to admit, I miss the old days from time to time.”
This was an understatement. He found himself missing his old life more and more with every opportunity that arose to gain part of it back. It wasn’t lack of desire that led him to measure his words. After decades of exile and death and Devastation, he was simply reluctant to commit to any promises or plans. So much could change in the blink of an eye.
Draven stared into the distance with unfocused eyes, gently moving the wineglass in his hand in idle circles, thinking about the past. For a moment they sat together in comfortable silence, enjoying the quiet and sipping their drinks. Behind the heavy curtains that were drawn against the dawn, the shadows began to retreat, giving way to the first fingers of the sun’s light.
“Do you ever wish,” he said finally, staring into his glass, “that we could actually get drunk off this stuff?”
Selene laughed. “That would certainly make dealing with the likes of Brone and Thanatos easier. By the end of this summit my face will be sore from forcing it into polite smiles.”
“I’m surprised you convinced them to come at all. They’re not known for their cooperative natures.”
“No,” Selene admitted. “And there’s little love lost between our clans. Older vampires like you and I still remember the disputes over territory. The humans had their conflicts that shaped this country, and we had ours. With Thanatos in particular.”
Draven nodded. “I remember. Even when you argued that the territorial divisions at the time were unfair to us, the Nightcloaks and Blackwings were loath to give you a single inch.”
“They wanted to keep our clan in a weaker, subordinate position. Perhaps they even hoped to eventually force us out altogether and take over the western states for themselves.” She frowned in annoyance at the memory.
Draven, however, smiled. “I wish I could have seen their faces when you threatened open war against them. It was a nice move, calling their bluff like that.”
“If I had relented, it would have sent the message that they could treat us however they liked. They had the superior numbers, of course, but we had sufficient force to make conquest a difficult endeavor.”
Her words stirred up old memories inside Draven. That tense period of uncertainty. The faith he’d had in Selene’s judgement, even back then when her leadership had never been tested in such a way before. He had defended her choices at a time when others doubted them, and she’d never forgotten it.
“I would have fought by your side,” he told her now, “had it come to that.”
He caught a glimpse of some undefined emotion in her eyes, but it passed before he could put a word to it. “I appreciate that,” she said. “But let’s be thankful that it didn’t. I always prefer a compromise over a conflict.”
“It was quite the compromise.” They had paid for their expanded territory with a fifty percent tax on all blood brewed by the Winebloods for a hundred years. Not an easy deal to swallow. It had taken Selene some convincing to get the rest of the clan on board with the solution.
“But worth it in the long run,” Selene said. “Peace tastes more palatable when it comes with a good drink.” She smiled over the top of her wineglass. “Mark my words, Draven, half of the secret to life is having something that other people want. The other half is making sure they can only get it if you want them to have it.”
“Having something that others covet can put you in a dangerous position, though,” he observed. “Because now that the arrangement has expired and you no longer pay them a tax, your fellow rulers are likely wishing they had been more forward-thinking when naming their price.”
“I suspect you’re right. Lord Brone, I think, doesn’t care that much about it either way. He doesn’t have a mind for bargaining, and it was the former Lord Blackwing with whom I made that deal. But Thanatos, on the other hand…he’s been there from the beginning, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s now wishing he could take back the territory he once gave up.”
Draven frowned. A concerning thought had just occurred to him. “Do you think he’ll attempt to use the summit as leverage? Barter back his lost territory in exchange for his cooperation with whatever policies we agree to enact?”
“Well, if so, then he’s getting ahead of himself. First we’ll have to reach a consensus about those policies. That won’t be easy, as I imagine each clan will have its own ideas about what the best approach is.”
“And what,” he asked, genuinely curious, “is your own vision for the future, my Lady?”
Selene gave him a coy smile. “Let’s save that talk for later. There will be plenty of time to discuss it over the course of the summit. We’ll hold the opening arguments on the matter once Lady Rosanna and the Stormfangs arrive.” She abruptly stood. “In the meantime, Draven, the night is nearly over, and I expect you’re tired from your journey. You’ll find your accommodations down the hall. Although you failed to RSVP, a room was reserved for you just in case. Number forty-two. I believe it’s the one next to Ariadne.”
Draven snorted softly. “Of course it is.” He rose and bowed. “Thank you for the drink and the conversation, my Lady.”
“You’re most welcome.”
He turned to leave, and was almost to the door when Selene called after him, “And Draven?”
He turned back to face her. “Yes, my Lady?”
“You may have been gone for thirty years, but you still have my permission to address me by my name, you know.”
He gave her a nod, and a slight smile. “As you wish.”
“That will be all, then. Good day, Draven. Sleep well.”
“Good day, Selene,” he said, and departed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Draven couldn’t sleep. Although physically he felt exhausted, his mind fluttered with thoughts, about the excitement of the night and about what the next one might hold. Above all, he thought about Ariadne.
He was keenly aware that she slept in the next room, closer to him than she had been in decades, and yet separated by an impassable gulf. What was worse, he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to close that distance. Was it still possible to rekindle the spark that had once existed between them? Was that even what she wanted? He suspected that her feelings on the matter weren’t much clearer than his own.
Bearing in mind her promise that the conversation wasn’t over, he tried to envision how their next encounter might play out. But no matter how many different approaches and exchanges he imagined, he couldn’t think of one that spun out into a satisfactory conclusion.
With a groan, Draven turned over in his bed, willing sleep to come and still his mind. Though the bed was comfortable, he was uncomfortable in it. He hadn’t stayed in lodgings with comfortable beds in quite a while; his old church north of Sanctuary certainly hadn’t had one. He’d gotten accustomed to sleeping on any available flat surface, and now, ironically, a surface designed to accommodate sleep felt foreign to him.
He drew a long breath and exhaled, staring up at the ceiling. The morning light of the sun shone behind the thick purple curtains. The lake probably looked beautiful in that light, its surface an even richer and more brilliant blue than the sky. Draven almost wished he could go outside and see it.
Cracking the joints in his neck and shoulders, he rose from his bed and quietly dressed himself in the fresh set of clothing that had been provided, compliments of Selene: the velvet vest and black pants that was customary garb for the clan.
He headed for the door. He may not be able to leave the lodge, but at least he could explore the building a bit while everyone slept. He’d been so quickly shepherded from place to place and conversation to conversation upon his arr
ival that he hadn’t had the opportunity to orient himself to his surroundings. And in any event, he’d rather pace the halls than continue to toss and turn in bed.
Draven padded down the darkened hall, alert for any sound of other daytime wanderers. There was something about leaving one’s bed to prowl a large building while everyone else slept that tapped into a child-like part of his imagination, the shadows and the silence making everything seem more mysterious. Draven hadn’t realized he still had the capacity to feel such things. For a disorienting moment, he perceived just how old and jaded he normally felt.
He needed to clear his head.
He crept down the stairs and into the main entrance hall. The candles on the tables had been extinguished, and only faintly-glowing embers remained in the large stone fireplace, but warm sunlight shone through the curtains.
In one direction, he knew, lay the dining hall and kitchen. He set off in the other direction, past tall wooden pillars and arrangements of chairs, couches and tables, his shoes padding across the rugs and hardwood floors.
Draven froze, suddenly alert. He thought he had heard something, some faint sound…
Yes, there it was again – muffled voices.
He rounded a corner, following the noise, until he reached a door on the back wall of the lodge. With the sun in the sky, the outside of the building was the last place he would have expected to find someone.
The wall by the door contained several windows, so he crept cautiously up to one and pulled back the curtain just a crack. Peering out, he saw that although the world outside was indeed drenched in bright and deadly sunlight, the building cast a pool of shade along a narrow stone patio overlooking the lake. In the safety of that shade, two figures stood, one tall and cloaked, another short and squat. He recognized them at once: Thanatos and Brone.
They were talking in hushed voices, but Draven, inching back to the door and putting his ear against it, could just make out the words.
“I didn’t fly all the way here just to exchange forced pleasantries with Selene,” Brone grumbled. “I don’t care how good the blood is. I can’t stand that woman and her high-and-mighty airs.”