Page 50 of Besieger
While attending to theComte, René told him of the cat’s escapades. How it climbed on the top of the kitchen dresser and swatted at anyone who passed beneath, barely missing their heads. The cat regarded them from above, its tail swishing back and forth in challenge. Other times they saw paw-prints in the entrance-hall, a tell-tale sign that the cat had found its way into thethermae, and was hiding somewhere in an angry wet ball.
Emerick took to roaming during the day. The nights bored him. He wandered through the house in the daylight hours, startling the staff, who were unaccustomed to his presence, even crossing paths with Monsieur Corbin. As a mortal, Emerick had been fond of watching candles burn and flicker, of how the shadows danced across walls, bouncing off mirrors and windows. Fireplaces too, they felt like home even when they were in rooms he used to share with Dulior. He felt drawn to the light and warmth; it made him want to stretch himself full length on the bed or on the floor, and look at the flames crackle and crinkle. Like a moth drawn to flame.
Oh, how he missed the sun. To be caressed by its warmth rather than the moon’s pale, hollow glow.
He liked how pieces of the furniture had patches faded from the sun. Cushions and rugs warmed by the colourful rays of light streaming through the windows. Perhaps it was the sundial in the garden that had made him melancholy. He could not even see it through the library window, it was too far into the yard and hidden under all the greenery. The clock on the wall marked the hour as two in the afternoon. The air in the entryway heavy anddry, stirred only by the barest sign of a breeze from further down the hall. Summer had begun.
With a sweeping gesture, Emerick drew the library curtains aside and cast the room into a protective gloom. He liked to push the limits of his immortal body. To see how well he might endure during the day, but he had to be cautious. Leaving only a single beam of light to pass between the heavy drapes, he walked into the room.
Kicking off his slippers, Emerick reclined on the chaise and unfolded the gazette. Napoleon’s troops had disembarked on the coast of Egypt, proclaiming the commencement of another campaign. The French newspapers were becoming tiresome; Emerick had no interest in following a mortal’s military career. Perhaps he should try and find some Prussian papers.
He glanced towards the window, squinting against the bright light. If he focused, he could barely make out the glimmer of a spider’s web on the sill, up in a corner. The web was long and appeared golden in the light, spinning out of nothing and disappearing into nothing. It reminded him of the lifeline on his own palm. The air in the library lay warm and still, somnolent. The paper in his fingers felt strange, weightless, its letters blurred and indistinct.
“You are growing reckless.”
Emerick’s eyes shot open at the sound of the voice. He had dozed off, the paper scattered over him and the floor. Some of the pages were torn and crumpled, the cat lay sprawled on top of them. The animal looked up, its eyes wide and at alert before letting out amheeewl; then rolled onto its back, exposing its fuzzy belly.
“What if a servant were to come in and draw the curtains right back?” Silvio asked and shoved Emerick against the back of the chaise, so he could lie beside him.
“Then they will find us burned to cinders in each other’s arms,” TheComtesaid drowsily, letting Silvio rest his weight upon him.
“I would like that…” TheMarquisbreathed, his voice low and heavy from sleep. His hair was tousled, and he had come down wearing only a banyan. The garment loosely belted around his waist, showing his naked chest. Emerick ran a hand through the silk and gently pushed it off Silvio’s shoulder. His fingers caressed the line of his lover’s throat.
“Then I will see you… one last time… as you are meant to be—in the sun,” Silvio sighed, eyes clouded from exhaustion.
Emerick cupped his chin and lifted it up, thumb stroking Silvio’s lower lip. There was something unnerving in the way theMarquisspoke, in the words, it was as vexing as it was hopelessly romantic. They had wandered through the world of the living for seven centuries. Night after night, they woke; unchangeable marionettes of flesh, with only their minds withering away, churning beneath the weight of time.
They dwelt in a constant state of dying. Neither truly dead, nor fully alive.
On a number of occasions Emerick had walked into the bedchamber to find Silvio staring at the mirrors over their bed. From this angle, Silvio could not see his own reflection; he had a vacant look on his face, as though caught between reverie or sleepwalking.
“You will tell me, won’t you?” Emerick whispered, continuing to caress Silvio’s cheeks. He brushed the hair from Silvio’s forehead gazing into his eyes.How warm—how verdant they are… “You will tell me when life has become enough?”
Silvio nodded.
Emerick thought of the drapes hanging from the ceiling in the bedchamber; how they pooled round the bed in a shower of velvet and satin, hiding them from prying eyes. When the curtains were drawn it was only the two of them, the bed and the mirrors. It had been unnerving at first, but he had grown accustomed to it—accustomed to the notion of a silent watcher, replicating their movements.
“Why don’t you go ahead and get ready upstairs?” he suddenly offered.
Silvio raised his head and frowned. They had been drifting in and out of sleep upon the chaise. What if the cat, if it was still in the room, decided to jump on the curtains and bathe them in light? Nor did he like the thought of Elay walking in on them like this. He still did not trust the newcomer, Dulior’s brother.
He grabbed the belt keeping Silvio’s robe closed, and pulled it, exposing more of his lover’s nakedness. Silvio’s cheeks turned pink, eyes growing wide, wakeful and eager. He exhaled and his chest trembled from the effort to contain himself. Emerick ran a hand under the robe, grinning when he felt only skin as he caressed Silvio’s thighs. TheMarquishad come downstairs directly from bed, without bothering to put on drawers or any other undergarment.
“Wait for me—kneeling at the foot of the bed. Naked.”
TheMarquisandComtewere both worshipped and feared in their small coven. Their servants knew not to overstep unless summoned. Elay had yet to learn to exercise that caution. He repeatedly ran into his hosts, kept trying to accompany them on their nightly hunts. A number of times the vampire tried to do the chores of a hall boy, even quarrelling with Alexandre.What a troubled creature that man is,Emerick sighed, while he was sitting in the library. He wanted to be patient, allow Silvio enough time to go and make himself ready.
Let him wait a little longer, Emerick thought, gazing at the cat sunbathing on the rug. Its fur looked warm and ruffled. He waited a beat and stood up, patting his legs before finally heading upstairs.
Long ago…before each of the count’s numerous wedding nights, Emerick would beg Silvio, again and again—Leave her… Is this how eternity is going to be for us?—and each time Silvio would say no; that he could not. They had grown exhausted from the confines, the stale routine of a household servant and a reluctant groom. Silvio’s tone back then was one of defeat. Bothof them hanging by a thread, their bodies going through the motions, performing this charade, this illusion of matrimony, day after day.
If only Emerick could glimpse inside Silvio’s thoughts and see what kept them bound to that woman for so long.
Thiswas how they were meant to live, as immortal deities. Gods had their favourites, and Emerick was Silvio’s. His chosen one; his offering; his sacrifice—laid as a meal before the God of Hunger. Emerick did well in his worship of theMarquisbut sometimes,sometimes, he liked to be worshipped in turn. He adored the look of abandonment and pleading in Silvio’s eyes. The same look his lover was giving him now, by the edge of the bed, gazing up at him, waiting to be permitted closer.
Silvio had been so patient as he watched Emerick undress, shedding his clothes agonizingly slowly.How should I reward my maker?How best to show my pleasure at the sight of you? At the obedience with which you are kneeling on the ground, naked and hard.
Emerick grabbed a fistful of Silvio’s hair and shoved his lover’s face against his pelvis. Silvio groaned, a starved echo of Rico’s name, stripped of any and all sense of decorum, and began to eagerly lap and suck, gorging himself on the organ, saliva dripping down his chin. Each time he stopped to catch his breath he pleaded for more, repeated Emerick’s name in fervent prayer.
