by Karen Chance
But Louis-Cesare didn’t look much like he cared.
“I was speaking ofsubrand. You knew you were in danger, yet you said nothing.”
“Why should I have? It was none of your business.”
“If someone is attempting to murder you, it is most certainly my business.”
“Why?” He didn’t say anything, which pissed me off. I was tired and starving, and I must have bumped my hurt wrist somewhere, because it throbbed in time to every heartbeat. I was in no mood for games.
“Why is it your business, Louis-Cesare?”
“You know damn well why!”
“No, I don’t know. I don’t know a goddamned thing. Maybe you should try spelling it out for once.”
“And perhaps both of you should try learning some discretion,” Marlowe hissed. He came in and slammed the door behind him. It wouldn’t help with privacy; I think he was just pissed off.
“We would like some time alone,” Louis-Cesare snapped.
“It seems to me you’ve had too much of that already.” Marlowe stared back and forth between the two of us. “I don’t know what’s going on here—and I really do not wish to know. But now is not the time to hand Anthony more ammunition.”
Louis-Cesare didn’t even look at him. “What did he do to you?” he demanded.
“Maybe I should get it on a T-shirt,” I said, crossing my arms. “None of your—”
“You have been favoring your left hand all night. Is that why?” Trust a swordsman to notice.
When I didn’t say anything, he pulled me to him and began running his hands over me—as if he hadn’t done enough of that already.
I was about to knock his hand away when Marlowe did it for me. Louis-Cesare’s usually sunny blue eyes suddenly went chrome—cold, flat and dangerous. “Have a care, Kit.”
“I am not the one who needs to take care. Have you gone mad? She is dhampir!” Marlowe said it in the same tone someone in medieval Europe might have used for leper, which was fair, since that was pretty much the way he’d meant it.
I don’t know what would have happened next, because both men were crackling with energy, and neither was the type to back down. But then Mircea walked through the door. “Your consul wishes a word,” he told Louis-Cesare mildly.
Louis-Cesare cursed under his breath and started to say something, but Mircea held up a hand. “This is bad enough as it is. Provoking the man for no reason would be foolish, do you not think?”
Apparently he did think, because he went, after shooting me a look that said this wasn’t over. He’d barely gotten out the door when Marlowe rounded on me. “What in the hell game are you—”
“Kit. I think we have given Anthony enough amusement tonight, don’t you?” Mircea asked.
“More than! Do you know what this will—”
“Yes. We’ll discuss it in a moment.”
Marlowe sent me a final glare and left. I’d have been right behind him, but Mircea was between me and the exit, and he showed no sign of moving.
“Don’t you think it’s time we talked?” he asked with a smile.
CHAPTER 21
“What about?” I asked warily.
Mircea leaned against the door, casual, elegant, like he had all night. Fortunately, I knew that wasn’t true. Unfortunately, diving out the window wasn’t a real possibility at this level. Maybe the roof…
“I do not want to play word games with you, Dorina. Tell me what happened last night.”
“I’ve told you—”
“Nothing. Other than the bald fact that a very dangerous creature attempted for the second time to kill you. What you have not told me is why.”
“He tried to kill me before—”
“Because you were in his way. Are you again?”
Nobody ever won a verbal sparring match with Mircea by taking the defensive, so I ignored that. “Are you going to tell me why you wanted the rune so badly that you practically threatened Louis-Cesare’s life tonight?”
“I did nothing of the kind. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“Not in so many words, maybe. But the intention was conveyed. And you didn’t answer mine.”
“When you start being honest with me, perhaps I will.”
I just stared at him, too shocked to speak for a moment. Because of all the people to chastise me for a lack of honesty or trust, Mircea’s name should have been last on the list. In fact, it shouldn’t have been on the damn list at all.
His brother Vlad had killed a lot of people in his short reign of terror, one of whom had happened to be my mother. Mircea had wiped that little fact from my adolescent head, afraid I’d go after my crazy uncle and get killed. Or so he said. I had no independent way of verifying that since wiped memories are gone for good.
“I don’t think you’re really one to talk. Do you?” I finally asked softly.
“I have never kept anything from you that was not necessary.”
“In your opinion! Did it never occur to you that I might not agree? That I might have wanted those memories, however unpleasant?”
Mircea hesitated, taking a half second to adjust to the conversational leap. Not that it was much of one. Our history of deception had started almost as soon as our relationship had. “They would have done you little good had you died because of them.”
“That was my decision!”
“You were too young to make that decision. It was my duty to make it for you.”
“A duty you’ve kept up ever since.” I rubbed my eyes, suddenly weary in more ways than one. I was tired of it—of the constant games and the verbal matches, of wanting to trust him but never knowing whether I could, or how far. I’d spent years avoiding a relationship with him for exactly those reasons, and I should have known better than to think that anything was ever going to change.
I’d told them all I could aboutsubrand’s attack. There was nothing more I could do here. “This is a waste of time,” I said, and headed for the hall door.
Mircea didn’t budge, but his fingers bit into my arms. “Running away again, Dorina?”
I stared up at him, angry and tired and hurt. “I don’t run from my problems!”
“Unless they include me. In which case you never do anything else.”
“What else is there to do?” I demanded angrily. “Nothing changes, Mircea. We go on this same merry-go-round, over and over, until I’m dizzy. You manipulate me, lie to me—”
“I have never lied to you.”
“Just twist things around to say what you want them to say, instead of the truth.”
His jaw tightened. “Sometimes, the truth can be dangerous. If I had allowed you to retain your memories about Vlad, you would be dead. Merely another of his victims.”
“And what’s the excuse now? Because I’m sure you have one, and I’m sure it will sound perfectly plausible. And I’m equally sure it will be bullshit!”
“And do you not do the same to me?” he asked, a spark of amber lighting the deep brown of his eyes. That wasn’t a good sign, but I was too pissed to care. “You almost died last night, practically under my nose, and you said nothing?”
“There were extenuating circumstances.”
“There always are with us, it seems.”
I started to shoot back a reply, but stopped. He looked tired suddenly, hollowed out and drained, in a way that was terribly familiar. It could be another game; it probably was another game. But it stopped me anyway.
“If you don’t start to trust me, this is never going to work,” I told him simply.
“And what is ‘this’?” he asked carefully.
“Whatever the hell it is we’re doing here. You wanted me to work with you, or so you said. And now Marlowe seems to think you meant for you, and I think he may be right. Because all I do is the same menial crap you could send any of your boys to do just as easily, and you never tell me a damn thing. It’s been a month, and we’ve yet to work with each other even once!”
I expected anothe
r excuse, a platitude, an elegant brush-off. Mircea was the master at that sort of thing, and so smooth that half the time, the people who had been put off didn’t even realize it. With vampires it was always smarter to pay attention to what they did rather than what they said, especially this one.
But he surprised me. Without a word, he turned and opened the door, indicating with a gesture for me to precede him. I walked out, and then he led the way back to the soundproofed sitting room, where Marlowe was pacing. His head jerked up as we came in the door, and his expression darkened when he saw me.
“This is a very bad idea,” he said, low and intense.
“And not telling her would be a worse one.” Mircea went to the tall windows and drew the full-length drapes. Just in case someone had scaled the side of the building in order to lip-read, I presumed.
“I don’t see how.”
“You do not have a daughter, Kit.”
“I do not—” Marlowe broke off, a look of disbelief spreading over his face. “That’s your reason? You would risk—”
“Nothing. I think Dorina has proven that she knows how to keep a secret.” Mircea pulled one of the chairs out from beside a small round table and then just stood there, waiting for me.
I cautiously moved forward, wondering if this was some kind of a test. Until recently, Mircea and I had spoken maybe once a decade, and those conversations always ended the same: I got louder and louder, and he got colder and colder, and eventually, I stormed out. That was how the world worked; that was the natural order of things. This… was not. And it worried me.
My hesitation seemed to anger him. “I wish to talk to you, Dorina! Please stop looking as if you suspect me of arranging an ambush.”
An ambush might be easier, I thought, as I slid onto the smooth leather. I knew how to handle those. I wasn’t so sure about whatever this was.
“Talk about what?” I asked cautiously. I had a lot of questions, but I knew better than to think I would get any answers. Mircea never came entirely clean with anyone. All vampires were cagey, secretive, guarded. But in his case, it was more than a personal preference; it was his job.
He was the Senate’s chief diplomat, which meant a lot more than just pressing the flesh at parties. He did his fair share of that, but it was also his responsibility to find the weaknesses in people, to figure out what made them tick, to know what pressure points would yield results. That was why he and Marlowe had practically been Siamese twins since the war. Marlowe gathered info; Mircea exploited it. They were both very good at what they did.
But in Mircea’s case, it had had a side effect. He’d done the job so long now, lived with the lies and half-truths and hidden agendas, that it had bled over into the rest of his life. Sometimes, I really didn’t know if he knew the truth anymore.
“What did you ask for?” He sat down opposite me and crossed his legs, effortlessly elegant, as if we did this every day. Just a casual little father-daughter chat. Uhhuh.
“I’m listening.”
“This cannot leave this room,” he told me. “Not a word, not to anyone, not anywhere, no matter how secure you may think the location to be.”
I’d have made a smart remark about melodrama, but one look at his face was enough. He was serious. “Okay.”
“I assume you are familiar with the World Championships?”
I nodded.
“The Senate is sponsoring them this year, partly to improve our new alliance with the mages, but mainly as a cover.”
“Cover for what?”
“A meeting of delegates from many Senates to discuss the war. If our enemies knew where we were strategizing, they would target it. But everyone goes to the races, which in turn sparks an endless stream of balls and parties—and numerous possibilities for meetings that do not look like meetings.”
“Following you so far.”
“But it is not merely the war that is being discussed. As you are doubtless aware, our Senate recently lost four members, and a fifth is incapacitated for the foreseeable future. Even in a time of peace, this would be intolerable, as it puts a heavy burden on those of us who are left. But with the added burden of the war… it is impossible.”
“I can see that.” The Senate members all had portfolios, like the members of a president’s cabinet. Having so many missing must have placed a big responsibility on those that remained.
“The Senate is using the cover of the races to permit high-ranking masters who do not yet have a Senate seat, but who are strong enough to contend for one, to meet. A test will be held, and new senators will be selected from among the winners.”
“I don’t see what this has to do with the rune.”
“Do you not? The test will be of combat, as is traditional.”
A lightbulb came on. “So whoever has the rune will be automatically among the winners.”
“Yes.”
“That’s too simplistic,” Marlowe said, sitting up. It looked like he’d decided to join the conversation, after all. I guess since Mircea was already spilling the beans, there was no reason to keep quiet. “It would have been little use in battle—its designated function—were its energy easily depleted.”
“You think it could be used again,” I said, seeing where this was going.
“And again and again!” He flopped back against the seat, his expression dour.
“Giving whoever controls it the possibility of also controlling the outcome of the entire contest,” Mircea said more calmly.
“But Ming-de is already the head of a Senate,” I said, getting a very bad feeling suddenly. “She has no reason to join yours.”
“She doesn’t want to join it,” Marlowe said savagely. “She wants to control it.”
“That is, perhaps, overstating things somewhat,” Mircea said soothingly. But it didn’t look like his voice tricks worked on Marlowe, either.
“The hell it is.” He sat up, talking with his hands in that very un-English way of his. “At most, there is perhaps one open Senate seat a century, among all the Senates around the world,” he told me. “Whenever one does come open, competing Senates always try to get one of their people—someone loyal to them, that is—in it, to give them eyes and ears into what their rivals are doing.”
I nodded. I’d never really thought about it—high politics weren’t my usual purview—but it made sense. Vampires invented paranoid; of course they’d want to keep an eye on the competition.
“And yet now, suddenly, there are five. Five seats open, all at once, on the same Senate! It gives an unprecedented opportunity for her to re-form our Senate from the ground up, undermining our sovereignty, and turning our consul into little more than her puppet!”
“So Ming-de wanted the rune to help make certain that her candidates won their fights, and therefore limit your selection of new senators to people loyal to her,” I deciphered.
“Yes.”
“But even say she somehow managed to fill all five seats, that still won’t give her a majority.”
“But it will give her a powerful faction,” Mircea told me, before Marlowe could go on another rant. “And the ability to sway others or to bog us down in constant grid-lock should we ignore her ‘requests.’ ”
“And the other names Ray gave us? Are they trying to do the same thing?”
“I do not know about the mage’s involvement. But Geminus is on our Senate, in a rival faction to my own. The ability to place his people in the empty seats would give him the upper hand.”
“That’s why you asked me if I’d seen Louis-Cesare,” I said, a few pieces suddenly fitting together. “You want him to fill one of your empty seats.”
“With the emphasis on ‘was,’ ” Marlowe said sourly. “He promised to switch Senates a month ago, then promptly ran off chasing Christine. The challenges drew close, and we had heard nothing, not a word. And then, when he finally did surface, it was to become implicated in something like this.”
“Will this disqualify him?”
“Ki
lling another senator? Oh, no,” Marlowe said, waving a hand. “They’ll give him a bloody medal, won’t they?”
“He didn’t do it, Marlowe.”
“A fact that matters not at all, considering that the judge in the case is the very consul he’s planning to desert.”
“Anthony knows?”
Mircea sighed. “Louis-Cesare insisted on telling him. He did not feel it would be honorable to do otherwise.”
“I can’t do anything with the man,” Marlowe said in disgust. “I truly can’t.”
“Louis-Cesare will not be found guilty,” Mircea told me. “Anthony will use this to force him to remain on the European Senate. They have no desire to lose their champion.”
“Which doesn’t help us, Mircea!” Marlowe exclaimed.
Much as I hated to admit it, I could kind of see Marlowe’s point. The vamp world worked because it had a defined hierarchy; everybody knew his or her place and stayed in it. They didn’t have a choice, because there was always someone above them in rank and power to ensure that they did so. Except for the consuls, who were pretty much a law unto themselves. The only ones policing them, if it could be called that, were the other consuls.
Of course, that made the other consuls their only real rivals, too. This was getting really scary, really quickly. But at least it explained why everyone was going quietly out of their minds over that stupid rune.
“So that’s why you were angry with Louis-Cesare earlier tonight. You thought he’d deserted you to… what? Run his own game?”
Mircea shrugged. “It seemed unlikely. He had not been invited to the auction; I could not conceive of how he had learned of the stone’s existence. And it would have been out of character for him. But then—”
“That kind of power corrupts quickly,” Marlowe finished for him.
“Indeed.”
“And that’s why you asked Radu to bid on Naudiz—you wanted it to build a Senate to your liking.”
“Not just to our liking,” Mircea said. “To our necessity. We cannot afford constant power politics, bickering and infighting during a war. We have to be united—something that will not happen if candidates under obligation elsewhere win the right to a seat on our Senate.”