Page 22 of Besieger
Silvio recalled the image of his palm spreading over the map back home, the tips of his fingers reaching towards Berlin while his hand rested over the Kingdom of France. Under the soft flesh of his palm, close to the shores of the Gulf of Lion he had seen a town, perched on top of a small bluff. He had heard the name Béziers before, always in connection to its vineyards. His father had mentioned the town, it used to export wine to Rome before it was threatened by the Muslims. Another time, a guest in his very home in Paris had bragged about the vineyard he planted there. A southern town, sitting in the way of the mistral winds, with wet autumns and too small a populace to have ever heard the namedi Flaviari.
And far from the court, French or vampire.
“What about Béziers?” he tapped his finger on the map.
Ingenuar narrowed his eyes, squinting to see what Silvio was pointing at.
“Montpellier not to your taste,Marquis? A bigger city means more people. Or do you and your family plan to hunt abroad?”
“Only as far as we need,” Silvio met the All Father’s gaze.
He was still shaking off the exhilaration from the night before—it called forth the memory of being walked back into the ballroom and introduced with his new title. Immediately after presenting theMarquisIngenuar had extended his hand to the crowd of vampires pooled around the pedestal.
“Now the consort.”
There was a pregnant pause, which invigorated Silvio. His lips curled in a smile even before the Coven Master finished talking. “ComteGabrielli, if you would join us.”
Emerick stepped away from Dulior slowly, his body glided over the floor towards them. His footsteps echoed in the charged silence.
Kneel.
The command reverberated in Silvio’s head like thunder. Ingenuar’s voice was as heavy as his blood. Every vampire dropped down, even Dulior, the shock etched across her face.The mortal servants had taken their places around the windows, merging with the walls, out of the way of their betters. Silvio made to bend down but something pushed him back up—playfully, like a child reprimanded by its guardian. He looked to the side and saw Scarlett nod and smile.
The last to obey the order was his lover. Emerick stopped at the foot of the throne and in a ceremony he had practiced for centuries, bent his knee and head. When he looked up the fervour in his dark eyes made Silvio wish his lover was wearing armour; the two of them were always meant to die clad in scales armour and leather, to carry the weight of the swords.
Ingenuar stepped closer and extended his hand over Emerick. Like with Silvio, the All Father cut his wrist; the tiniest pool of blood gathered to meet Emerick’s upturned head. He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, his chest heaving as the Blood dripped down. His eyes remained downcast, but his expression was one of awe and relish.
The Blood Ingenuar gave Emerick was less than he had bestowed on theMarquis, and Silvio was grateful for it. He did not want his lover’s lips stained too brightly by the Old Blood. By any other vampire’s blood.
Silvio shook his head, pushing back the memory of the ceremony and the night before, and the taste…Vile, he scrunched up his face; he abhorred the taste of the Blood.
Oblivious to Silvio’s inner musings, Ingenuar tapped his fingers over the map, his eyes darted back and forth. He picked up a quill and dipped it in the ink-pot to sketch a few marks on the map. He circled Béziers with red ink. There were other circles, one over Berlin and two more in the Ottoman Empire.
Silvio tilted his head and saw faint marks in Scandinavia and Asia, the ink faded not by time but scraped away by hand.Were these old covens?
“Very well,” the All Father nodded, and proceeded to make notes on a piece of parchment. “You have your titles and a city of your choice. I will leave the arrangements to you. But if Imay,” he smiled, looking from Silvio to Emerick. TheComtelounged in an armchair to the side, close enough to see the maps but his eyes trailed the mirrors around them. “Choose a building with a deep cellar. Or one that can be expanded should the need arise.”
“Are you worried about an attack, my liege?” Silvio arched a brow.
Throughout the centuries the di Flaviari household had changed many a residence and chateau, going over countless human servants. Not once had there been an incident or an attempt on their lives, be it from within or without. Dulior had taught Silvio one thing and one thing only: ensure the servants served by any means necessary.
“That, and you will need a place to put the coffins,” Ingenuar shrugged, setting down the quill.
“Coffins?” Emerick asked.
“Your own and those of your court. You cannot keep them in your rooms. Unless you find a way to conceal a coffin with the décor. There has to be a safeguard,” the All Father explained. He frowned but his lips were upturned in a smile, as if he was telling them something far too obvious.
“We did not see any coffins when the All Mother showed us around,” Emerick pressed on.
The day before, while Silvio and Ingenuar had whiled away the evening in the drawing room, Scarlett had taken Emerick and Dulior on a little tour around the mansion. She had introduced them to some of the residing vampires. Apparently quite a number of immortals stayed whole seasons in Berlin, entertaining both their Master and themselves in the Prussian Empire. If there had been signs of coffins or boxes meant for resting, Emerick would have made light of the discovery.
“Do you like the room you are staying in?” Ingenuar inquired and they both nodded. “Then that shall be the chamber of theMarquisand theComtewhen you come to reside with us. As for the coffins, you will find a number of vacant crypts in the cellar.”
When Silvio was a fledgling, Dulior had tolerated digging up the earth and placing herself between the damp tuffs of soil—there were no alternatives, no rooms where they could hide. But once they were back and safe in France, in her home with its numerous suites, they used beds. A coffin did not feel safe, it suffocated and confined him. And Emerick, when pressed in the tight box, screamed and clawed at the walls. Dulior disliked coffins and did not encourage their use. It was one of the few things she and Silvio agreed on.
“Where do the servants sleep?” he asked, remembering the vast number of humans walking about.
“Either in the servants’ quarters in the attic or in the chambers here. As long as they attend to their duties it does not concern me where they take their rest.”
