by Колин Глисон
"She's safe. Outside."
A warning shout drew their attention as two vampires, fighting tooth and nail, rolled toward them. "Go," Sebastian said; but Max was already moving toward the wings, toward escape. He turned back.
"I bear you no gratitude for this, Vioget."
"Which is precisely why I did it. I told Victoria it mattered not to me whether you live or die."
Max stopped, looking at him from around the edge of a scorched curtain. "Then why not let me out of my misery? Why play the hero? It so goes against your grain."
"I didn't do it for you. I did it for her." And Sebastian turned back to the battle behind him.
When the door to the theater opened and Max came out, squinting in the bright light, Victoria could only stare.
He stopped when he saw her. "You're still here."
Victoria took one step toward him. They stood there in the long shadows cast by the trees and sun just rising above the horizon.
She didn't know what to say. He'd killed her aunt, yet they'd fought side by side. He'd destroyed Akvan's Obelisk, and helped her to escape. She'd walked away, leaving him to die.
"How—"
"It's not important." He stood with his hands on his hips, battered and clearly exhausted. "I told you your vengeance would be moot—I never expected to walk away from the stage once I'd swung that sword."
"But you did. I saved you."
"And so I have yet another reason to be grateful to you, is that it? You could not be more wrong."
"Surely there was another way."
He lifted his eyes. "In order to be there to destroy the obelisk at the precise moment it could be destroyed, I had to prove I was trustworthy, down to doing the most abhorrent thing imaginable. There was no other way, Victoria."
Silence stretched, long and ugly. The gentle lift of a breeze brushed her cheek, and Victoria saw that the shadows had already begun to shorten.
"You said Lilith would release you from her thrall if you joined the Tutela."
His laugh was short, his words bitter. "You don't think I believed that, did you? She said it, certainly, but I didn't really believe her. I suppose there is a hope…" He laughed again. "No, of course not. And it was moot, as I didn't expect to live whether I succeeded in destroying the obelisk or not."
They stared at each other, and Max came toward her, reaching out to grip her shoulders. Her messy braid caught under his fingers, pulling tight as she looked up at him. "You will never forgive me for what I did to your aunt, and I will never forgive you for forcing me to live. Do you think I can ever forget what I did?"
She pulled away, and he stepped back as though he'd been burned. Then he reached under his shredded shirt for a moment. When his hands came back out, he offered her something. His vis bulla.
"No, Max."
"Yes. It's done. I'm done."
"You can't."
He was angry now. "Do you think I can ever face the Consilium again after this? I cannot even think of living with myself. I killed my mentor, my teacher, my friend. Your aunt." His eyes glistened and he looked away.
"Max."
"You'll have Wayren, Kritanu, and the others. Perhaps even Sebastian, if he makes it out of there alive. You don't need someone whose loyalty will be forever questioned. For God's sake, think of the Consilium and its future, not your emotions. Good-bye, Victoria. Andare con Dio."
For the second time she let him go. Watched him walk away, into the dawn, tall, dark, and alone.
Chapter 28
A Bittersweet Gift
The next morning, a day after she'd emerged from the opera theater and watched Max walk away, a small package arrived for Victoria. Inside was a folded piece of silk and a note.
I found this after the battle was over and thought you would want to have it. Perhaps it will replace the one taken from you, for though I searched, I couldn't find it. Have a care, for I do not know when we will meet again. S.
Inside the silk was her aunt's vis bulla.
Epilogue
In Which Wayren Mollifies Illa Gardella
"From the moment she stepped foot in Rome, your aunt knew she would not leave it again."
Victoria and Wayren were sitting in the tiny parlor at her villa. Victoria had moved beyond her initial shock in the day since she'd emerged from the opera theater.
So many things had happened, and she'd managed to control the grief and anger and the overwhelming sense of being lost. Adrift and aimless.
She'd accepted the challenge of the vast, ominous responsibility ahead and was ready for it. Yes, she grieved. It seemed like only yesterday that she'd had that same hollow feeling as with the death of Phillip… but she'd managed it, just as she would manage this.
She had to. She was a Venator.
She was Ilia Gardella.
"It was a prophecy from long ago, from Lady Rosamund. Eustacia knew it well, but she did not know exactly what it meant until it happened. 'The golden age of the Venator will find rest at the foot of Rome' is the accurate translation. It makes sense now, for your aunt was truly the golden Venator, Victoria, and you will follow in her footsteps."
"I still cannot accept Max's choice. There had to have been another way!"
Wayren looked at her with easy blue-gray eyes. Her face bore an expression of compassion. "He didn't want to do it, Victoria. He did not want to. He would have done anything but that. Eustacia ordered him to do it."
Her eyes dampened. "What? How could she?"
"She did what had to be done, Victoria. If Nedas had succeeded in bringing Akvan's Obelisk to full power, there would have been destruction and death even worse than we saw in Praga. She sacrificed herself willingly to give Max the chance—the only chance—to stop Nedas. One life in exchange for many others. She trusted that he would succeed. And he did. Against all odds he did, for he had to strike the obelisk at precisely the right moment, or the opportunity would be lost."
Victoria took the handkerchief Wayren offered her. It smelled like lily of the valley and peppermint, and somehow the combination soothed her. "Max didn't expect to survive."
"I'm certain he didn't. You saved his life even when you were at your weakest, a testament to your strength and ingenuity. You are the Gardella now."
Wayren touched her with a slender, cool hand, and Victoria felt a wave of comfort. "Who do you think had the more difficult task—your aunt, going to her execution? Or Max, who had to face someone he has loved and admired and respected, and to cut her down? Is it any surprise that he would not want to live with that memory, that knowledge, day after day? It was over for your aunt in an instant; I am certain Max ensured it was fast and painless. But he…"
"He will live with his choice every day, and wonder if there was something different that could have been done." Victoria remembered that horrible time a year ago when she'd made a choice, and could have killed the man in the alley of St. Giles. Remembering her own choice. She knew how much worse it was to have to kill someone you loved.
"Indeed."
"He gave me his vis bulla." She showed it to Wayren.
"Did you not remove your own vis bulla when you feared you could no longer wear it, Victoria?"
She nodded, remembering.
"We must give him time, Victoria. And hope he will return."
About the Author
Colleen Gleason lives near Ann Arbor with her husband and children. She has an English degree and an MBA from the University of Michigan. Before writing full-time, she worked in the sales and marketing side of health care and insurance products. She has managed large sales forces, worked in start-up companies, and owned her own business. Colleen loves to hear from her readers; she can be contacted through her Web site at www.colleengleason.com.
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