Chapter 3 Freedom from Politics #2
Not the worst plan on his side or Arabesque’s. Embed someone close to the target, gather intelligence, report back. A classic strategy. But also risky, especially for whoever got caught in the crossfire when it inevitably went wrong. And there was always collateral damage in these games.
“And what do we get out of it?” Zane asked, rolling his head and cracking his neck without a care.
“Several things.” For once, Father didn’t mock the direct approach. “I’ll provide you with an estate, furnished, secure, and fully staffed. Also, a sizable dowry, or should I call it a treasury?”
“How about just call it a bribe?” Zane flashed a bright smile, all teeth and no humor.
“As you like.” Father’s mouth twitched, more grimace than smile. “I’ll also throw in your freedom.”
That one word landed heavier than anything else he’d said. Freedom. The thing we’d been fighting for since we were old enough to understand what chains looked like.
“You agree to this marriage, and I will release you from all familiar obligations. No more court appearances. No more political games. When I need hunters, I’ll hire you as contracted employees like everyone else, or we can work out a retainer salary if you prefer.”
The three of us exchanged glances. We didn’t need to speak to know what the others were thinking.
A life of our own beyond the tangled web of vampire politics.
Away from Father’s manipulations, his subtle cruelties, his impossible expectations.
And all it would cost was a year of our lives and potentially our safety. A bargain, by his standards.
Time meant nothing to vampires. They collected it like loose change, spending decades as humans spent hours. It gave Father an advantage in every negotiation, the knowledge that he could outwait us, outlive us if necessary. He had millennia to work with; we didn’t.
“Damn, Pops! You must really want eyes on Arabesque!” Zane exclaimed with a low whistle.
Father’s gaze didn’t waver as he admitted he did.
“She’s been too quiet for too long. When creatures like Arabesque go quiet, they’re not quitting. They’re spinning a larger web.”
I couldn’t argue with that assessment. From what I knew of her, Arabesque wasn’t the type to fade quietly into obscurity. She’d want power and dominance, and perhaps even vengeance for her failure in South America.
“We all three have to marry her daughters?” I was already calculating logistics. A household with multiple brides would be complicated, especially if they didn’t get along.
“No, only one daughter,” Father clarified. “You may select amongst yourselves who will be the groom, but I thought you’d rather stay together than separate for a year.”
He wasn’t wrong about that. The thought of being apart from my brothers sent a wave of unease through me.
We’d never been separated for more than a few hours since birth.
Even when Father tried to pit us against each other in training, we found ways to maintain our bond.
It was another thing he’d never managed to break.
“One bride, three grooms.” Zane gave a lazy salute. “Hope this girl of Arabesque’s is sturdy.”
Ko smacked the back of his head, and Father’s mouth twitched in something that might have been amusement. It was strange, that tiny flicker of almost-normalcy, like a glimpse into what might have been in another life. If he’d been just a father, not a tyrant. If we’d been just sons, not weapons.
The thought burned, and I pushed it away. No use dwelling on impossibilities.
“We’ll need information,” I pointed out, knowing Ko wouldn’t talk unless he had to and all Z was good for was wisecracks. “We need to know what we’re dealing with.”
Father nodded, then explained the terms of the marriage contract, at least from our side, although none of us knew what Arabesque had promised the ‘bride’ for her participation. Then he slid a dossier across the desk, and Zane grabbed it before I could.
“Which daughter are we getting?” He flipped through, looking for photos like it was a moon-damned dating service.
“We know for a fact that she has twin daughters who are eighteen. Both air witches, like their mother. Whether they are Dark or not remains unclear, but I think we all know. It’s possible that she has other children we aren’t aware of; however, she didn’t specify it would be her daughter, only a female from her household. ”
“Purposefully vague,” I muttered.
“Agreed.” Father nodded. “Regardless, whoever she chooses will be expendable.”
“Nice way of saying she’ll probably be clueless,” Z scoffed, and I took charge of the dossier before he could lose or damage anything. “Still, if we uncover Arabesque’s target, we can act against her. Since we won’t be part of the vampire court anymore, we won’t be held to the truce.”
“Precisely.” Father’s expression didn’t change, but there was approval in his eyes.
“And if she attacks one of your allies?” Zane arched an eyebrow.
“That might be another reason she wants a truce,” Father said with a shrug. “To cause a rift or perhaps a hesitation on my part to act.”
Surprising me, Ko’s smooth baritone came from behind me, making even Father sit up a fraction straighter. Ko very rarely spoke in his presence at all and never about anything personal. Not since the day Mom died and the three of us were left standing alone at her grave.
“We don’t want a wife. We want our beloved.”
Beloved. If there was one word guaranteed to stop a dhampir or vampire in his tracks, it was that.
The soulmate bond, rare and precious, formed instantly upon eye contact.
Something Father had had the great good fortune to experience twice in his long life, and something most dhampirs never got to experience at all.
“It’s only for a year. The contract does not require consummation. And besides.” Father paused, his voice turning softer, almost pitying, which was almost as shocking as Ko actually speaking to the man. “You know dhampirs rarely have a beloved.”
Hurt flashed in Zane’s eyes, the same pang that ripped across my own heart.
It was a hollow ache I felt every time I was reminded of what I’d likely never have.
Zane and I rarely discussed the topic. Some wounds were too deep to acknowledge aloud.
Ko, however, occasionally murmured about our theoretical beloved.
What she’d be like. Her interests. How she’d look at us.
A wistful dream that kept him from eating his gun some nights.
Then Zane did what he did best and changed the subject. Not to a better one, but at least a different one.
“Do we get to pick the color of the bride’s shackles or—”
“Our beloved,” Ko’s rumble froze him mid-word, “will have the smile of an angel.”
The air constricted as if his words were a black hole, sucking us all toward inevitable doom. Mount Saint Koa was closer to blowing than I’d originally factored. I made a mental note to stop by a bakery after this. He needed cookies. The good kind, too.
“Since we seem unable to move off the topic, how’s your beloved, Pops?” Zane leaned forward with exaggerated interest. “Sebastian said she’s only four years older than him. You cradle-robber, you.”
“Kaori is very well,” Father replied, his eyes softening to a degree I’d never seen before. It seemed to be the day for shocks. “Adapting to life as queen. She’d like to meet you three, by the way.”
I went perfectly still, my brain short-circuiting for a moment.
Twenty-five years ago, Catalina, Father’s first beloved, had died while giving birth to their son, Sebastian.
Then Father met Kaori, a nephilim, two months ago in some half-forgotten archive.
The moment their eyes met, he knew she was his second beloved, which was nearly a miracle.
Some vampires never found another, or only after centuries of searching.
Father always was a lucky bastard.
“We’ll consider it.” I folded my arms, unwilling to commit to anything more until I’d had the chance to gather more intel on her motives and his.
“Thank you.” Father gave me a curt nod, and for a moment, I almost believed he meant it. That the possibility of us meeting Kaori mattered to him.
“Let me see the marriage contract before we decide,” I requested, redirecting us back to the business at hand.
He nudged a piece of fine linen paper across his desk.
Taking it, I stood to move next to Koa, and Zane joined us on my other side.
We all skimmed it quickly, and the terms were simple and exactly what he’d described: A bride of legal age from the house of Arabesque Harrow, a groom of legal age from the court of King Lucian Ro?u, both willing participants, married for one year, cohabitate for one year, alive at the end of one year…
I paused, my finger tapping that last clause.
“Odd. Arabesque’s idea?” At his nod, I frowned. “She expects casualties.”
“Yours or hers remains to be seen,” he murmured.
“Who do you think Arabesque wants dead?” Zane asked. “Us or this moon-damned girl she’s sending?”
“Time will tell. Maybe both.” I turned back to Father. “Why did you sign as our proxy?”
Not that it really mattered in the end. The bride would learn our names soon enough.
Let her try to survive them.
“Arabesque requested the contract by noon today,” he explained. “I’d never send Sebastian, of course, so if you’d refused, I would have been forced to review the Turned and determine which one has matured enough—”
“To not kill the girl on their wedding night?” Zane interrupted with a fang-filled grin.
“As you say.” Father rolled one shoulder in a careless shrug.
It was a solid opportunity from our perspective. We’d have freedom, financial security, a permanent base of operations, and the opportunity to take down a dangerous Dark witch. The downsides were manageable: A year of our lives, a strange bride, potential danger. Nothing we couldn’t handle.