Chapter Six #5
“Of course,” Raffaelle echoed, eager to see where the conversation was going. Whatever demon occurrence was taking place, it must have been quite something to divert Tabes from his usual taunts. “As you have done with mine.”
“Yes, but I am the only one in line for yours. There are two demons waiting on the girl. Which is not impossible, but it is not common. We demons are creatures moulded by our own greed and Lord Astaroth is not known for sharing.”
“Perhaps he does not know there is another? This girl… where is she now?” Raffaelle’s question was interrupted by a knock on the door. A footman was standing outside, sent to fetch him; his siblings were waiting for him.
“Don’t leave the room until I’m back,” he ordered.
He got up and moved faster than he meant. Sometimes he forgot himself, forgot how effortless it was not to move like a human. Tabes followed the movement of Raffaelle’s body with a frown.
“And where would I go?” the demon huffed. “Unless you’d like me to preside over your vampire conclave?”
Raffaelle stopped at the door, his hand hovered over the handle. The All Father’s body was drained. Vampires are not the only predators who feast on blood in this Coven. He knew that better than most. And this business with the draugr…
Tabes rested his elbow on the table. With the sheet barely covering his torso and legs, hair dishevelled and eyes glowing with their golden flame, he looked like he had crawled out of a painting.
A creature watching their cabal of immortals, listening to their daily lives, learning their secrets, their hopes. Mimicking their hunger.
“Go and do your duty to the Coven, Raffy. I’ll be keeping the fort.” The demon waved him off, and Raffaelle had no choice but to trust him.
SCARLETT, 2017
No one had lit the library fireplace. The mantelpiece stood black and bare. There had been enough fire for one night, enough fire and smoke to last an eternity. Burn him… The vampires had chosen to burn him, as the earth was not meant to cradle a man such as Ingenuar.
Their small party stood scattered about the room, oblivious to the long table laid for them, a chair placed for each.
Scarlett sat at its head, her gloved hands resting in her lap.
Nhalme, her brother, sat to her right. Raffaelle arrived late; he looked pale, as though he had foregone feeding.
He made a stiff bow and went to stand beside August, who was leaning against the mantelpiece.
Betül had claimed a nearby chaise, fussing with the rings on her fingers, turning one silver band back and forth, back and forth on her left hand.
Penelope had chosen an armchair closest to the window, sitting in silence, gazing out into the night.
Scarlett noted that no vampire from France had come to represent the Béziers Coven.
She had seen Jean-étienne sulking in one of the music rooms, but the man was not part of Silvio’s court.
Only belatedly did she realised that Ingenuar never extended an invitation to the Marquis to appoint an envoy, a chargé d’affaires.
It was far too late to remedy that now. Scarlett herself had never really belonged to the Council’s inner circle; she had always been there to observe and ensure that whatever its decisions were, they always served the All Father’s will.
Now, still carrying traces of their Father and Master’s ashes, they were free to recreate him in a new image—one that suited the Coven better in the age of modernity.
Centuries ago, when Ingenuar had brought her to this court, he had explained his vision for it, and for the territories beyond.
He was reminiscent and nostalgic for the empires of old.
The Romans. The Byzantines. The Ottomans.
He chose queens to rule over Greece and Turkey, and gave them seats of power.
He called them worshippers of the sun, his voice full of adoration.
“Vampires living among olive groves and sand dunes,” Ingenuar had said, tone soft and downcast.
He liked the idea of it, the paradox. Germany he had chosen in homage to the Holy Roman Empire—neither Roman, nor holy. And as for Béziers, he admired the arrogance of the French, their willingness to watch it all burn. So, he had given it to Silvio, who simmered with hate and hunger.
He had granted his children, these vampires, four territories for their homes and hunting grounds. It was easier to govern and keep the undead populace under control, to draw borders.
“Easier to erase, when the time comes.”
Ingenuar had frightened her when he talked like that, of ending it all, as though the Regents would ever let him.
Scarlett shook off the memory of her maker and lover; she could not remember the last time she had seen him before…
before the pyre. Every time she tried to recall those final days, she could not see his face whole.
She kept returning to the image of him cold and lifeless on the ground, a falling-apart corpse. Unfamiliar.
The First Vampire, their Father, was dead and they had burned him. Erased him completely from the annals of history, as though he had been nothing, as though all of them were nothing.
The fingers of her right hand began to shake. She clasped her wrist with her other hand, and willed both of them flat in her lap. She wanted to remove her gloves, but that would mean touching and feeling a world that no longer held him. Her flesh was not ready for such a sensation.
“Are we really not going to address what happened?” August said once the silence in the room had become unbearable.
“And what are you suggesting happened?” Nhalme invited him to speak, visibly curious.
“He killed himself.” August’s voice shook, not bothering to look back at his brother. His eyes swept the other immortals, desperate for them to agree.
Nhalme let out an exasperated sigh, and cast Scarlett an apologetic look.
The possibility that Ingenuar had taken his own life had not escaped her. In fact, Scarlett was fixated on avoiding that particular thought or delving into it. She had always wondered what would happen if Ingenuar died; would they also perish with him, their breath extinguished like a candle flame?
The All Father had been acting strange in recent years. The sanest thing he had done was to make Silvio Regent, and even that was questionable.
The Basilissa had fought for her way to the top, killing any vampire who dared to challenge her.
And the Sultana had proclaimed herself ruler of an Immortal Ottoman Empire.
Ingenuar had allowed her to retain the title because; it spared him the trouble.
The Basilissa’s primary purpose was to keep the Sultana in check.
Now, with Ingenuar gone, the two might begin their conflict anew, and who could say if the Sultana was even the same woman who had once stood before the Coven so many centuries ago?
None of them had ever seen her face. Who was the woman beneath the veil, the one both the undead and the Emir worshipped?
“The problem at hand is appointing someone to replace the All Father,” Nhalme said, raising his voice slightly, putting an end to whatever theatre August had intended to stage. “Someone who can take Ingenuar’s place.”
“We all know that any master we appoint will rule for us, not over us. Why not dispense the ceremonies and rule as a council?” Raffaelle asked, and Scarlett could tell how Nhalme disliked the boldness of these words and their implications.
She had the faintest inkling that this was not the first time the question of succession was brought up.
Her siblings could meet among themselves or summon the Council without her, to scheme, and to plot.
Of course, they would discuss a time—a world—without the All Father, and what that world might bring.
Scarlett was the All Mother but the title was as much a formality, as her role as consort.
She was young in vampire years; no immortal had crawled out of her womb. The Council did not owe her loyalty.
“Regents can exercise influence over the Council members. Similarly to what they are doing now.” Scarlett did not need to look at Betül or Penelope to see her sisters’ frowns at the accusation. “We need a Master. The Master and Council can keep each other in check. Hold each other accountable.”
They would have to vote then, throw names across the table and elect a vampire fit for succession.
Penelope was the first to suggest Silvio. Raffaelle cast her a look.
“And why not Silvio?” Penelope pressed. “Among the Regents, he is the safest choice, furthest from conflicts with the East. Let him come to the Coven permanently, and leave France to his consort.”
“If you are proposing a Regent, then all Regents should be considered!” Betül exclaimed, straightening her back.
“When was the last time Gülsün stepped through this threshold? I do not recall seeing her this millennium.” Penelope laughed. She stood up and crossed to the table, taking the seat on Scarlett’s left.
At the sound of her mistress’s given name, Betül’s face grew pale. It was sacrilege enough to speak the Sultana’s name, let alone in accusation.
“Silvio has no interest to rule; you have seen him,” Betül interjected, turning now to August. “The one with ambition is his mother. Our Father’s ashes have not yet settled into the earth, and she is already scheming!”
Dulior made him Regent, why not make him Master? Scarlett smiled before she could stop herself. She was fond of Silvio. He would not have liked the Council, nor would he wish to lose one of his kin to it, but he was trustworthy.
“What of Mihaela?” The All Mother asked, remembering the young woman.