Radu was beginning to look cross. Something told me his dinner party wasn’t working out quite as planned. “I had Geoffrey dilute it. Most of that is my personal label—”
Caedmon chuckled. “And the rest is some of the best Fey wine I have tasted in many a year.”
“So that is what did it!” Louis-Cesare’s expression could have cut diamond.
Caedmon’s eyes went dark, like underwater jade. “Do you wish to accuse me of something, vampire?”
“That… substance… tortured us with memories! Made us relive things from the past. Horrible things.”
Caedmon’s expression was eloquent. Without saying a word, he managed to give the impression that it was an incredible trial to be forced to share a table with one so ill-mannered. Then he sighed and looked at me. “Did you also experience these memories?”
I nodded. “We thought… we encountered a spell at the caves. We thought the mages had left it.”
“You were likely correct, although our wine would heighten the effects. Have you had any before tonight, say, within the last three days?”
“No. I—”
Louis-Cesare interrupted. “You drank some on the jet, from my glass. I had filled a flask in the cellar of your home.”
“Wait a minute. You’re telling me Claire’s cellar is full of Fey wine?”
“Yes. I was surprised to see it, for only the Fey can make it. I always wondered why it is so heavily regulated in our world.” He stared daggers at Caedmon. “It seems now I know.”
Caedmon looked affronted. “In a few days, three at the outside, the effects will dissipate. The strongest will be gone in a few hours.”
I sat up, feeling more myself. I sniffed my glass, but there was no sign that we’d been drinking anything dangerous. It had merely tasted like a decent red, fruity and earthy. “What does it do?”
“Nothing harmful,” Caedmon assured me. “Under the right conditions, it helps align two people’s thoughts or, in lesser quantities, their emotions.” Dark green eyes regarded me appraisingly. “Even with a great deal of wine, few would have been able to pull forth a memory so vivid. I could almost smell the smoke.”
I nodded, thinking of the molten armor, like a black puddle around one of the bodies, and of the scalding wind. By the time it blew across all the fires, it was like a breeze straight off of hell. It brought back memories of my own, of the trenches in France after a mortar attack, and I broke out in a sudden sweat. My heart leapt in my chest, adrenaline flooding me as my perception began to skew. My throat closed once more, full of pain, choked with ashes—
Caedmon stroked his hand up my arm, brushing power along my body like liquid, dissipating the sensation. “Yes,” he murmured, “unusually sensitive.” He smiled reassuringly. “Do not let it concern you. What you saw happened long ago, a memory of our last great war. Even then, it took centuries to replace the numbers lost. Now, I fear, it would be impossible. Yet a struggle over the succession could provoke just such a cataclysm. Your friend must be found.”
“You read my mind,” I said fervently, shivering slightly from the power in that brief touch.
“The Fey don’t read minds,” Louis-Cesare said harshly, his eyes on Caedmon’s hand.
Caedmon smiled, and it was not a particularly nice expression. His grip tightened. “Perhaps not. But we read other things. For example, vampire, I know you have a knife up your left sleeve, even though I cannot see it. The metal sings to me; it is a talent.” He glanced at me, and his smile was deliberately provocative. “One of many.”
Louis-Cesare’s anger suddenly filled the small room like water, and in a heartbeat his eyes went from silver-tinged to as solid as two antique coins. I sat frozen, awash in a sea of power. I was beginning to understand why Mircea had wanted him along, only Daddy had failed to mention anything about the hair-trigger temper. I guess he assumed the red hair would clue me in.
Caedmon sat very still, not offering challenge but not shrinking from it, either. I wasn’t sure what to do, with a suddenly homicidal vamp on one side and a less-than-pleased Fey on the other. Rock and a hard place didn’t begin to describe it. I glanced at Radu, but he was sitting like a deer caught in headlights, with those beautiful turquoise eyes almost completely round.
In the end, it was Olga who defused matters by letting out a belch that I swear was a full minute long: By the end of it, we were all staring at her in sheer amazement. It’s considered rude by troll standards to fail to show appreciation for a fine meal with an appropriate bodily function. It appeared Olga had liked the grub.