Gareth reached for his rapier, but grasped empty space as the axe slammed deep into his shoulder, missing his neck by a few inches. He pulled the man with the dagger along with him as he backed against the wall to seek cover. Bullets ticked off the wall.
He gouged the face of the knife wielder and sent him airborne screaming down the stairs. Then he yanked the axe free of his collarbone and stepped out, swinging the weapon into another determined man nearby. The point of a sword immediately protruded from Gareth's stomach. With an angry snarl, he lashed back with the axe, and the heavy blade caromed off a man's skull.
Instantly, he dropped the axe and began to climb, weaving up the stones as shells tore through newly leafed branches, clicked off bricks, and shattered windows. He heard screams from above and assumed Flay had found her quarry. When he reached the roof, he caught a brief glimpse of her slaughtering a man before pushing off and vaulting over the stairs toward the opposite rooftop.
He sailed across the space as rifle muzzles flashed, and he felt several tugs on his clothes and limbs. Then he was on the roof, in the center of four men with rifles. They tried awkwardly to spin and aim at him. He growled and slashed faces and throats, ripped weapons from hands, and smashed heads with a heavy rifle.
Soon he was the only one standing. He had been slow. So much time in the relative warmth of Equatoria, and infrequent feedings left him less than his best. He needed to sharpen himself before going to London.
Flay appeared over the edge of the roof, her face red and raven hair glistening wet. She crouched with claws out, her head pivoting in search of prey. Satisfied they were alone, she turned her attention to Gareth.
She laughed. “You didn't kill them all below, but I finished it for you.”
“I was distracted,” Gareth replied.
Flay took the rifle from his hand and tossed it aside. Then she gently removed a dagger from his ribs and pulled the sword out of his back. Her earlier looks of dismay were replaced by fierce admiration as she took in the carnage. “Please restrain yourself from using weapons where you might be seen.”
Gareth studied the frozen faces of the assassins. Their postures and expressions had been different from normal humans. These men had confidence; they held no fear. There had been a flame in their eyes that Gareth rarely saw, even among Greyfriar's network of supporters in vampire Europe. Even more disturbing, this was no random attack. This was a staged ambush. These would-be killers had shown a methodical skill to their attacks; they were trained.
Flay kicked one of the rifles. “This gun is new. I've seen the very ones at St. Etienne in the hands of Equatorians. How did Parisian herds get them?”
Gareth recognized the weapons too, the latest bolt-action rifle off the line in Alexandria. He knelt by one of the attackers and drank from him. He sensed fading emotions in the cooling blood. The taste sparked his hunger, so he drew in more to feed his fire and calm his throbbing wounds.
“Damn it,” Gareth said, wiping his bloody mouth with a bloody sleeve. “These aren't herds or southerners. These are Cesare's Undead.”
King Lothaire rushed to his friend's side when Gareth staggered into the throne room in the Tuileries. “Gareth! What happened to you?”
“Nothing.” Gareth's voice was strained, speaking through clenched teeth.
The king took Gareth by his arm and led him to a seat. Several children stopped their usual writhing and slapping to watch the amazing bloody spectacle. Lothaire's eyes went wide as he inspected Gareth. “These are bullet holes. Humans attacked you? Here in Paris? Are we under attack?”
“No, my brother—”
Lothaire stiffened and cut a glance, which along with the sound of a familiar voice from nearby, silenced Gareth and sent his attention to a doorway far to his left.
Prince Cesare appeared in casual conversation with Prince Honore, but halted abruptly at the sight of his wounded brother. A flicker of angry disappointment washed over Cesare's face before he managed a semblance of concern. Just behind him, Honore peered in with open shock.
“Gareth, whatever has happened to you?” Cesare asked with false worry. “Were you mauled by your cats?”
The prince of Scotland laughed wetly in his throat. “No. They would've done worse.” He rose, smoothing his blood-crusted shirt with a red hand, and smiled as best he could. “I'm shocked to see you in Paris, Cesare. Don't you have a party to plan?”
Cesare grunted in open annoyance. His grey suit with knee-length frock coat was immaculate. His black shoes were polished to a gleam, and even his cravat had been expertly tied by a human slave. Prince Honore wore a similar suit, almost a disturbing reflection of Cesare. But now the Dauphin sought to distance himself from the British lord, slipping back against the wall, his gaze trading off between the rival brothers.
“It's prepared,” Cesare replied stiffly. “But I can't proceed without you. I heard you were here and came to offer my personal invitation, if that's what it takes. Since I've found you, will you return to London with me now?”
Gareth crossed the spacious room toward his brother until he towered over the prospective king. “Alas, no, Cesare. I have more pressing matters at present.”
Cesare hissed, “There is nothing more pressing in this world. Our father is dead.”
“Yes.” Gareth paused, then breathed out with suppressed rage. “You were obviously a magnificent caretaker.”
The younger brother smiled with extraordinary boldness. “Well, the poor old thing had been ill long enough. He's better off. As are we.”
“You are miserable and disgusting, Cesare. I can't believe you are a son of Dmitri.”
“Yet I am. You were his favorite, there's no doubt. More the pity then. Perhaps if you had not abandoned him, he might still be alive.”
Gareth slashed out with ferocious instinct, but he was too slow. Cesare blocked the attack and another. A third blow shredded the younger prince's coat before he slipped out of arm's reach to the side of Honore, who shouted, “Stop! You are in my father's court!”
Gareth halted, already winded from the exertion.
Cesare inspected his ripped clothes bitterly, and said, “Have some decorum, for a change, Gareth. We can discuss family matters when we return to London. Prepare yourself and we will depart.”
“I said no.”
“You must.” Cesare glared at him. “I have declared it. It is the law.”
“Technically, there is no king. You must convene a clan council to summon me.”
“You insolent worm. I am to be king.”
“So you shall. But I must accomplish several things first.”
“Damn you!” Cesare stepped forward, and his claws darted out, seizing Gareth's throat. “You will do as I say.”
Gareth didn't struggle; he merely reached up and grasped his brother's wrist. He squeezed slowly, grinding bone against bone, staring straight into Cesare's eyes. His strength was failing, but he focused on one thing only—crushing his brother's arm. Every fragment of his consciousness went to that single task. The younger prince narrowed his gaze with alarm and tried to push his claws deeper into Gareth's flesh.
“Retract your claws,” Gareth hissed, “or I'll snap off your hand.”
Cesare felt his wrist begin to crack. His claws pulled out, and after a second, Gareth let off the pressure. Both brothers lowered their hands together.
Gareth leaned closer. “Don't ever send your deluded fanatics against me again.”
Cesare started to act innocent, but gave it up. He wasn't frightened or concerned; he simply saw no reason to deny it. He whispered, “You swore you would not stand in my way, Gareth, and you may not believe this, but I took you at your word. I won't stand by and watch you have second thoughts about the throne now. Don't you think I know why you're here with your old friend Lothaire? There's nothing that occurs that I don't know. I'll kill you before I'll let you ruin my coronation.”
Gareth said, “I will come to London for a coven at the new moon. You have my
word.”
“The new moon? That is too far away. We are at war and the weather is warming.”
“My schedule without a fight. Or yours, and I will contest you. Choose.”
Gareth knew his brother wasn't fond of being dictated to, but by offering his own surrender, even an incomplete one, he would entice Cesare to play for the long gain. Even though the younger prince fumed at the situation, he would accept it, and plan his revenge later on his own terms.
Cesare's scowl subsided and he raised his voice. “Very well. Was that so difficult? That's all I asked, for you to honor your vow. I will see you at Buckingham Palace. Try to clean yourself up a bit. Maybe you can borrow more suitable attire from your host.” He turned to Lothaire. “Your Majesty, thank you for your promises of hospitality, but I fear I must hurry back to London. Lady Hallow will prepare a conference to discuss folding the French packs into the coalition forces. I will send Flay to consult with your war chief, Prince Honore.”
King Lothaire nodded. “We are bereaved that you must leave us so soon, Prince Cesare.”
Cesare spun back to Gareth. “Three weeks. Don't do anything that might make me nervous. And don't make me find you again because the first place I'll look is inside the rib cages of every man, woman, and child in Edinburgh.”
Gareth remained coldly silent as his brother bowed and departed with Prince Honore at his heels. Then he slumped exhausted into a creaking chair. “Lothaire, I regret to tell you that your son seems to have fallen in with a bad crowd.”
“Family.” The French king shrugged hopelessly.
SANAH STOOD IN the center of a room in Victoria Palace that was opulent to the point of gaudy. Adele and Captain Shirazi observed her unseen through a one-way mirror.
“She has been thoroughly searched,” Shirazi informed the empress.
Adele looked at the calling card the woman had given her at the opera. In the subsequent events, she had forgotten about the woman until Shirazi announced she had appeared at the palace gates demanding to speak to the empress on a matter of life or death. The Persian woman had been searched and questioned. After several hours, Shirazi was informed of her presence and he came to see her, but she refused to give her message to anyone but Adele. She begged Shirazi to remind the empress about the woman at the opera, and to tell Adele to make special note of a mark written on the calling card.
Despite his misgivings, the captain passed the information on to the empress, who retrieved the card and, with great shock, noticed a symbol that was repeated in her mother's geomancy journals many times. Adele ordered the woman to be brought to her despite the captain's stern reservations.
Adele folded her arms across her chest. “What more can we do to make sure she isn't the enemy? At some point I will have to talk to her.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Well, I want to talk to her.”
Captain Shirazi strode before her, an unstoppable force, tall and foreboding in his crisp scarlet uniform. Before he opened the door, Adele stopped him with a hand. “Let's not scare her, shall we?”
Shirazi planted a hand on the door, his annoyance plain and unyielding. “Your Majesty, it is my duty to protect you. General Anhalt tasked me with that mission when he gave me command of the White Guard. And I have no intention of failing him.”
“I'm most grateful.” Adele smiled warmly at the echo of her beloved General Anhalt's undying loyalty in the young captain's stern words. “I'm not saying you can't come in with me, but you won't be the first one stomping in all grim and imposing. I intend to be polite.”
“Why would you trust her, of all people?”
“I don't know. There's something about her.”
Adele and Shirazi stared at each other like two bulls, neither giving ground. Her eyebrow rose with one last challenge, and Shirazi straightened, resuming parade rest.
“As you will, Majesty. We will treat her with respect until she proves otherwise.”
“Thank you. Let's try not to be an angry mob in there. Smile.” She knocked politely before entering the room.
Sanah stood expectantly, her expression immediately warming at Adele's presence until she saw the soldier behind her.
“Don't mind him,” Adele assured her. “After the opera, my security is tenfold. I doubt I'll be alone well into my nineties at this rate.”
Adele's nonchalant response appeared to do the trick, as Sanah bowed to the empress. “Of course, Your Majesty. A wise precaution.”
“Please, sit.” Adele gestured to one of the plush couches in the room. She sat near Sanah, but not so close as to be within striking range should something go awry, much to Shirazi's relief she was sure. She didn't want to give the young soldier grey hair yet. That would come in due time. “I realize this atmosphere isn't conducive to a normal conversation, but I hope we can start a friendship despite the circumstances.”
“If I may be blunt, Your Majesty, pleasantries must wait,” Sanah said. “You recently received several notebooks that belonged to your mother.”
“Yes, that's correct,” Adele answered slowly. “How did you know?”’
“I am your mother's sister.”
Adele's breath caught and she leaned forward. “What?”
“I have been away for a long time. I have wanted to reconnect with you, especially after the death of your father.” She looked at the captain briefly and then returned to Adele. “And the loss of your mentor.”
“That is not common knowledge.” Adele felt a tinge of alarm, and Shirazi stepped forward protectively.
Sanah sat stone still. “No, it is not.”
Adele realized there was only one way to know such a thing. “You are part of Mamoru's network.”
She nodded. “I am one of his cabal. Though currently, it is not something I am proud of.”
Adele was still trying to process everything. “He never mentioned you. In fact, no one has ever mentioned you. My mother didn't have a sister named Sanah.”
“That isn't my true name. Many of us change our names for various reasons. You may recall the mention of Sayeh.”
That name did resonate with Adele. Her mother had in fact talked about a sister named Sayeh, a devout and curious wanderer. But that wasn't a secret; it didn't prove anything. “So where have you been all these years, Sanah? Where were you when your sister died?” Adele's voice was hard when she asked the last question.
The Persian woman closed her eyes, revealing the tattoo on her lids. “I was far away at the time. I only learned of Pareesa's death years after the fact. I would have done anything to see her again, but my life took a different path. I have spent my life traveling, studying, and watching.” She opened her eyes to stare at Adele.
“Watching me?” The empress's shock continued to escalate.
“Yes, from afar. Your studies have mirrored Pareesa's. You are both very much alike. Have you been able to decipher any of your mother's notes in her journal?”
“Of course; they aren't terribly complex. I'm beyond her studies now. I learned the fundamentals of geomancy months ago.”
“No, I refer to her private notes.”
“Private notes?”
Sanah nodded, and Adele wished the burqa wasn't in place so she could read the woman's features. As it was she had only the woman's mysterious eyes to guide her.
“The scribblings she placed all over the pages are your mother's secret language.” The eyes glistened. “It was our game, you see, when we were younger. We would pass small notes back and forth. As we grew older, and secrets became more precious, we used it extensively to communicate in utmost privacy.”
“Are you are a geomancer?”
“Nothing so grand. I am a poet, and a seer. Pareesa and I both entered Mamoru's school on Java at a young age. Your mother was far more adept, her studies more in-depth. Mamoru groomed her for many years until he had to admit that she was not the one. I was never a skilled geomancer, but I had other value to Mamoru, including loyalty, and he brought me up to
be one of his closest advisors after Pareesa died. I was completely entranced by his message and his mission. He was a great man.” She shrugged. “Now, we have lost our focus.”
“Where is Mamoru?” Adele demanded.
“He was here in Alexandria for a time, but I don't know where he is now. I caution you that he is no longer the man I once knew. His convictions are much less clear. That is the reason I have come forward to you now. You are in danger. He believes you are no longer in your right mind. He believes that your relationship with the Greyfriar has destroyed your humanity.”
Adele gasped softly at the woman's words and quickly turned. “Captain Shirazi, leave us.”
“Your Majesty, I must remain for your safety.”
Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Please don't make me order you.”
He stiffened. “I'm afraid that is your only option.”
She scowled, although she couldn't fault the man. “Captain Shirazi, I order you to wait outside, and I absolve you of any conscience.”
“If something were to happen to you under my watch, my conscience would be inconsolable regardless.” He lifted his pistol from his holster and handed it to her.
Warming, she nodded. “I will endeavor to make sure that will never be a concern.”
“As you command, Your Majesty.” His scowl was an obvious sign of his displeasure on this matter, but with a sharp turn of his heel he departed.
When the door had closed, the empress stared hard at the Persian woman. “You will keep your voice down from this point forward. Do you understand me?”
“I do, Your Majesty.”
“Tell me why I should believe a word you've said?”
Sanah took a deep breath. “I can only pray you will. You may confine me here, if you wish. But you must hear what I have to tell you. Your future depends on it.”
Adele studied the woman, wanting to see falsehood in her. However, her intuition whispered something different. “So talk.”
“Of course. The leaders of the cabal all know the secret of Greyfriar. Mamoru told us about your dark master.” Sanah's voice softened. “However, I saw your lover at the opera. He saved you regardless of his own life. That was an act of love, not politics. I don't think you are under his sway. Instead, I see he is under yours.”
Kingmakers, The (Vampire Empire Book 3) Page 29