Chapter 12 Tal #2
My maker snorted. “If that did happen, the blast zone would be more than forty miles. You’d probably destroy half of Yvelia. In fact, that much magic being unmade by itself would probably trigger a chain reaction that would unmake all magic. Everywhere. The whole realm would probably be—”
“You’re. Not. Helping.”
He had the decency to look contrite. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I do want to help. I think I might be able to as well. But first, there was something I wanted to talk to you about, Saeris. Something important.”
I let my head thump against the back of my chair. “Let’s hear it.”
He didn’t seem overly pleased by my lack of enthusiasm. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but you’re only the second person I’ve sired.” He waited, watching me. Expecting me to react somehow?
“Okay.”
“I saved the life of another, a very long time ago. I’m glad I saved him, and I’m glad I saved you, too. But . . .”
“But you never wanted children,” I offered. “Is that even an appropriate term for what I am to you?” The term felt weird.
Taladaius smiled. “Hmm. Yes and no. The relationship between maker and made could be compared to that of parent and offspring, I suppose. So, yes,” he said, observing me with steady eyes.
“To use your analogy, I’ve never wanted children.
It isn’t my path. So, while I am happy to have prevented your true death, I find myself conflicted.
I made you. Most high bloods don’t care about the ramifications of that act, but to me, it is a grave responsibility .
. .” He trailed off, smiling softly. “Pardon the pun. You are in this position, in part, of because of me. It’s my duty to make sure that you understand what it is to be a member of this court.
It’s incumbent on me to make sure you’re equipped to survive this place, too.
“For most people, the adjustment from their old existence to the new is more than they can handle. Without guidance, it’s easy to make poor choices here.
There are many roads to take in Ammontraíeth, and nearly all of them lead to hell.
But things are different for you, Saeris.
You aren’t a full-blooded vampire. Your thirst doesn’t rage the way it does with the newly turned.
You don’t need blood. And while you might not know the rules and restrictions of our court, you find yourself in the unique position of not being bound by any of them.
” He shrugged a shoulder. “Perks of being queen. With all that said, I wanted to speak with you about . . . well, about Fisher. Your bond with him is unique. My own relationship with him is . . .”
“Complicated?”
He nodded. “I’ve found myself in a position where I’ve held power over him of late.
In Gillethrye . . .” His eyes took on a distant, glazed look.
“Let’s just say, Gillethrye was no fun for me, either.
I would never have stepped foot into that maze if I’d had my way, but .
. . I suppose it was better that Malcolm did send me there in some ways.
” Taladaius stared down at his hands for a moment, still lost in his thoughts.
“Anyway. You’re God-Bound with Fisher. And right now, you’re bound to me, too.
I don’t want to hurt Fisher by having any sort of power over his mate.
And I definitely don’t want your rule over this court undermined by continual accusations from the other Lords of Midnight, claiming that you’re my puppet.
So, my question to you, Saeris, is this: Would it offend you very badly”—he winced—“if I publicly disavowed you and severed our bond?”
I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Gods alive, Taladaius!”
His eyes went wide. “What?”
“I thought you were trying to break some horrific news to me. I thought someone was dead.”
“So, you don’t mind, then? About being disavowed?”
“No, of course I don’t mind. I agree with you on all fronts.
And I’ve got to be honest, being able to sense you sometimes is pretty confusing.
It doesn’t seem right that I have a front row seat to your emotions.
But!” I cut him off before he could speak.
“If you want this thing of me, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask for something in return. ”
A wary tightness formed at the corners of his storm-gray eyes. “Which is?”
“Presiding over this place is beyond me. I have no experience of ruling over a court and no desire to learn, either. I need someone to cover for me and act on my behalf when I’m in Cahlish. In general, really. I need that to be you.”
Taladaius was already shaking his head. “The optics—”
“I don’t give a fuck about optics. You were Malcolm’s second in command. He trusted you with the position, so the court can hardly criticize me for doing the same.”
He couldn’t really argue with that. No one could, which was specifically why I’d made the decision. Taladaius groped for something to say but then gave up, shaking his head. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Yes.”
“All right, then. So be it. I’ll go ahead and make the arrangements on both counts, then.
As far as the disavowment goes, it’s a simple rite, but we should make a spectacle out of it.
I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you’re not one for grand scenes.
Believe me, I’m not, either. But we have to sell it to make the high bloods believe it, and that will unfortunately require some . . . theatrics.”
Great. Just what I needed. Even so, I said, “If you think it’s important, then I trust you.
” And I realized that I did. There were long years of history between the vampire sitting opposite me and the members of the Lupo Proelia.
The air was thick with tension whenever anyone even mentioned his name back at Cahlish.
There was so much I didn’t know when it came to their relationship with Taladaius, but at the end of the day, I could only go by my own experiences with him.
I knew that he had saved my life.
I knew that he was sad.
I knew that I believed him when he said this disavowment was for the best, and honestly, I had hated the idea of sharing such an intimate connection with anyone other than my mate since the second I had woken up. What Taladaius was offering me was a kindness.
I stood up and held out my hand to him. “All right, then. Disavowed it is. No more maker and made bullshit for us.”
The tide of Taladaius’s sadness broke for a moment, and I felt his relief rushing in. He accepted my hand and shook it. “No more maker and made bullshit,” he agreed. “But how about . . . friends?”
I grinned, because the vampire who had saved me, who was at least fifteen hundred years older than me and had half of Ammontraíeth pissing in their pants whenever he walked lest he turn their blood to smoke, actually seemed nervous. “I think I’d like that.”
At that, he returned my grin. “In that case, you’d better call me Tal.”