Chapter 61
EMBERLINE
After nightmares filled with clicking mandibles and skittering legs, I woke to sunlight bathing me in warmth, rays streaming in from the round skylight above the bed. I’d slept so long and so deep, it took me a minute to remember where I was.
Emilia’s. The temple.
Safe.
I sank back into the soft mattress and took stock of my one remaining bedmate.
Nico was snoring on his back—no surprise—one brawny arm thrown over his eyes against the light.
I lay there for a moment, taking stock of my aching shoulders and bruised wrists, the sore spot on my hip I got when we were running from the Drax.
Or when I tumbled off the path.
Or from being thrown overboard and drowned.
So much nightmare fuel to choose from, I could probably take my pick. But yesterday was behind us, along with the burned-out villa and Rocco Fucking Demente.
Then Nico rolled over, mumbled something about cake, threw his arm over my waist, and started snoring again.
I ran my fingers through his hair, working out the tangles, trying to ground myself in reality.
We’re alive.
Such a pleasant surprise, given where we should be—waiting to be executed. I glanced again at the sun, breaking over the water, the way the light gilded every wave with gold.
Early morning, barely an hour past dawn.
Right now, we should be standing on a platform in the center courtyard of the Sala del Giuramento, hands tied behind our backs, a sword pressed to the nape of our necks while my uncle and the whole Dynasty watched.
I swallowed, blinking back the tears burning hot in my eyes.
We should be dead, but we’re not.
My uncle should have won, but he didn’t.
And soon, he was going to discover just how costly that mistake had been.
I dressed quietly, leaving Nico to sleep—given the fact he didn’t so much as stir, he needed it more than I did—and followed the smell of coffee.
Emilia’s east-facing dining room was flooded with morning light, the long table laid out with the kind of breakfast I hadn’t seen in months. Dark breads and soft cheeses, fresh fruit and pastries still crispy from the oven, and a coffee service that smelled like heaven.
“Thank all the gods, but mostly the java gods.” I poured myself a cup, gulped it down, then refilled to the brim. Death by coffee. Now that was something I could really get behind.
Emilia floated in, immaculately dressed, not a hair out of place, a fresh bite mark on her neck, followed by a stranger… no, not a stranger. Lucien. I remembered him from the fortress. And right behind them….
“Severin.”
He crossed the room and yanked me into a soldier’s embrace, crushing the air out of my lungs, hand patting firmly between my shoulder blades. There, just beneath his jaw… another bite mark. I looked between him and Emilia and made a completely unfounded assumption, which I dismissed immediately.
“Good morning,” I said brightly, trying to ignore the fact his top three buttons were undone.
“You look like hell,” Severin said warmly, holding me at arm’s length. “I heard what happened. By the time I got word your uncle was on the move, it was already over. I’m sorry.”
“We’re alive, that’s all that matters.” I looked up at him. “When did you get here?”
Stupid, stupid question, Emberline. You don’t care what time he got here; his personal life is none of your business. And yet, some nibby nosy piece of me really, really wanted to know.
“Last night. Late. You were already in bed.” He released me, his eyes softening when they cut to Emilia, full of… okay, this was weird.
Then Severin reached out and caught Emilia’s hand. She looked at him with an expression I’d almost call fond, and everything fell into place.
“Oh,” I said.
“Close your mouth and sit down, Emberline,” Emilia said with the serenity of a woman who was excellent at keeping secrets. “Have something to eat, although I dare say, you drank your fill last night.”
I reached up and touched the bite marks on my own neck.
Gods, was there something in the air around here?
“How long?” I asked, not moving.
“Longer than the Dynasty has existed in its current form.” Severin grinned, pulling out the chair beside him and patting the seat. Emilia sat down, her own smile frighteningly wide. “Which is why I’d appreciate you not making a big deal about it.”
“I’m not making a big deal.”
“You are making a big deal. Now sit down and eat.”
I sat down and reached for more coffee, not taking my eyes off the two of them.
Okay, so maybe I was making this weird, but it was.
So weird.
Lucien watched this exchange with a faint smile that suggested he found us all mildly entertaining.
Even sitting down, I could tell he was tall and lean, like Nico, every movement smooth and economical.
A soldier, then. He looked as if he was about forty in appearance, which, given the present company, meant nothing.
“Lucien, this is Emberline,” Emilia said. “Emberline, Lucien.”
“We’ve met, but you were pretty out of it,” I said, my mouth falling open when Lucien took Emilia’s other hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles.
Maybe I’d hit my head yesterday.
Maybe I was actually having an aneurysm, and all of this was a hallucination.
Still, watching the three of them over the rim of my coffee cup was better than any TV mini-drama.
I was still watching the show when Gabriel came in, clean-shaven and steadier than I expected, Dante right behind him, shaggy hair down around his shoulders, dressed in a loose pair of black pants someone had loaned him.
They made small talk with Emilia and Severin, traded pleasantries with Lucien, then took the chairs on either side of me, big, muscled thighs pressed against mine.
We were nearly finished eating when Nico arrived, dropping into a chair with the loose ease of someone who was still half-asleep. “Coffee?” he said hopefully, and I pointed to the pot right behind him.
Then he caught sight of Lucien and his whole demeanor changed, posture stiffening, top lip rising to bare a single white fang. Lucien just grinned back.
“I heard an interesting rumor this morning,” Severin said brightly, looking happier than if it was his birthday.
“It seems an iron-clad prison ship showed up in the Grand Canal, right in front of the DiRavello palazzo. Nobody seems to have a clue how it got there. The bow was sunk so deep in the muck, it took ten abjurists to budge the thing.”
“Hmmm, you don’t say?” Nico put his cup to his lips, so I could only see his eyes, gleaming with mischief. “Seems like something you should investigate. As the head of the Draconi Brotherhood and all.”
“I fully intend to.” Severin’s lips twitched. “All I can say is, you really fucked up my day, and I don’t mind one bit since I get to ask Giovanni if he knows anything, then listen to his mental gymnastics as he tries to explain this clusterfuck away.”
“Glad I could accommodate.” Nico reached over the table and clasped Severin’s hand, something passing between them—the recognition of two males who trusted each other implicitly.
“I heard voices…” Valeria paused in the doorway, her gaze flying between us.
She was dressed in a loose, white robe. Her hair was back, her spine was straight, and the paleness of her face told me she hadn’t slept much. But she took us all in, squared her shoulders, and eyed the chair next to Nico.
“Sit down,” I told her, pushing to my feet. “Let me get you some coffee.”
Emilia folded her hands.
Scattered, empty plates littered the table. We were all over-caffeinated and on edge, silence reigning as we all waited for her to speak.
“I have someone,” she explained, “inside Blackwood’s organization. He has been there for two centuries now.” She paused, letting that settle. “His name is Romulus Decarus.”
Nico stayed quiet, taking a sip of his coffee, but his hand trembled enough that he spilled some.
“Rom is one of the most gifted vampires I’ve ever known, and no one in Blackwood’s inner circle has any reason to doubt his loyalty.” Her dark gaze roved around the table. “He will be our greatest advantage in the coming weeks, and his intel is impeccable.”
“What is his access? How deep does this intel go?” Gabriel asked.
“Rom knows everything Blackwood knows,” Lucien said quietly from the end of the table. “Romulus is his confidant, his right hand, his most trusted, loyal soldier. As such, Rom knows Blackwood’s every movement, his plans, even his fears.”
“And what is he afraid of?” Dante asked, eyeing Nico mopping up coffee with his napkin.
“Returning to Rome empty-handed,” Emilia said. “Blackwood rules the Bellamorte Dynasty, but he still answers to his council. He swore the Basin was in his possession, and if he goes back without it,”—she tilted her head slightly—“he goes back having failed.”
I turned my cup in my hands. “So, we use that against him.”
“We use that,” she agreed.
“Romulus has been spying on my father?” Nico’s voice was like ground glass. “All these years… I thought he was loyal to Blackwood. If you hadn’t said something, I don’t think I ever would have suspected.”
“Because he’s very good at what he does. He’s been my plant since before you were born, Nico,” Emilia’s eyes softened, as they always did, whenever they landed on Nico. “Now, where was I?”
“Getting Blackwood out of Venice,” I prompted. “So, this Romulus can help us by convincing Blackwood to leave?” This vampire must be damn good at what he did, for Emilia to put so much trust in him.
“That, and he will watch over your brother when he goes to Rome. Rom will keep Luca safe; there is no one better suited to protecting your brother, Emberline. I promise.”
“You mean… our enemies have a Basin,” Dante said out of nowhere, and the table went quiet.
He looked around at us with the exasperated expression of someone who had already figured out the answer to our problem. “They have a Basin. The real Basin, but they don’t know that. Not yet.” He paused expectantly, tipping his head to me.