by Renee Peters
The Aegean Houses had thralls; this had been known — if borne with a certain distaste for the idea of making slaves of mortals. There were benefits to having meals available in-house which could not be denied. Particularly with a coven of Free Immortals.
The queen’s blood....
They passed another servant who shifted to the side of the gallery and lowered his head as the Immortals walked past. The man’s face was pale, and Lian could hear the want in his thoughts as they turned down the corridor.
The lord did not let his disturbance show on his features. He should have expected it, and yet he had been taken aback by the terror of the mortals brought in for the sport of the hunt. Perhaps it was just another difference between his coven and those of the Aegean Houses.
His family remembered their mortality.
Within the drawing room, a servant waited. The woman stood alongside a polished tea tray, nested between two gold, velvet-lined armchairs facing one another.
Lady Vanessa settled into her seat first and turned her hand over in an invitation for Lian to join. In silence he did so. For a moment, the only sound between them was the gentle clatter of the teacups as the servant poured their drinks. Steaming blood, scented with sweet herbs, splashed into the cups.
“It is my preference to be direct, Redmond,” the Queen stated coolly. “You have no doubt noticed the presence of elders on the estate, and equally so the evident infancy of Delresus as a House.” She raised her cup to sip the brew. “These, my children, were once as you are — exiles among our people, vulnerable … weak.” Her gaze settled upon his own. “And now you see them: embraced, accepted, counted worthy of the Delresus name and of its protections.”
She set the cup down with a clink. “My House grows and is strengthened for their loyalty, and they have found their place in our world. It is a mutually beneficial agreement and one they were glad to enter.” She paused and a thin, cold smile lifted her lips. “It is the same agreement I am prepared to offer you and the family you so eagerly wish to protect.”
Lian watched her mouth, stained red with blood and the touch of rogue she had applied before their meeting. His own cup had not been raised higher than his chest, and it hovered in his hold before he set it back upon the saucer.
“My Lady is … wise,” he began, slowly. “Your coven will rival those far older than your own for accepting pariahs into your fold.” He did not doubt she knew already of her own wisdom, and that his coven could offer what other Free Immortals could not. He had wealth and had built a sizable family of an age that put them on par with the Houses of the Royal Council.
As it should be.
Setting the drink aside, Lian was entirely aware of the weight of his father’s ring as he lifted his gaze to Vanessa’s. Even if he were willing to entertain the notion of joining another coven, it would mean disbanding his Council and swearing their lives and loyalty to the Arch Queen. He knew well the price within the Aegean Houses of those who went against their Arch Elder.
“I am honored,” he continued, “that you have considered us worthy of Delresus. I cannot accept your agreement, my Lady, though the opportunity is recognized for the favor it is. My family will remain Free Immortals. My apology for the waste of your time.”
There was a stillness to the Arch Queen’s person that dissipated as quickly as it had come, and when her smile again surfaced it was polite and almost warm. It did not match the colder darkness of her gaze or the shadows of the thoughts that brushed against his. “Please. There is no need for an apology. You are not the first of the Free to refuse my offer, and you will not likely be the last.” She rose to her feet. “Wisdom dictates we waste no more time with the matter, however, and I’m sure your … family is restless for your absence.”
Lian echoed her rise and bowed respectfully, as he should, with a final salute to her ring when she offered it. He thanked her for the tour and for accommodating him, and the Queen abided his presence until a butler had been summoned to show him to the door.
The gates of Delresus Estate closed behind Lian’s coach, but the elder continued to smell blood on the air for a long while after.
Chapter 9
The gardens of Anowen Castle did not smell of blood. A heady perfume of summer flowers and fresh grass clippings from the manicured courtyard filled the air. Even the breeze gusting between the trees of the surrounding forest was far enough from war that it only carried the faint scent of woodland, earth, and animal kin.
Lian sat on a wooden bench on the paved portico with his queen tucked against his chest and her head beneath his chin. Most of his Council had joined them, taking in the moonlight and the stars overhead. Theirs alone was a song of concern, trembling under the coven’s symphony. The lord’s eyes were on the shadows drifting along the paths, as his children took a last stroll through the gardens.
With the next nightfall they would leave Anowen Castle for the security of another property until the war in Eromerde had ended. If it would end.
The Immortal turned to kiss Celia’s crown, distracted by a rustle within one of the cherry trees. Eden’s head poked free of its leaves, and blossoms scattered over a pair walking below.
The blonde queen on Pascal’s arm looked up into the air, laughing. It grew into a mirthful shriek as the girl above them shook the tree’s branches, raining twigs and foliage over their heads. Scooping the queen up, Pascal hoisted her over his shoulder as if he were a gallant knight and she in need of a rescue.
Both disappeared from view, and Lian breathed a laugh.
Celia stirred against him. “I had not thought to hear that sound again so soon,” she teased.
In the darkness, a soft snort sounded above and behind their heads.
“Eden can always be counted upon to ignore trouble on the doorstep,” Dorian said dryly.
“Not nearly at our door, brother, but close enough,” Mercy interjected. “I, for one, will be pleased enough to be gone. Pascal has the right of it — enjoying a turn on the trails. What does a queen have to do to earn the distraction of a lord’s attention in this castle anyway?”
“You might try Nicholas,” offered Ayla without glancing up from her book. Her words were just as dry, and for a moment, Lian studied her. He did not suspect that Ayla was quite so blithe about sharing the lord as she let on.
She continued evenly, “I do not doubt he would be happy to oblige. Alas, dear Dorian is still married to me for another twenty years yet. I fear I shall not share him.” She flipped a page.
“Or ever, dear one,” Dorian answered with the heaviness of a tease in his voice.
That the coven’s eldest lords must appear to marry for the sake of managing Anowen’s mortal interests was accepted among them. Dorian had, in addition, made something of a game of his marriages to his sisters, and the dark queen had been the latest to indulge him.
“Every queen would pale after you,” the Castilian said fervently. “Who else could outman me on a horse?”
“I don’t think that’s quite the compliment you intend it, brother,” Mercy said. “Or if it is, you have quite lost the wit for which you were once known.”
“I took it for one,” Ayla answered idly. “I rather do outman most.”
Their Austrian lord grunted, and his teeth clicked around his pipe. “Most women would not be proud of that.”
“But then our sister is not most women, we will all admit.” The response came from another of Lian’s Council queens; one who stood a little apart from the crowd gathered to overlook the gardens, with a ramrod straight posture and a tumbling spill of curls down her back. She glanced over her shoulder.
“I will admit no such thing.” Lian’s Egyptian sister was the one to offer a rebuttal. “I daresay I am equally capable of outmanning Dorian on a horse, or otherwise.”
The observation drew quiet laughter from the gathered Council. That anything about Zehira was mannish was open to debate. She was, of them all, almost divine in her dusky, sensual femininity.
“I suppose it must be one of us to say it, brother, and Mercy has determined upon silence on the matter,” Dorian said quietly. He paused, as if reluctant to continue. “You know, as well as we do, what Lady Vanessa’s offer will mean for the family.”
Anowen had become too large of a presence for the Aegean Houses to ignore. It would consign the coven to one of only a few destinies. They would be targeted for adoption or harassed with intent to cull their strength and numbers. Either way, their days of living Free in the shadows were limited. Lian shifted and curled his arm around his queen’s midriff to draw her in tighter.
“I know,” he murmured. He could feel some release of tension from the Council’s songs as he spoke. The blond’s brows twitched into a brief furrow.
Dorian continued, only slightly gentler for the sake of his words finding a hold. “If there was ever a time, or a reason to approach Mother — to secure the protection of the pacts, to claim our birthright — it is now. There will be little of peace otherwise, for any of us.”
“When the family is secure, I will… revisit the wisdom of the idea,” Lian offered, frowning. “It will be months of travel to Nevirnum, and months to return.” He would have to convene the Heirs first, to guarantee the peace of the family while he traveled.
Traitors. All four of the Royal Heirs — his uncle and aunts — and he, too, if he joined them.
The Immortal studied his Council. It was only barely an attempt at humor when Lian chuffed a breath. “As if Mercy would not have gotten her way in the end. Whispering as she does.”
The queen’s lips twitched in the darkness. “Nonsense. It may take centuries at a time, but you can usually be counted upon to choose the right in most matters.” Mercedes moved to close the distance between them and leaned in to touch a kiss to his cheek. “You are stubborn, but you are ours, and we are none of us the weaker for it.” She stood upright again. “Now, I demand an escort. It is too pleasant a night for whispers.”
“The Lady demands an escort,” Lian murmured into Celia’s ear, before leaving a kiss against her skin. He smiled but remained seated. “If my queen does not mind surrendering my company for a while.”
“I do think eternity is long enough that I can spare you a walk,” his bond answered with a ghost of a smile.
Celia eased herself from him, and the lord left a last peck of a kiss against her knuckles before he rose. With Mercy on his arm, Lian stepped off the portico into the gardens and the more pleasant symphony that rose around them.
Chapter 10
A scream tore through their symphony, ripping Lian from his sleep.
He swung from the bed and from Celia’s arms, his feet scarcely upon the ground as the instruments in their blood pitched violently. The coven’s songs rippled awake in a wave of confusion and fear before the bond that tied the distressed song to their collective one suddenly disappeared with a snap of thread and then silence.
It almost knocked Lian off-balance, and he reached out to grip the bedpost to steady himself. In their blood, the coven’s music stilled and quieted as if in an inhale while they processed what had happened.
Gone. A song was gone.
The family’s harmony exploded into terror and fury, and across the threads of music another of their siblings shrieked and vanished.
Dying. Dead.
Lian felt as if someone had driven a shard of ice through his chest. He had lost a song before — his father’s — but he had never lost one of his children. The collective was growing quieter as a fog descended over his senses.
“Lock the door behind me,” he said, sounding hoarse. His fingers dug into the fabric over his chest as he tried to will away the cold and the threat of a numbness that seemed intent on taking over his heart.
Celia’s hands were on his back. Then he heard the padding of bare feet on stone ground. From the floors below, screams — not just songs — began to rise.
His coven was dying.
“Lock the door,” he repeated as his gaze flickered to Celia, flashing from storm-blue to silver. “Flee if I fall.”
Lian knew she would not, but he could not attend her any longer.
By the time he pulled their suite door closed behind him, the elder had found some semblance of balance. He ran down the corridors of the fifth floor, which he and Celia shared for their living space, noting the sunlight that streamed through the windows. Whatever had attacked his coven — whoever had attacked his coven — had done so when the sun would prevent the youngest of his brood from fleeing.
Those who had survived thus far.
He could barely hear them as he turned down the stairwell the servants used for an access, taking the stairs three at a time. When another instrument in their symphony disappeared with a snap, he all but tripped and slammed into the stone wall at the base of a landing.
The scent of blood was heavier in the air on the fourth floor, which his Council claimed for their suites. The oldest of his coven. If they fell, there was little hope for the children.
Gritting his teeth, Lian turned to spring down the twisting corridors of the fourth floor.
He found a female Immortal he did not know; not bloody but bearing a sword and distended fangs. She turned red eyes upon him.
Before she could take another step, Lian lifted his hand in the invader’s direction, and his father’s gift — Athanasia’s gift — flew from him. His will tore through the female, and she fell to the floor in pieces.
He did not allow himself to stop.
At least not until he came upon a scent that was more familiar, and a mound of black silk that had fallen in a pool of blood.
No, not silk. Hair, as black as a crow’s wings and the envy of the Spanish courts. He realized it slowly as he followed the trail of blood from the mound to an open doorway. The queen’s body lay on the floor, absent of her head.
Mercedes.
His gaze found her hair again and the dullness of her eyes where they stared, unseeing, through the tumble of tresses. For just a moment, the elder froze as grief cracked through the icy numbness that had overtaken him.
Mercy.
Lian almost missed the shadow that descended upon him, and the invader brought his blade down to claim another head.
It clipped the lord’s arm, but the pain seemed far away.
Mercy.
His coven was dying.
Lian’s will again burst forth, rending the head from the Immortal who had murdered his sister. Already he felt himself wearying from the use of his gift, and the elder drew in a ragged breath as he gripped his shirt. His eyes found Mercy, and he whispered his apology before he began to run.
He passed the bodies of two more of his children who had fallen together and killed another three invaders in penance for the blood they had spilled.
An invading queen blinded him in one eye when she caught him crossing the second floor, and it was only for the strength of Lian’s claws and fangs that he tore her heart from her chest before she claimed more than that.
The elder’s wounds were healing as he crossed through the second floor, where he finally found more living than dead. His Council — most of his Council — had been warriors in their time, and he passed them as they herded the children toward the safety of the tunnels below the castle or in their pursuit of an invader.
He ran past Pascal’s corpse, still clutching his long sword.
Brother.
Lian could not stop to grieve. Not when another song had vanished. Not when he executed another Immortal — this one smelling of parchment and age — whose thoughts felt familiar.
Not when Eden began screaming.
Desperation clawed its way through the numbness, and Lian ran faster than he thought himself capable. The young queen was crying, cursing, and somewhere in
the fog her flutes screeched in his blood.
He found Eden on the floor in the sunlight, scalded and blistering. A shadow fell over her, but it offered no respite. Lady Vanessa stood in her black gown, unmarked by blood and regarding the fallen queen in silence. She lifted her hand.
Before the Arch Queen could deal a killing blow, Lian threw his power at her. Vanessa’s dark eyes turned on him a moment before he struck her, and she redirected her gift to meet his so that it only knocked her back a few steps.
Vanessa did not speak. Her eyes were cold and golden, and the Queen extended her hand — her will — toward Lian.
Lian closed the distance, throwing himself between Eden and the Arch Elder. Vanessa’s gift ripped through his skin to snap bone, and clamping down on the pain, the lord met her power with his own. It was not enough to shield himself entirely, and as he lifted his hand to brace himself, the skin of his fingers flayed.
He would not be enough.
On the ground by his feet, Eden was choking back a pained sob as the sunlight continued to blister.
His coven was dying.
“Vanessa —” Lian’s voice cracked around the Queen’s name, and his opposite hand lifted to his throat.
Mercy.
The elder ripped the chain free, holding the ring up for the Queen to see. The blood-red stone winked in the light of the morning sun. “You assault the House of Lian Redmond, son of Dunstan, Heir of Athanasia. Cease and call back your children.”
Chapter 11
Vanessa’s eyes darkened to a pitch black as her power retracted, then their gold color returned in a violent flare. Curling her lips back in a hiss, her gaze locked onto the signet where it dangled in the light.
“Lies! What treachery is this? Dunstan is dead, and his Heir with him. What is this seal?”
“Verona was my sister. Dunstan sired two. This seal is his,” Lian’s voice found a steadiness in the declaration, and he eased back a step so Eden could have more of his shadow. “I claim this House as Heir. Call back your children, Vanessa.”