Page 3 of Besieger
He had bitten down—refusing Death the claim to what was rightfully Silvio’s.
“Sil…” Emerick raised his free hand and brushed aside Silvio’s hair, playing with the curls. He was trying to see into his maker’s eyes, having caught the hesitation. “Sil, what did the letter say? What is this coven?”
With a sigh Silvio let go and took a step back. He waited a beat before lifting his head and met Emerick’s black eyes.
They had not always been black, Silvio recalled but schooled his face into a mask of calm.
“There is a vampire called Ingenuar. They say we all originated from him, and he commands a Coven full of other vampires. There are vampires in the Ottoman Empire, in Athens and Adalia. He has invited me… invited us to come to Berlin.”
“To what end?” Emerick leaned against the mantel, frowning. “I hope he does not want us to help invade the Dutch Republic or whichever land their king has set his eyes on this time. I thought you made me swear not to pick up a sword again.”
“And I will see to it that you do not.”
Silvio could not help but smile, remembering the set of broadswords hanging on the wall of their bedroom. He kept them as a reminder of a path that must never be repeated, their failed mortal vocation.
“He wants to make me Regent and give me rule over vampire-kind in France.”
Still frowning, Emerick moved away from the fireplace and went to the shelves, and ran his fingers over the leather-boundbooks and atlases. The medium-sized replica of theErdapfel[2] began spinning on its own next to the writing desk, searching. Silvio watched it turn left to right, right to left, while Emerick spread a map on the desk. The globe stopped spinning and his lover tapped the linen ball, pointing first at the continent of Europe, and then to the bigger parchment—part of Emerick’s ever growing collection of old maps.
“And how did this proto-vampire in Prussia,” Emerick’s index finger traced the rivers Elbe and Rhein, moving down the map, “know about our little family all the way in Paris? How does he know aboutyou?”
If one knew where to look, one would have caught on that Count and Countess di Flaviari neither aged, nor died. Every couple of decades, Dulior would order their household to disband and start anew somewhere else. When she felt frivolous, Madame di Flaviari picked the countryside and moved close by, sometimes it would be further out into the country, even to other parts of Europe. But they always returned to Paris. All three of them had deep ties to the city—there rested the remains of Emerick’s uncle, Damiano Gabrielli, and his wife Eurica. This was where they had sent Emerick’s cousin Feliciano to be buried after he died in Constantinople. The Gabrielli crypt would always have one slot empty, its tombstone marking it as the eternal resting place of one Amerigo Gabrielli, born 1069—died 1098. One of the many misguided souls who had fallen for the triumph of Christ in a godless land. Although Silvio had no mortal grave to call his own, Paris was where he lived and grew up as a youth. The city which ignited the flame of love in him—a flame destined to burn forever.
“Maybe it was Dulior?” Silvio offered, nodding at the map. He looked eastwards where, far beyond the horizon, thousandsof miles away, the Mediterranean Sea lay—where countless years before, he had been marching in the name of the Cross. Were there other vampires in the deserts while the crusaders rode out? Was it possible that if they had stayed and continued to desecrate the land under the Pope’s blessing, another vampire would have caught up to them? Someone…anyone other than Dulior?
“She keeps correspondence with other vampires,” he added, “sometimes goes away for days at a time. Who is to say she has not gone to Prussia and made introductions?”
“Mother dearest told the Emperor about you. What a great addition you would make to their dark court!”
“The Regent does not rule alone,” Silvio ignored the jab in Emerick’s voice, leaning over Europe and tapped his finger on the Kingdom of France. He spread his palm over it and the Holy Roman Empire. He realized with a start that Dulior had never once made them relocate to Prussia when they changed homes. A bitter laugh escaped his lips:What are you hiding from your husband, my dear wife?
“The Regent can choose a consort who will rule alongside him.”
“Ah,” Emerick smiled and crossed his arms. “Then it has definitely been Dulior. She must have gotten tired of playing the mortal Madame di Flaviari, married to the affluent and well-off Monsieur di Flaviari.Ladydi Flaviari suits her so much better.”
He began rolling up the maps and returning them to the shelves. Silvio watched him in silence, studying once more the clothes Emerick wore. The di Flaviari household had many servants and maids who attended to their every need, and in the eyes of French society Emerick was their majordomo. Sometimes he would be introduced as Silvio’s valet, for it was easier to explain why a man of lower standing had access to the Count’s bedchamber, and spoke on his behalf. They would always dress for the part: Silvio in rich garments, fingers ladenwith rings, waiting for Emerick—dressed in simple black attire—to open carriage doors for him and his wife.
Silvio reached out and pulled free the ribbon from Emerick’s hair, watching the long, straight strands spill like a cape down his upper back. He wound the cloth and tucked it in Emerick’s pocket, patting it. Before leaving for Prussia, they would have to do something about his now former valet’s wardrobe. Silvio wanted to see Emerick in velvet burgundy, pastel green and blue silks with gold embroidery across the collar and lapels. The fingers he had kissed earlier were made for rings that would cause the envy of His Majesty Louis XVI.
“Madam? di Flaviari will have to concede to other kinds of leisure,” Silvio whispered. “I findLord ConsortGabrielli far more appealing.”
SILVIO, 1790
When he shared the news of the letter with Dulior, she wasted no time to order tailors and seamstresses to come and begin work. The King of France might not be worth a new wardrobe and carriage but Ingenuar was. Silvio smiled a bitter smile as he allowed them to strip him and run their hands and tapes over his back and arms before directing them to do the same with Emerick.
“For Monsieur Gabrielli a three-piece suit of velvet… yes, this purple and green pattern.” Silvio pulled the fabric from among the many bolts the boy was holding, and showed it to the tailor. “A single-breasted coat, cameo buttons on the waistcoat. Use the same for mine. Floral embroidery, yes, here, along the coat, too. And as much white lace and silk as you can muster for the jabot. The shoes…”
Silvio turned and looked over his shoulder to where Emerick stood in front of a mirror. He was in his undergarments, hair tied back so it would not get in the way. Silvio was delighted to discover that it was tied with the Venetian silk ribbon.
“Monsieur le Count, the pattern for your suit?” the tailor asked. “Madame la Countess has chosen a dress of white and pink silk taffeta. The ornaments will be in gold and green. Perhaps the Count would like a pattern to complement hers?” The man gestured for the boy to pull a roll of green and blue striped silk.
Silvio had seen waistcoats with wing collars in the same pattern. He could imagine himself wearing it, with the jabot resembling white roses in bloom, the lace and silk spiralling out of the collar over his chest. He felt the sudden urge to order it for Emerick. His lover would need more than one suit for his new role in court.
“No,” Silvio waved his hand, dismissing the boy. “Something simpler. Dark green? If you cannot find any, black will do. Gold floss for the embroidery is fine, nothing too extravagant.”
“Black?” the tailor repeated. “Madame said the garments are for a court visit. For Monsieur le Count to wear black as if in mourning while the majordo—”
“Monsieur, if you are incapable of fulfilling my family’s needs, have the decency to say so. I shall find someone else who can.” Silvio cut him off.
