Page 48 of Besieger
“I am afraid you will have to rip them off me. I barely got the trousers on,” Emerick’s words came out breathless despite himself.
He moved to sit on one of the chairs but thought better of it.
“That was the intention,” Silvio’s lips curved into a playful smile, pretending not to notice how Emerick hovered uneasily around him and the table.
Announcing his presence with a low cough, Alexandre walked into the room bearing a salver. The visiting card on it was indistinguishable from the many before Silvio, and the ones scattered all around the house. Emerick made a note to collect the cards and burn them.
“There is a man outside who requests an audience,” the butler said.
Strange…
Emerick had not heard a carriage or a horse arrive. Did the man come on foot? If it was a workman or a late traveller, he would have knocked on the servants’ entrance and already been admitted to a hot meal and a corner to rest.
“He says he is a relation of your late mother, my lord.”
Silvio’s hand stopped mid-air as he was reaching for the card, and he looked up at the butler. A muscle twitched at the corner of his eye, and he handed the card over to Emerick.
Elay Hébert.
He read the name aloud, rolling it on his tongue, racking his memory but found no recollection of it. The card was nothing fancy. The letters were written by hand in a hurried motion, the ink in theysplashed into a spattered tail.
Seeing his master’s expression, and recalling the incident with that man, presenting himself as Jean-Étienne, who had sought admission not long ago, the butler added, his voice a shade too loud:
“Shall I have him escorted off the premises?”
Silvio took the card from Emerick, looked at it, and turned it over between his fingers.
“No. Admit him. I will see him here,” TheMarquissighed; all the cheerfulness had vanished from his face. He seemed to be reminding himself that he was a Regent; that the title ofMarquishad its price. Whoever this man was, he had to be a vampire.
“What do we do if it is another one of her lovers?” Emerick asked when the butler left to fetch their guest.
“How many escorts does one woman need,” Silvio hissed, not bothering to phrase it as a question, and crushed the card in his fist then opened his hand and let the paper ball fall on the table, where it disappeared among the rest of the paperwork.
TheComtecontemplated the possibility of all of France being populated by immortals, all mothered by Dulior. They would all be men, of course, desperate and clutching at her skirts, eager to suckle her breast. His poor creature of a mother had never known divorce. She had always been someone’s widow, and then—for the longest time—she was Silvio’s wife. Now, without him, she scarcely knew who or what she was. She was out there, spilling her blood into the dirt, fashioning husbands for herself as if vampires were mere pieces of pottery.
Mother’s crimson milk… how would it taste?Emerick had only drunk Silvio’s and Ingenuar’s blood. No other vampire had ever been close enough to offer. He had never thought of asking Dulior for hers. The very notion made him laugh—his shoulders shook a little, the sound of fabric and thread strained against the muscles of his back cutting his amusement short.
Alexandre returned and announced their guest; Mathieu—one of the footmen—followed, carrying a tray of refreshments which he placed hurriedly on the table. Both servants withdrew with silent bows and closed the drawing-room doors behind them.
Silvio did not bother to stand from his chair, his correspondence lay scattered around him like a messy nest. Tonight he had foregone the formal attire and wore a subdued outfit of a white shirt tucked into a waistcoat and breeches in muted colours. Even the cravat tied around his neck was in a simple knot. It was supposed to be what the current fashion termedmorning dress, meant for the comfort of domestic activities.
Standing a little awkwardly by the door, Elay appeared to be a man in his late thirties, with short chestnut hair and grey eyes which ogled the room with a childlike curiosity. Realising that he was alone with them—theComteand theMarquiswatchingin silence—the vampire let out a short gasp. His features shifted into a wicked imitation of a human, and Emerick regretted not having looked through the servants’ eyes at this strange man.How did they perceive him?
Their guest was plainly dressed in a black coat, waistcoat, and breeches; his long coat showed signs of wear. A ring on his little finger caught the light from the candelabras as he raised a hand to take off his hat.
“Thank you for seeing me, Marquis.”
His voice was youthful with a slight tremor of excitement. He took a step closer without waiting to be invited, and looked them over. His eyes fell first upon Emerick, drawn by the play of the light over his clothes, his brows shot up at the unusual attire. An awkward smile crept on his pale face. Emerick lifted his chin and looked down at the man but the guest was already turning to Silvio.
Something changed in the guest’s expression. He was going through emotions so fast, his thoughts racing. His hand eagerly shot forward in greeting, then he snatched it back and pressed it to his chest.
“Ah, you are both so beautiful,” Elay whispered in reverence. “I can see why she has made you.”
Emerick could not see Silvio’s face from where he was standing, but he saw his lover’s hand twitch and tap against the surface of the table.
“Dulior’s more like our maker in that regard. He, too, was drawn to beautiful things.” And here the man bit his lip and laughed—softly and to himself. “Though I did argue with him when it came to my appearance. Had he met you first, I do not think I would be standing here right now.”
“Your maker?” Silvio asked, voice low and cold.
