Night's Honor (A Novel of the Elder Races Book 7)

There was Raoul, of course, the polite sadist who was clearly the acknowledged manager in Xavier’s absence. Raoul’s deputy was Diego, who was responsible for all the vehicles and for maintaining the indoor pool. There were also Angelica and her assistant, Enrique; Jordan and his assistant, Peter; and Marc, Jeremy, Aaron, Scott and Brian, the five she had been cloistered with until Melisande and Justine had left the estate.

 

Angelica, the only other female, was a reticent, gray-haired woman of Hispanic descent with a rounded form that was nevertheless toned with muscle. Tess wanted to ask her why there were so few women on the estate, but there never seemed to be a good time to talk with her.

 

To a person, they were all uniformly friendly toward her and also a bit distant, and she was under no illusions whatsoever. She didn’t fit in, and probably, as far as they were concerned, she wouldn’t truly belong until at least after her trial year was over.

 

That was okay. She had never really fit in anywhere, certainly not in any of her foster families. She didn’t need to fit in or belong. She just needed to survive.

 

Midafternoons, right around the time when she could hardly walk anymore, it was time for the other lessons—Elder Races history, politics and inter-demesne conflicts. Memorizing the different races and their predilections, strengths and weakness. Information about each Councillor on the Elder tribunal. The power structures in each demesne, along with the heads and their heirs.

 

After supper came the lessons in etiquette. The ideal attendant was the invisible one who anticipated her patron’s needs and fulfilled them without needing to be asked.

 

One never spoke until one was spoken to. Always serve drinks from the left, food—for those visitors who partook of food—from the right. The dagger set at the top of every supper plate was symbolic (of what, she hadn’t yet figured out, and no one had told her); no one ever used them, or if they did, it was considered gauche and the height of rudeness.

 

An attendant might disregard any request or order from another Vampyre (or anyone else, for that matter) outside of the house, but if that Vampyre was a guest in her patron’s house, then as an extension of her patron’s hospitality, she must do everything in her power to make that visiting Vampyre (or other creature) feel at home.

 

Out of the entire six weeks of training, that was the one time she balked.

 

She said, “You’ve got to be kidding me. Everything.”

 

Raoul said, “Everything that your patron would wish you to do, you should do.”

 

“Oh, come on.” She gestured with a stranger’s arm that was slim, tanned and rippling with toned muscle. Between the insane amount of training and truly excellent nutrition, the entire landscape of her body was changing dramatically. “Sex. Blood. Anything?”

 

He gave her a severe look. “What do you think Xavier would want for you to do?”

 

She hesitated, as she remembered the talk she’d had with Xavier in his study.

 

I will never bite you without your permission. I will never take anything from you that you do not want to give.

 

Feeling only slightly chastened, she muttered, “You’re saying he wouldn’t want us to give in to another Vampyre’s demand for sex or blood, but would the other Vampyre know that? What if they didn’t care and pushed for it anyway?”

 

“That would be a most extreme mistake on their part,” said Raoul, his face stern. “If any guest tries to press you to do something you don’t want to do, you must tell me or Xavier immediately.”

 

She watched him narrowly. “But what about what happens in other Vampyre households?”

 

Raoul lifted a shoulder in a very Gallic shrug. “To each house, its own rules.”

 

“That sounds almost like a motto.”

 

“It’s an ancient saying and lies at the root of Vampyre diplomacy. Old Vampyres are not only Powerful and opinionated, but they have lived through huge societal changes. What is normal for them may not be so in modern society.”

 

Even though it was considered the height of bad manners to put her elbows on the table, she did it anyway and propped her head in both hands. “What if they’re trafficking? Slavery was pretty prominent once, and a societal norm.”

 

“That’s another matter entirely.” For once Raoul didn’t admonish her for her incorrect posture, and he seemed happy enough to just talk, as he leaned back in his chair opposite hers. “You’re no longer talking behaviors or who has the authority to dictate what customs to follow in a house. If someone is breaking the law and they get caught, they have to face the consequences.”

 

But how often were they caught? She scratched her fingers against her scalp. “Thinking about all of this makes my head hurt. I feel like I’m training for war and a house party all at the same time.”

 

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