Page 38 of Besieger
Leaving her clothes in a neat pile on a bench, Mihaela walked to the edge of the pool, all the way to the end and slowly submerged. The warm water scalded her skin, enfolding her instantly in a delicious and drowsy embrace. The groan that escaped her lips was drowned by the sound of the running water from the fountains. Before she could talk herself out of it, Mihaela plunged her head underwater and propelled herself towards the sculptures in the middle of the pool. If she wanted to she could stay down with the minutes ticking away and her lungs growing to a halt. She was sure she could drown if she put her mind to it, but decided not to test the limits of her immortal body.
When she resurfaced at the feet of the statue she saw that it was of a man and some kind of feline creatures surrounded him. The water flowed from his mouth and eyes with such force, the sight made her uncomfortable. Shaking her head Mihaela turned and swam back with the same force, letting all of her frustration out. Her angry splashes showered Silvio with water.
TheMarquisspat and wiped a hand across his face.
“You two are insufferable. This pool is not meant for swimming.”
“Then you should have made it bigger,” Emerick goaded him.
“How was I to predict you would use it for competitive swimming,” Silvio knitted his brows and reached for a towel.
His hand closed around the cloth in a moist fist, water running between his fingers and he flung it onto the ground with a curse.
Mihaela pressed her back against the tiled wall and allowed herself to relax all over. She closed her eyes, tuning out the bickering. She still did not understand how this place had come to be and why, but she liked it. She liked it better than the Berlin Coven. Another groan escaped her lips, this time overcome with pleasure.
“If you want a massage, that can be arranged. Back in the warm room,” Emerick’s voice forced her to look in his direction.
He had turned around, resting his face in his crossed arms over the edge of the pool. With his long, wet hair he looked like a siren. His dark unblinking eyes watched her intently, a mouth full of sharp teeth. Mihaela would have shuddered if it was not for the overwhelming heat of thethermae.
“There are also ointments and hot stones. Ask, and it will be given to you.”
“She is not here for a spa treatment, and this is not a resort,” Silvio nudged him and tried to stand up but Emerick’s hand shot out and yanked him back in the water.
“Yes, yes,” theComteclicked his tongue. “She is here to study.”
“Do all the vampires come to the pool?” Mihaela asked drowsily.
“Not when we are here,” Silvio said and finally managed to free himself from theComte.
He walked to one of the benches, leaving a wet trail after him, sat down, and began drying his hair with a towel.
Mihaela did not know if she should be blushing or scoffing at the comment but it did remind her of something.
“Do you know all the French vampires?” She purposefully addressed her question to both of them. This was as good an opportunity as any to try sealing her thoughts. If she concentrated her gaze on the mosaic on the walls, she could keep her mind locked.
“Not if I can help it,” Silvio answered curtly.
Mihaela was not infatuated with French culture or people but the dismissiveness of his tone made her wonder. Why would someone who disliked the French reside and rule in Béziers? She had never wondered how the Regents ended up scattered across the continent; whether it was by their own design, or whether they were stations to castles and fortresses they disliked, guarding people they liked even less.
Ingenuar and Scarlett had never thought to teach her this. Their lessons had been few and were shaded by a parent’s overprotectiveness. The knowledge they bestowed carried the weight of the unspoken, the unnamable. Were there things one did not question about the dead and their rulers?
“What about a count?” Mihaela decided to press on and glanced over her shoulder at her host.
“You will have to be more specific,” Silvio offered her a weak smile.
“Count du Flavi—?”
The question hung in the air, the final syllable remained unfinished. Belatedly she realized she did not remember Jean-Étienne’s full name. It sounded something like ‘flavour’, and it was at odds with his first name.
“Di Flaviari? Yes, I knowofhim,” theMarquisraised his eyebrows, the smile still plastered on his moist face. “But how doyouknow him?”
“I met him at the Coven,” Mihaela turned to fully face him.
With the corner of her eye she saw that Emerick had also turned and was following their conversation with a stillness she did not know he possessed. For a second she almost mistook him for one of the statues.
Silvio was silent for a moment with a peculiar smile playing on his mouth, amusement dancing in his eyes. He gave out a low hum.
“He must have told you, hasn’t he? He is the bragging sort. How my mother,” —and here Mihaela swore she felt how the room suddenly chilled, and something at the back of her mind squealed a warning— “has chosen him. And for that alone I should call him brother. Butwehave yet to discover anything of him worth preserving, let alone throughout eternity.”
