I mean, come on.
But nobody was telling me what, so down the hall we went, and one nice thing about my suddenly acquired entourage was that they took no prisoners. Get in the way of the Dory train? Screw you, here’s a wall. Stop in the middle of the hall to stare at the consul and the crazy dhampir coming atcha? Wow, bet that hurt.
Not that I saw my guys actually shove anyone, unlike Her Highness’ up there, who seemed to view it as a sport. But elbows and feet can be so careless, can’t they? And this train was on a roll.
We covered a lot of ground, winding like a centipede through a warren of hallways and crossways, this-ways and that-ways. Until my head was spinning and I didn’t have any idea where we were. But I guess the boys did, because the fluttering suddenly intensified, and then we were spilling out of a tight passageway into a huge, sunny room.
It actually wasn’t sunny, of course, but it gave that impression. It was big, with high ceilings and chandeliers that rivaled Radu’s, and a nice, soft yellow paint job. There were coordinating draperies over faux windows that didn’t exist because vamps hate windows, and mirrors to reflect the light around, and a lot of healthy-looking plants spilling over their containers onto gleaming white-and-yellow-veined marble floors.
The flora wasn’t so much a surprise after I spotted Caedmon, over by a wall, arguing with Louis-Cesare.
I couldn’t see them very well because the consul’s huge guards had stopped in front of me, making a very serviceable wall. One that towered almost two feet above my head, which one of my entourage was still trying to comb out. I pushed him away, and peered through a gap in the wall at the action, the sound of which floated clearly across the room, because the acoustics in here were pretty great.
And because neither man was bothering to lower his voice.
“—could have been anyone!” Caedmon was saying. “There are other vargar—”
“Who would have reason to hurt the consul?”
“Yes, in fact!” Caedmon’s voice snapped like a whip. “Or have you forgotten that my dear brother-in-law just tried to kill her two weeks ago—along with the rest of her court?”
“And now his wife is here to finish the job.”
Caedmon made an explosive sound of mingled anger and disgust. “My sister came to warn you of her husband’s intent, else he likely would have succeeded! Yet now she turns around and tries to kill the queen herself? Are you mad?”
Louis-Cesare glared at him. “Non, m’sieur, nor am I stupid. Everyone knows your sister wants her son on the throne instead of her husband—”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“—and coups begin with discrediting the former leader, do they not? Had Aeslinn’s attack on this senate succeeded, his stock would be high—too high for her to successfully supplant him. But with him discredited and a stockpile of these superweapons at her command—”
“You are mad.”
“—she could dislodge him and put her son in his place—”
“And promptly lose the war, having just crippled the Senate! She is not insane, vampire!”
“I agree, m’sieur.” Louis-Cesare was doing his haughty Frenchman routine, and he did it well. He was six foot four, but Caedmon still had something like eight inches on him. Yet he somehow managed to look down his nose at him anyway. “She is not insane. She is diabolique. Murdering the consul would throw the Senate into disarray, leaving her time to carry out her coup without having to worry about our invasion—”
“And afterward? She doesn’t want the gods back any more than we do!”
“Even more of a reason to overthrow her husband, then. He is the one trying to bring them back, is he not?”
“Among others! He is hardly the only true believer, and if you continue to attack highborn fey, you’re only going to add to their numbers! You understand nothing of the situation in Faerie—”
“And why is that? We ask you for information, and you refuse it—”
“Perhaps I don’t trust you—imagine that!” Caedmon’s eyes widened in pretend surprise.
Louis-Cesare’s narrowed. “We are supposed to be allies, yet you tell us nothing and now your sister has tried to kill our consul—”
Caedmon was looking genuinely angry now. “For the last time, she had nothing to do with it!”
“Yet Lord Mircea saw evil intent, quite clearly, in her mind—”
“Where he had no reason to be! She isn’t one of your creatures, vampire!”
“He had every reason, and do not change the subject—”
“I’ll pursue any subject I damned well please. Or I would, but we are leaving your hospitality.”
The last word had another of those inflections, one that made it sound like he’d said something else altogether. Something that started with f and ended with u, which made it really weird that Louis-Cesare was smiling at him.
It wasn’t a nice smile, but still.
“You may go,” Louis-Cesare said. “She cannot. She has been formally accused.”
“You have no right to judge her!”
“On the contrary, the treaty clearly states—”
“That you need two witnesses, and at senatorial level, for one of her rank! You have one, and his motive can easily be called into question.”
For the first time, Louis-Cesare looked confused. “What motive?”
Caedmon’s own sneer was actually pretty good, if a bit worrisome. Usually he was Mr. Calm-and-Collected while the rest of us went to pieces, but not now. “Lord Mircea brings suit against my sister, and then graciously offers to drop the charges in return for me dropping my claim to his daughter. I know how such games are played, vampire, and better than you.”
“You are accusing Lord Mircea of lying?”
And, uh-oh. Louis-Cesare’s voice had just gone very quiet, which was usually the prelude to letting his rapier do the talking. But he was injured, and Caedmon was . . . Caedmon . . . and there’d been enough bloodshed tonight. I started trying to forge a path between the guards, who weren’t budging.
“All packed, then?” That was the consul, suddenly moving forward on her own, without her guards, but with a creepy smile on her face. I couldn’t see it, being behind her, but Caedmon’s reaction was eloquent.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your sister. You did say she was leaving us?”
“I—yes. We both are. I’ll be taking her with me.”
“Very well. I should like to wish her a safe journey. If she is available?”
“I . . . will go and check.”
Someone touched my shoulder, and I looked around to find Mircea standing behind me. He pulled me over beside some yellow-and-white-striped chairs, but we didn’t sit down. He put a hand on my cheek and looked into my eyes like he was trying to see something behind them.
Or someone.
“Are you all right?”
“She’s not here,” I said irritably.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I’m fine. What’s going on?”
“It’s . . . complicated.”
It usually was around here. I decided to cut to the chase. “Am I free to go? Or are they planning to pull out some fingernails first?”
A small frown appeared on the otherwise unlined forehead. “You helped the consul, possibly saved her life. If you hadn’t realized that thing was riding her, and disrupted its concentration—”
“I also got a blade in her. How long has it been since that happened?”
Mircea’s lips quirked. “Some time, I believe. But it was preferable to the alternative.”
“So I’m free to go?”
“In a moment.”
Why did I know he was going to say that?
“First I wish to hear about Dorina. You said she was talking to you. Has she done that before?”
“Not directly.”
“Meaning?” It was sharp.
“Meaning, usually she just sends me these weird dreams—”
“What kind of dreams?”
I rubbed my eyes, and suppressed a yawn. I kept getting sleep, but not enough. Possibly because I was constantly being woken up in the middle of it. “More like memories. Your memories, mostly. She was hitching a ride on you a lot while growing up—did you know?”