Chapter Three #2
He was still shaking off the exhilaration from the night before—it called forth the memory of being walked back into the ballroom and introduced with his new title. Immediately after presenting the Marquis Ingenuar had extended his hand to the crowd of vampires pooled around the pedestal.
“Now the consort.”
There was a pregnant pause, which invigorated Silvio. His lips curled in a smile even before the Coven Master finished talking. “Comte Gabrielli, if you would join us.”
Emerick stepped away from Dulior slowly, his body glided over the floor towards them. His footsteps echoed in the charged silence.
Kneel.
The command reverberated in Silvio’s head like thunder.
Ingenuar’s voice was as heavy as his blood.
Every vampire dropped down, even Dulior, the shock etched across her face.
The mortal servants had taken their places around the windows, merging with the walls, out of the way of their betters.
Silvio made to bend down but something pushed him back up—playfully, like a child reprimanded by its guardian.
He looked to the side and saw Scarlett nod and smile.
The last to obey the order was his lover.
Emerick stopped at the foot of the throne and in a ceremony he had practiced for centuries, bent his knee and head.
When he looked up the fervour in his dark eyes made Silvio wish his lover was wearing armour; the two of them were always meant to die clad in scales armour and leather, to carry the weight of the swords.
Ingenuar stepped closer and extended his hand over Emerick.
Like with Silvio, the All Father cut his wrist; the tiniest pool of blood gathered to meet Emerick’s upturned head.
He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, his chest heaving as the Blood dripped down.
His eyes remained downcast, but his expression was one of awe and relish.
The Blood Ingenuar gave Emerick was less than he had bestowed on the Marquis, and Silvio was grateful for it. He did not want his lover’s lips stained too brightly by the Old Blood. By any other vampire’s blood.
Silvio shook his head, pushing back the memory of the ceremony and the night before, and the taste… Vile, he scrunched up his face; he abhorred the taste of the Blood.
Oblivious to Silvio’s inner musings, Ingenuar tapped his fingers over the map, his eyes darted back and forth.
He picked up a quill and dipped it in the ink-pot to sketch a few marks on the map.
He circled Béziers with red ink. There were other circles, one over Berlin and two more in the Ottoman Empire.
Silvio tilted his head and saw faint marks in Scandinavia and Asia, the ink faded not by time but scraped away by hand. Were these old covens?
“Very well,” the All Father nodded, and proceeded to make notes on a piece of parchment.
“You have your titles and a city of your choice. I will leave the arrangements to you. But if I may,” he smiled, looking from Silvio to Emerick.
The Comte lounged in an armchair to the side, close enough to see the maps but his eyes trailed the mirrors around them.
“Choose a building with a deep cellar. Or one that can be expanded should the need arise.”
“Are you worried about an attack, my liege?” Silvio arched a brow.
Throughout the centuries the di Flaviari household had changed many a residence and chateau, going over countless human servants.
Not once had there been an incident or an attempt on their lives, be it from within or without.
Dulior had taught Silvio one thing and one thing only: ensure the servants served by any means necessary.
“That, and you will need a place to put the coffins,” Ingenuar shrugged, setting down the quill.
“Coffins?” Emerick asked.
“Your own and those of your court. You cannot keep them in your rooms. Unless you find a way to conceal a coffin with the décor. There has to be a safeguard,” the All Father explained. He frowned but his lips were upturned in a smile, as if he was telling them something far too obvious.
“We did not see any coffins when the All Mother showed us around,” Emerick pressed on.
The day before, while Silvio and Ingenuar had whiled away the evening in the drawing room, Scarlett had taken Emerick and Dulior on a little tour around the mansion.
She had introduced them to some of the residing vampires.
Apparently quite a number of immortals stayed whole seasons in Berlin, entertaining both their Master and themselves in the Prussian Empire.
If there had been signs of coffins or boxes meant for resting, Emerick would have made light of the discovery.
“Do you like the room you are staying in?” Ingenuar inquired and they both nodded. “Then that shall be the chamber of the Marquis and the Comte when you come to reside with us. As for the coffins, you will find a number of vacant crypts in the cellar.”
When Silvio was a fledgling, Dulior had tolerated digging up the earth and placing herself between the damp tuffs of soil—there were no alternatives, no rooms where they could hide.
But once they were back and safe in France, in her home with its numerous suites, they used beds.
A coffin did not feel safe, it suffocated and confined him.
And Emerick, when pressed in the tight box, screamed and clawed at the walls.
Dulior disliked coffins and did not encourage their use.
It was one of the few things she and Silvio agreed on.
“Where do the servants sleep?” he asked, remembering the vast number of humans walking about.
“Either in the servants’ quarters in the attic or in the chambers here. As long as they attend to their duties it does not concern me where they take their rest.”
There was something unsaid in Ingenuar’s statement that bothered Silvio.
“So you also bed them?” he frowned.
Living with the same mortals for a long period of time was dangerous but these ones knew their masters were supernatural creatures.
On top of that, keeping them indoors and drinking their blood repeatedly—like penned livestock—was too egregious.
Whenever they needed to feed, Silvio and his family would do so outside their home.
In the early days Dulior had brought a guest or two with the specific intention of killing them but had quickly tired of these games.
Finding a victim in the streets or the tavern was far more exhilarating and worth the hunt; a stranger’s blood more delectable compared to the staled comfort the Coven offered.
“Bed them, suck them dry,” Ingenuar made a dismissive gesture. “I find it easier to govern when I don’t have to forbid my children to do what is in their nature to do. A hungry child is a painful thing to watch, let alone command. It makes the mind restless, drives the body to sickness.”
“What laws do you impose on your Coven?” Silvio asked, dreading the answer.
“Feed and sire fledglings, if you must. Refrain from conflict with your fellow nightwalker, or if you so desperately insist upon it—bring the matter to the court. There is no other law above that of my will,” the All Father’s eyes met those of the Marquis, boring into him.
And the Regent will help me reinforce it, the words reverberated in his mind, pouring in like liquid fire. Silvio clenched his jaw, looking at the man, unwavering. He disliked when Ingenuar invaded his thoughts, commanding, goading him.
“What a circus of delights you keep, my liege,” Emerick threw his head back and laughed. Silvio did not share the enthusiasm.
Ingenuar’s gaze moved slowly from master to fledgling.
Silvio could not tell if he was prying into Emerick’s mind or if the All Father was simply studying him.
Emerick betrayed nothing; he lounged in his chair in the same easy posture; his arm bent on the armrest, fingers buried idly tangled in his hair.
“Speaking of delights,” the All Father clapped his hands.
The maps and parchments on the table began to fold in on themselves and move off the surface.
Silvio watched them gently flow and find their places on a nearby wall between books and glass globes.
“It is customary for the Regent to receive a gift from me—”
The door opened and a servant entered. Emerick raised his eyebrows, staring at the mortal with eager curiosity.
The man bowed and stood to the side. It was the same man who had opened the hidden door in the ballroom the day before.
Silvio noticed that he was one of the few people who walked in close proximity to the Coven Master.
He was also holding a gold ring heavy with keys.
Silvio found the concept of doors and locks here to be redundant, serving merely for show and a false sense of security.
The All Father could enter and peruse thoughts and move objects without touching them.
What use does he have for keys and locksmiths?
It is as if these vampires are desperately clinging to a false sense of normalcy, of humanity.
“Show our guests to the antiques. Let them choose what they want, and arrange for it to be shipped to… Paris?” Ingenuar looked at Silvio for confirmation. They were yet to find suitable accommodations in Béziers.
The servant led them to a chamber, more a vault than a salon.
All of its walls were covered in numerous masterpieces, some of them original, others forgeries, so deftly wrought not even their discerning eyes could tell the difference.
The tables and desks were crowded with pieces of art carved from wood, stone, iron or bronze.
Little statues, candelabras, pocket watches, a small collection of perfumes never opened.
Boxes overflowing with jewels, gold tiaras and crowns, caps and elaborate hats.
A grand piano made of beech wood was placed at one end of the room, covered in a layer of dust and a kind of lace cloth trying to protect it from aging.