Chapter 17 #2
He straps something on and I notice at first they look like a normal pair of sunglasses, but on the backs of the lenses, it’s like goggles, totally blacked out, not allowing any sunlight through.
“Impressive,” I say as we turn out through the garage onto the cobblestone driveway. “Did you make them yourself or can I commission some made for my House members?”
“You’re an interesting creature, Alivia,” he says. “You always put your family first, but there are multiple motives.”
“Am I so obvious?” I ask, trying to sound as if I’m joking, but suddenly worried it’s truth.
“Probably not to most of them,” he says. He folds his hands behind his back. It’s an overcast day, not the most beautiful to be wandering the grounds. I see Dave, one of the landscapers, down a ways, trimming some hedges. “But I’ve been around politics a long time.”
“Have you always been a spy for the King?” I ask as we walk out over the wet grass. “Or have you held other positions?”
Raheem looks out over the landscape, but I study his face. So beautiful and mysterious.
“I am the offspring of the seventh son, you of the third. The seventh son had five sons of his own. My niece rules over a House in Ukraine. My cousins rule in Borneo, Columbia. And myself, and seven of my cousins are members of the Guard, more than any of the other son’s families.
We are…apt for the positions the King offers. ”
“How so?” I ask.
He glances at me, his eyes completely hidden from my view. “We not only have Royal vampire blood in our veins, we are heirs and princes and princesses of worldly royalty as well.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “I have to admit, you’ve got my interest.”
He smiles at me and there’s something lustful and wicked about it.
My heart does a small skip into my throat.
“My mother was the daughter of what was Saudi Arabia’s richest sheik.
My father’s uncle was a pharaoh. The seventh son valued power.
Connections. And he taught his children.
Our line has ties to leadership and royalty from every major empire throughout history.
At least from the inception of vampirism. ”
“That’s…amazing,” I admit in wonder. I’ve always been fascinated by Egyptian history. And here I am talking with the descendent of a pharaoh. “What about the third son, what was that family like?”
“They were the peace keepers,” Raheem says as we loop around the house.
We start toward the north end of the property.
Out this direction are the old dairy houses, the slave’s quarters, and the ruins of a building I no longer recognize.
“They were committed to family. The third son had fourteen of his own sons and I’ve heard he had thirty-one daughters. ”
“That’s quite the posterity,” I say in wonder. “How long ago did he die?”
“Oh, Dorian is not dead,” Raheem says with amusement as he gives me a side glance. “He’s very much still alive, as is Malachi, the seventh son. They still rule Houses, Dorian over all of Russia and Malachi over Egypt and most of the Middle East.”
My eyes grow wide. They have to be thousands of years old. It’s hard to imagine. Harder still to know the King is older. “What about the five sons who rebelled against the King?”
“Two of them remain,” Raheem says. We stop outside the barn that no longer houses horses, but equipment. “But they don’t have contact with the Royals. Their exile is sure.”
“Did Cyrus kill the other three?” I ask, knowing my answer.
“Slowly,” Raheem answers as he arches an eyebrow.
I sigh and lean against the barn, folding my arms over my chest. “There is so much history to your kind. It’s difficult to wrap my head around it all.”
“Our kind, I hope for your sake, you mean.” His voice is amused but dangerous.
“Not just yet,” I say, feeling all my defenses rising back up. Markov’s warning to watch everything I say comes back to mind and I’m starting to understand why it was given now.
“I’d love to create a family tree someday,” I say as I stand once again and start back toward the House. “See where the connections meet, how far back the generations go. We’re all cousins I suppose.”
Raheem gives a laugh, and it contains the hint of a snort that’s kind of endearing.
“Calling us all cousins is like calling cavemen cousins to Queen Elizabeth. There have been thousands of years in our gene pool and continents worth of DNA to spread from. You and I are no more closely related than you and anyone else in the Middle East.”
It’s interesting, and overwhelming to think of it that way. But a relief. Ian was a descendent of some former royal through one of the five exiled sons. It’s good not to feel like I made out with my third cousin.
“The King does have a colossal mural wall in his palace in Austria though,” Raheem continues. “It’s quite impressive. Every Royal, as far as has been known is on the wall. Hundreds, thousands, of names. Soon, if you are who we think you are, your name will be added.”
“I’d like to see that,” I say before I fully think out what seeing it would imply.
“The King’s entire palace is something to see, but somewhere you’d better hope you never have to visit,” Raheem says darkly.
“Why is that?” I ask, my brows furrowing.
“All trials and executions happen at the palace. A visit there, unless you are a member of the Court, always ends in death.”
Goosebumps flash across my skin as I imagine dark halls lined with bones, the floor rivers of blood, and dark and demented princes and princesses feeding on humans.
I shake the feeling of darkness that creeps over me and change the subject. “Have you ever met the Queen?”
Raheem looks at me carefully and I know he’s studying me for the Queen. “Just once. She died not long after that time.”
“What was she like?”
The air grows markedly cooler, the sky dimming as heavy clouds cover the sun. The temperatures have to be close to freezing now. I shiver, goosebumps flashing over my skin once again.
Raheem shrugs his jacket off and slips it over my shoulders. I thank him, enveloped in his scent. Even that is exotic.
“Sevan is…quiet. She’s very observant. She’s kind but she is also very fit to be a ruler,” he says as we continue our walk back to the House. “And she loves her husband, there is no question about that. But there’s always…a sadness in her eyes. This is not the life she wished for.”
The curses. The King cursed himself and her when he forced his vampirism on her.
“That’s so terrible,” I say, my insides sinking. “To be forced into an immortal life, only to die over and over again.”
Raheem nods his head. “There’s nothing simple about their relationship. But there is love. And when she’s alive, when they are together, the King is a different man.”
“Not so scary?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
“Something like that,” Raheem replies with a smile.
By this point we’ve reached the House again. There’s a sense of…ease, that’s formed between Raheem and I, and I don’t have a logical explanation for it, considering the threat he’s posed the last month and more to me.
But we walk together, calm and casual. And just as we walk back into the cover of the garage, the first snowflake falls from the sky.