Chapter 7 Oleg
Oleg
Ivan Sokholov had brought a retinue of forty vampires to the Báthory Summit, though he was only permitted five to accompany him within authorized summit events. He had rented a house in Budapest, a modern structure with brutalist lines and a fleet of expensive cars parked in the front.
The governor of Moscow clearly wanted to appear as a czar to the immortals he met.
Oleg found it as amusing as Mika found it infuriating.
“He’s trying to appear a bigger player than he actually is,” Mika muttered as they exited their vintage Rolls-Royce in front of Ivan’s modern mansion.
Petr had secured their use of the antique vehicle for the week.
It usually sat in a museum. “Trying to outshine you with this house and this… entourage.”
“Yes. He is trying.” Oleg buttoned his jacket as he stood from the sedan and surveyed the men and vampires stationed around the garden. “A moment before we go in.”
He walked to a tall, burly man with a heavy jaw and a stern expression. “Dimitri, good to see you.” He shook the guard’s hand. “Did your granddaughter have her baby yet?”
The earth vampire had been with Ivan for a century, and his harsh features immediately softened. “She did. A little girl.”
“Congratulations.” Oleg slapped his shoulder. “Children are our greatest pride and blessing, are they not?”
Dimitri bowed slightly. “They are, Knyaz. You honor my family by asking.”
“Of course.” He glanced at the men he didn’t know. “Do you have time to introduce me to the newcomers? There are a few I do not recognize, and I wish to greet them properly and thank them for their service to our territory.”
“Of course.”
Oleg took his time, walking the grounds, greeting the men he knew by name and introducing himself to the ones he didn’t recognize, keeping his voice and his presence casual.
At one point, he casually snapped his fingers to light a cigarette to share with a human who was smoking to stay awake, exchanging a joke or two about the benefits of immortality on the lungs.
“That was good,” Mika murmured in Estonian, which few of the men would speak.
“They’re not bad sorts, most of them.” He glanced at Dimitri. “It’s a good reminder.”
“Of what?” his boyar asked.
“Of why we are taking our time with Ivan.”
Immortal kings who endured did so because their people were loyal. Oleg knew his druzhina would live and die for him because, as he had told Tatyana, he would commit violence on those who threatened them.
Truvor had forgotten this, and Ivan had never learned. His temper was untested, even after a thousand years. Though Ivan was older than Oleg, he had been Truvor’s favorite for too long before he fell out of favor.
That fall had led Ivan to back Oleg when Oleg took over, but Ivan did not love Oleg, and he never had.
“Brother!” Ivan stood at the doorway of the house, waiting as Oleg climbed the stairs.
Mika glanced at Oleg from the side, and he could read his boyar’s thoughts.
He wants you looking up to him.
The corner of Oleg’s mouth turned up. Ivan’s posturing was painfully obvious.
“Ivan, it’s good to see you.” Oleg wasn’t lying. He never feared a snake on the path; it was the one hiding in the grass you had to watch for. “I was just catching up with Dimitri.”
“Yes, did he tell you about his granddaughters? He won’t shut up about them,” Ivan muttered. “Four girls, can you imagine?”
“No doubt their great-grandfather will be spoiled by their adoration.” Oleg quickly turned the snide remark around. “He might become impossible to live with.” Oleg reached the top of the stairs and held out his hand.
But Ivan quickly pulled Oleg into a forced embrace. Another show for his men, playing up camaraderie that had only ever been a fiction in Truvor’s clan.
“Welcome to my borrowed home. It belongs to this billionaire who is stuck in Moscow at the moment.” Ivan laughed. “Better for us, no?”
“It’s very striking architecture.” Oleg quickly stepped away and handed Ivan the bottle of high-end vodka he knew his brother preferred. “How has the summit been for you so far? You had meetings last night, I think.”
“I did.” Ivan led him inside and handed the vodka to his butler. “Kolya, put this on ice, will you?” Ivan offered an exaggerated shrug. “Eh, the Europeans. You know how timid they are.”
“Hmm.” Oleg offered noncommittal sounds.
“The human war makes them cautious,” Ivan said. “The humans now, they are like mice in the walls, no?” He wiggled his fingers. “Their little eyes are everywhere. They can sniff out money like cheese.”
Well, that was a vivid mental picture.
Oleg simply said, “Human surveillance is a threat to us all if we don’t take the proper precautions.
” He turned to Mika, who handed him a folder.
“Incidentally, I have a proposal from a security company that specializes in immortal cybersecurity. I’m showing it to all the governors to get their opinion. ”
Ivan’s eyebrow went up. “Is this a requirement then?”
“It’s a consideration,” Oleg said. “Coordination could make all our businesses more secure.”
“It could also lead to weakness,” Ivan said. “A single crack in the wall could give access to all our interests.”
“An excellent point,” Oleg said, “and one I will consider.”
Much of their conversation from there circled around the mundanities of business and the running of their organizations.
Though nearly all of Ivan’s enterprises were black or grey market, much of the administration was the same as Oleg’s, which had been transitioning to legitimate business for decades.
“Ludmila and Oksana tell me that things have been running smoothly since the warehouse,” Oleg said after a half hour of chatting. “That’s good to hear.”
“We’ve been utilizing air transport,” Ivan said. “It is a good alternative and leaves much less exposure to outside threats.”
“No doubt.” Oleg already knew that Ivan had turned to cargo planes for his smuggled goods. He also knew it was costing his brother a fortune. “And your distributors?”
“They prefer to move things by truck, but what am I supposed to do when these timid Euros won’t work with me?” Ivan shrugged, but Oleg could tell he was angry.
“Timid Euros” was probably referring to the Poshani trucking companies who had blacklisted him.
Amusing. No one but Ivan would describe the Poshani as timid.
“I understand you have a meeting with Takhmina Rasulova on Thursday,” Oleg said. “I’m meeting with her on Tuesday. I’ll be sure to give her assurances that a deal with Ivan Sokholov means a deal with all the Kievan Rus.”
Ivan smiled, but Oleg could see the tension behind it. “Excellent.”
Ivan wanted to act like the czar of his own little kingdom, but Oleg was happy to remind him that when it came to the rest of the world, it was Oleg who was the face of their empire.
And that was not going to change. No matter what house Ivan rented.
Oleg had attended a week of meetings—which tried his patience—and enjoyed a week of Tatyana in his bed every night—which was entirely agreeable.
But it was the final night of the summit, and the gala ball would happen at midnight with a traditional Hungarian csárdás dance by the vampires of the Báthory clan starting the evening, followed by a grand ball with all the vampires invited to the party. Traditional dress was encouraged.
Oleg pulled on another pair of boots before he donned the kaftan of royal blue with gold embroidery. There were citrines and pieces of amber sewed into the borders, and sapphire and gold brooches decorated the collar.
The colors were traditional for the Kievan Rus, but more personally, they were emblematic of Oleg, the yellow representing fire, and the blue water, a small nod to his wife, though he could not claim her hand publicly for now.
Truvor the Red had favored red and black garments, and Oleg often followed that tradition, but for a celebratory occasion such as this, he preferred a lighter touch.
Mika entered his chamber after a quick knock, wearing the colors of his Estonian territory, a deep blue velvet with silver embroidery on the collar. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” He palmed a golden brooch he had designed for Tatyana months ago.
The central stone was a ruby that mirrored the goblet that was the symbol of her reign as terrin of the Eastern Poshani.
He would find a moment during the dance to give it to her, and then he could see her wearing one of his jewels no matter whom she spoke to or danced with.
“Who will you dance with first?” Mika asked. “I would suggest Takhmina Rasulova, but her family might read more into that than we want them to. Alina would be a safe choice, but—”
“Tatyana, of course.” Oleg looked into the mirror as he secured the enameled blue-and-bronze Orthodox cross around his neck, a humble reminder of his baptism from barbarian to leader centuries before.
Mika said nothing.
Oleg looked to the right. “I will dance with my wife first.”
“It is not advisable.”
“She has agreed to it.”
“She likely has no idea of the political ramifications. We have not struck any new public deals with the Poshani as we have with the Rasul clan. You had one meeting after the reception, and it was a tea party hosted by Kezia. Her advisors are probably talking her out of it at this very moment.”
“They will not succeed.” Oleg took a tortoiseshell comb to his hair and tried to tame the thick mane. Perhaps he should grow it long again. Then Tatyana could braid it for him.
“The Poshani are reliable allies” —Mika narrowed his eyes— “but your public relationship with her is the subject of rumors and speculation already. Will you please—”