Chapter One #8
“Dulior can mask her thoughts to a good extent, but the Countess has visited us many a time, and there is little of interest in prying her mind open,” Ingenuar sat on a couch and crossed his legs.
“There is nothing to be ashamed of, especially for one such as yourself. This is the first time you are in a vampire coven, isn’t it?
You have spent your years surrounded only by mortals and your relations,” Hе paused, reflecting.
“And what a curious family you are. Dulior never mentioned you had a brother.”
“I do not,” Silvio continued to inspect his surroundings. It had started to snow outside. Some of the snowflakes caught at the glass of the tall windows before melting, quickly replaced by new ones. The snow slowly piled against the shutters. “I made him.”
“Ah…”
Silvio waited for the All Father to comment further but he remained silent. There were plenty of couches and armchairs in the room, it did not appear to matter which one Silvio chose, so he remained standing with his hands clasped behind his back.
As Count di Flaviari he had partaken in a number of court intrigues and watched men and women vie for the favour of a marquis or baron.
Only to be cast aside for someone else, younger and bolder.
Silvio did not have a human’s cunning, let alone ambition for power, but this trip had given him a taste of freedom that intoxicated him beyond his limits.
He wanted to keep tapping into the Coven’s vein and drink his full, but he needed to understand them first.
“Why have you summoned me, Ingenuar?” Silvio asked. It was absurd to feign ignorance when the creature in front of him could peel his mind layer by layer without him even knowing, powerless to prevent it.
“Surely my letter was blunt enough?” Ingenuar raised his eyebrows, and the movement of the skin—how it changed his features—was so human.
His human age clearly reflected on his eternal body.
“I am offering you the position of Regent in Europe. I have appointed mistresses in the East, and now I need a master to guide my children in the West. Someone who can help me navigate the current clash of empires. You will not be alone, of course. You are encouraged to choose a consort.”
“Do they need to be of my bloodline?” Silvio asked, remembering how Scarlett mentioned Ingenuar had created her.
“Not necessarily. It can be anyone, whomever you wish. But keep in mind that they will have the same authority as yourself, both here and in the smaller covens.”
“Can they surpass me and become Regent?”
“Yes,” Ingenuar smiled. His eyes drank Silvio in, the conversation visibly delighting him.
Something told Silvio that the All Father was studying him in the same way a mortal would, taking in all of him, by simply observing and making note of the little details: the way Silvio was standing; how stiff his body was; how eager the expressions crossing his face before he had time to conceal them; how hungry he was to ask questions and to learn more, but holding back, purposefully restraining himself from closing the distance between them.
The mask he had put on tonight was beginning to slip.
“Then, if something happens to you, lady Scarlett…?” Silvio let the words hang in the air. He did not dare voice them further.
Can the Father of vampires die? If he walked into the sun, would he turn into dust and bone, or would he continue walking, basking in its warmth? Could the All Father cease to exist—and with him, all of us—like a single entity overflowing with blood?
“You will not die if I die,” Ingenuar laughed, he rested his hand on the armrest and brushed his fingers against the wooden carvings.
It was pointless for Silvio to try and conceal his thoughts.
It equally frustrated and excited him to be this vulnerable.
“My death would result in nothing. To answer your initial question: no, I do not think Scarlett will take my place. She should, as is her right but…” he sighed and ran his tongue over his fangs, a frown distorted his features before he quickly replaced it with a mild smile.
“I do not think the Council will allow it. The Coven is not interested in who is the Regent of France or Turkey, be it the vampire I have appointed, their consort or a usurper—it is irrelevant. What matters to the Coven is the vampire who rules over all.”
“What about the territory? Will I govern only France?”
“France and everything under her dominion,” Ingenuar nodded.
“And do all the French vampires have to live together?” Silvio asked, eager to know if the regency would grant him a household of his own choosing; one under his complete control.
“If you wish, and if you can achieve it. Vampires value their solitude. We come and go, like cats,” Ingenuar chuckled. “You can call them to court or demand tribute of new fledglings. Anything you wish as long as it avoids bloodshed and keeps the mortals unaware of our kind.”
And yet this whole place is crawling with mortal servants, Silvio thought. He recalled how the humans behaved, a plethora of emotions—fear, curiosity, desire—danced behind their eyes. How quick they were to answer to the snapping of undead fingers, eager to refill a glass.
“What of you, Ingenuar? What would you need of me?”
“At first, nothing really. Loyalty, and when need be, your company. You are free to visit the Coven as you like. The same applies for your mother and your consort, of course.”
“The other Regents—why are they not here?”
Silvio was faintly aware of how his questions were raining down, more bold and eager. Without noticing it, he had taken a few steps and was standing next to Ingenuar, looking down at him.
“They have been made aware of your ascent. You may visit them if you wish, I will send letters of introduction to the Ottoman Empire. I am sure the Basilissa will be curious to meet you. As for the Sultana… you can try. She is the stubborn one,” Ingenuar paused, wetting his lips with his tongue.
He appeared to be thinking, clicking his tongue when he was ready to speak.
“Besides Emerick, have you made others?”
“No.”
“And him?”
“As far as I know, no.”
“Curious.”
Before tonight Silvio had never thought about it.
The idea of making another vampire repulsed him.
He had done a good job at transferring his curse to Emerick but it was completed out of necessity.
I did not know what I was doing. His hands clenched into fists, the nails dug into his palms. He could hear an animal crying in the distance.
Mouths overflowing with blood. The first time he tasted it…
The crackling of the fire and the splintering of the wooden logs reminded him of breaking arrows, his whole body burning.
The blood…
He had not found God in the desert, but he had tasted rapture. He had lapped at the blood overcome with a fever of greed.
Mine. All of you… All of you mine.
Silvio unclenched his fingers, his consciousness back in the present. In Prussia, in this drawing room in shades of opals and tanzanite, in the company of a being that was older than religion.
“Earlier…” he began. Slowly. His tongue moved inside his mouth, heavy against the wet flesh and sharp teeth, tasting nothing. “Earlier you said you had many children. How many has the All Father sired?”
“Two or more? Maybe hundreds. Maybe none. Who’s to say.”
Silvio felt like Ingenuar was sharing something private but he lacked the understanding for it. He was taken aback by how fast he got an answer, expecting for the first vampire to take his time counting the lives he had prolonged.
“Am I to your satisfaction, Silvio? Are you ready to accept my offer?”
Throughout the carriage ride Silvio had pondered over the letter. He had nothing but time, hours spent glancing between Dulior and Emerick, drowning in the silence.
He looked at Dulior, the wife he had never wanted.
A long time ago Silvio had realized that she could teach him nothing.
What little she knew about vampires was eclipsed by her ambitions for power and control within human society.
She had kept to herself her visits and dealings with the Coven, until she was forced to share it with him.
As a companion Dulior bored and exhausted him.
The hatred he felt towards her had become as burdensome as her presence.
And for Emerick, what had Silvio given him? He could offer Emerick nothing under the watchful eyes of a wife, entangled in a web of lies and hatred.
“Very well,” Silvio did not know if he had to kneel or take the All Father’s hand. Would he be expected to sign a treaty, he thought bemused. “I will be your Regent.”
“You will need a title of your own,” Ingenuar stood up. He reached out and brushed Silvio’s shoulder and began fixing his coat. As if he was arranging Silvio for a big reveal though the whole Coven had already seen and made up their minds about him and his consort.
Silvio looked up at the creature before him, the distance between them now gone, letting Ingenuar to continue fretting with his clothes.
“I have been a Count all my life. I would like to try something else.”
“Yes?”
Satisfied with his work Ingenuar released him and took a step back.
“A Marquis,” Silvio announced, smiling. “You have the Basilissa and the Sultana, and now you can have the Marquis.”
“Yours is not as interesting as theirs. Not as unique. But if this is what you want,” Ingenuar nodded, giving his approval. “And your consort? What would their title be?”
Silvio blinked, lost for words.
“The Basilissa has her Patrikia, and the Sultana her Emir. Who will the Marquis have?”
These ranks meant nothing to him. They sounded foreign and unobtainable, coming from worlds he may have come across, written in books, or woven in tapestries. He opened his mouth and quickly closed it. He wanted to bestow a title that both of them would enjoy using and hearing others speak aloud.
Something endearing. Something his.
“Comte,” Silvio said, softly. “His title will be Comte.”
“I had an inkling you were not going to choose Dulior,” Ingenuar patted him on the shoulder and began to pace across the room. He moved his body as if a great weight had fallen off him. “You do not like her much, do you?”
Silvio shook his head.
“We all have complicated relationships with our makers, it seems. Well, maybe not you and the Comte,” Ingenuar laughed.
Silvio made to ask how Ingenuar had come to be. The question kept resurfacing throughout the night.
“Let us keep that story for another time,” the Coven Master shook his head, once more reading Silvio’s mind. “Now… now is about you, Silvio. I want to hear about Silvio Bracci.”
The name took him aback. He had not heard it spoken in years.
He had been Monsieur di Flaviari for centuries, and that persona had become as much a part of him as the weight of time.
Before he could stop himself the words flowed out of Silvio’s mouth, a fountain of truth.
He found himself telling Ingenuar about life in Naples, a life before the crusades.
Before France.
He spoke about growing up, pampered and spoiled by Emerick’s sisters, until they were sent off to be married.
He spoke about learning to read and write in Latin second-hand from Emerick who was more interested in the images of warriors mounted on snails in the margins of Scripture, or playing pranks on the priests in the confessional.
One time Emerick had gone as far as to don a stolen cassock and get the confession of a woman who stepped into the booth thinking she was absolving her sins with an ordained priest. Instead, she was instructed to find a rooster and bring it to the High Priest as penance before dawn.
Silvio told Ingenuar of how they joined the First Crusade, driven more by boredom than religious fervour, and how God’s army had rewarded them for their service and everyone they encountered on the journey.
He spared the All Father the details of gore that he and Emerick had carved through during the siege.
Just as he withheld the memories of all these moments when he looked at Emerick and was filled with hunger until he was finally sated, and able to call him his.
Their crimes and their passions belonged to them, and them alone.
Not even the All Father was entitled to them.
They talked for hours, until the sky grew paler in the distance, and the songs of birds came through the trees.
Ingenuar was a patient and tentative listener; he drank in all that Silvio offered.
When a servant finally came to knock on the door and call them back to the ballroom, Ingenuar puffed in annoyance.
The coming of dawn did not appear to bother or deter him but lady Scarlett had expressed her displeasure of having the Master absent for so long.
“We will continue tomorrow night,” Ingenuar waved the servant away, running a hand through his hair. “The three of us.”
“Three?”
“Yes, I would like to hear the Comte’s side of things.”