Chapter Six #7
Silvio tapped a finger against the armrest, his nail made a soft tap tap tap against the wood.
The Marquis usually wore gloves when the weather turned cold—leather or velvet—always making a show of putting them on or taking them off, handing them over to Emerick or the nearest servant.
Now, his hands were bare and exposed. Unlike Scarlett, he did not flinch from the notion of caressing a world without their Maker.
“What are your conditions?” Silvio asked, his lips twisted in a forlorn smile as he spoke, one that vanished as quickly as it had formed.
He appeared suddenly tired; tired of the court’s demands and etiquette.
They were always asking things of him: the Coven, the Council, Ingenuar.
They kept dragging him away from whatever paradise he created for himself and his lover.
Every servant sent to tend and clean the Marquis’ chambers had been dismissed.
He wanted to be alone, answering only to Ingenuar’s call and command until it was time to go home.
“The same conditions that the All Father abode to—govern vampirekind,” Nhalme explained, gesturing to the whole room.
He made it sound so easy, so simple. “Govern and reside in the Coven, appoint Regents, dismiss Regents. Surely Ingenuar had mentioned some of it in passing. The game of chess he and the mistresses have been playing.”
“His little tabula board, yes.” Silvio nodded in acknowledgement towards Penelope and Betül.
The two women did not appear to appreciate being referred to as pieces on a board game.
“But what makes you think I can keep the peace? I have no taste for gambling. Any traces of luck I may once have had were shed with my mortality.”
“It is said—” Betül began, and was immediately cut off by Penelope.
“You have been there,” her voice echoed in unspoken accusation, as if what Silvio had done were both shameful and wasteful. “You have been to the Basilissa’s court. It is said you and your consort have earned her favour.”
“I would not necessarily call it a favour. We were guests.”
Penelope’s face hardened and she continued to speak as if the Regent had not answered her.
“Afterwards, you ventured into the Ottoman Empire. Sought admission to the sultanate.”
“My consort likes to travel. He wanted to master seafaring. The route took us further down the Mediterranean than we intended.” As Silvio spoke, he bared his teeth, his upper lip curling to reveal the fangs.
Whether he was annoyed by Penelope’s words or from something he remembered about the trip, Scarlett could not tell.
“So you have seen her?”
“Nhalme.” The Marquis turned his head slowly and deliberately towards the man. There was something cruel in the way his mouth uttered the name, like a warning. “Is this how you treated your Father? Have you brought me here to answer at a trial of sorts?”
Her brother’s lips pressed into a thin line, the colour draining from his face.
Scarlett did not need to read his mind to know what he was thinking—this whole arrangement was a mistake.
The heir did not need such a hearing, they had already chosen him after all.
Nhalme should have delivered the news and made the offer in private. Like Ingenuar used to do.
“You have heard our conditions. What are yours? What would it take?” Nhalme said instead.
Silvio appeared to think for a moment, his eyes travelled over each of them and then shifted slightly, as if he were studying the room. He ran the flats of his palms over the wood of the chair, lightly chewing on his lower lip.
“That you disband. No Council. No Ministry of Shadows. I will rule with a Council of my choosing.” He lifted a hand, bidding Nhalme to be silent, as he went on. “You will be pleased to see the All Mother ruling by my side, I hope.”
“As consort?” Raffaelle frowned, looking at his fellows for confirmation that he had heard right.
“As counsellor,” Silvio corrected him, before turning back to Nhalme. “Emerick will take Béziers, as the new Marquis. He will retain his position as my consort.”
“A Coven Master and a Regent consort—” Betül’s grip on the chair’s armrests tightened, followed by the unmistakable sound of wood splintering under her fingers.
“Does the All Mother object?” Silvio’s green eyes fixed on Scarlett.
“You understand that Emerick will have no claim on Berlin. He is not meant to inherit,” she answered.
“Subsequent Coven Masters, if it comes to that, will be chosen with a vote.” Her voice was steady as she spoke, meeting his gaze.
“Emerick will also have to choose a new Comte, if he is to be the Marquis.”
“Of course, if that is what he wants.”
Movement caught in the corner of her vision and Scarlett frowned glancing around the room.
She could hear the sound of a car engine and the metal body of the vehicle moving outside along the driveway.
The headlights crawled through the windows, illuminating the paintings and mirrors hanging on the walls.
The light made them shimmer, and Silvio turned, following Scarlett’s gaze.
A beat later his reflection in the mirror repeated the movement, and Scarlett had to suddenly force herself to look away.
Nausea crept up her throat. The taste of smoke and fire flooded again her lungs, and she fought the urge to retch.
“It appears word has spread, brother. We will be having visitors in our Father’s wake.” August crossed his arms, leaning back into his seat. His smile was too gleeful.
“These are your conditions—the Council and Emerick?” Nhalme ignored his brother and looked at the Regent.
“A fair price.” Silvio smiled, still fixated on their reflections in the mirror.
He was not made to rule, your brother.
Silvio’s voice echoed in Scarlett’s head, so sudden and uninvited that she flinched. He had never done that to her before. No vampire dared trespass and demand such an intimacy of her; even Nhalme had always waited for her to offer it as a channel for their worries.
Scarlett was unable to respond. Nhalme stood up slowly and crossed the space between himself and Silvio.
When a Regent was appointed, Ingenuar liked to offer gifts: a drop of his blood and a symbolic trinket of some sort.
Nhalme could offer no such gifts. Instead, he stopped in front of the Marquis and bent his knee, head bowed, eyes lowered.
Scarlett saw her brother’s lips quiver. He did not know how to address Silvio. How would they call him? What were they left with when the Father of all vampires was dead?
When no one else moved, the All Mother stood up and followed Nhalme’s example.
All her life she had seen vampires move aside for her, bowing, curtseying.
They would take her hand in greeting, lips brushing lightly against her knuckles.
All Mother, they had whispered and adored her.
Gathering her long black skirts, Scarlett knelt in front of Silvio, beside Nhalme.
Behind her, others were finally coming to do the same. Their last act as a Council, as Ingenuar’s direct descendants, was to be on their hands and knees.
“Pardon my delay, it appears some of my suits have been stolen.”
Emerick walked through the threshold with a spring in his step.
He cast Silvio a toothy grin, which grew wider when he noticed who else was gathered in the library.
Scarlett could not tell if he was joking or serious.
What a silly thing to do—steal from a vampire’s room, and clothes at that.
The thought strangely cheered her. Behind her Raffaelle made a sound, somewhere between coughing and snorting.
They left the Marquis and the Comte to speak in private and moved their small party to a nearby drawing room.
Servants were sent to summon the other vampires.
Members of the French Coven had to be made aware; assistants waited to start sending messages.
Casting a cold glance at their group, Betül left them to personally write a missive to her mistress, mistrustful of whatever words Nhalme or their new master might send.
August pulled the di Flaviaries aside and relayed the news in a whisper.
While Jean-étienne stomped his foot and puffed, Dulior had grown quiet, her face motionless, eyes unblinking.
Only her hand moved as it held on to her husband’s elbow, swayed by his frantic motions.
Whatever Jean-étienne was raving about, earned only August’s shrug and downcast smile.
“The Count thinks they are going to kill her,” Scarlett said aloud, startled by the horror of such a possibility.
There had never been a public execution in the Coven. Any vampire that Ingenuar deemed unworthy, or guilty of a crime so horrid, was dealt with in private. It was a father’s duty to discipline and dispose of his child, and Ingenuar did so within the mercy of hollow rooms and empty driveways.
“Should we now all strive to wait upon our Master’s pleasure?” Penelope appeared beside Scarlett, arching an eyebrow.
Scarlett thought about it for a moment.
“I do not think any of us can,” she said simply.
“Mother.”
A hand gently squeezed her wrist. Mihaela’s face was flushed from the cold, from wandering through the garden, trying to avoid the remains of the pyre.
The fledgling was having trouble keeping still under the mansion’s roof.
Her only companion on these morose walks was the demon who lingered over her shoulder, out of place in a room full of vampires.