We stopped at no less than six gates, looking as harmless as simple fences or property lines—though there just happened to be a man standing at each of the gates, ready to unlock it for us, and I knew that they were less than harmless. They wore simple clothing, and had a chair often tucked nearby, with a pack hung over the back. I wondered where they were hiding their weapons. After the sixth gate, I caught sight of something poking into the sky, and I shuffled over to the window, squinting at it in the darkness. It was dimly lit-up, a glow emanating from some kind of towering spire. A bulky silhouette separated itself from the dark horizon, forming great big stone walls and house-dotted streets winding up the hill to the tall structure in the middle.
“Le Chateau de Duke Gabriel,” Weston informed me, his eyes on me instead of the shapes forming on the horizon. “Built by the original Materialist—though it was only what remains in the heart of what you see now, as many Materialists over the years have added to it. The original Materialist was French, and missed his home, so he decided to bring a little of France to America. He named it after the Voda—”
“Duke Gabriel?”
“Of course… back then, there was no Klovoda, only the Voda and his people. They called him a Duke, after the first duke in a peerage of the British Isles was named in 1337. They liked that title, because it was derived from the Latin dux, meaning leader; and that’s what the Voda was: a leader. They changed it much later when a Bosnian Voda, who was also a Seer, predicted the decline of the British Aristocracy. He instated a council to help with his task of leading the Zevghéri people, and named them after the Bosnian word for ringleader, kolovoda. That was when he abandoned the title of Duke, and took on the title of Voda.”
I finally turned my eyes from the castle to blink at Weston. It was strange to think that the Zevs had a history, though I had been made aware of it before. I wondered what the previous Vodas would think of Weston. Or… perhaps even what they would think of me. The secret heir to everything.
“Are you the only one that lives there?” I asked, disbelief tinging my voice. The property could have encompassed an entire town.
Weston laughed, but I thought I heard a tinge of sadness in the sound.
“It’s just me, and close to thirty housekeepers and grounds-staff.”
I pushed the feeling of pity from my heart, because Weston wasn’t actually cast off into solitude. Close to thirty housekeepers and grounds-staff was more than enough to keep any person company; if Weston ignored them out of some stupid idea of status, that was his fault.
The limousine stopped at a gatehouse, where an inner courtyard housed another two limousines, and several more luxury vehicles. Perhaps I would drive a beat-up Nissan for the rest of my life just to spite the car-loving Zevghéri population. I followed Weston out of the car and caught sight of his driver for the first time, as the older man parked the limousine and got into a compact, black Audi. I came to the conclusion that the limousine wasn’t exactly suitable for climbing the steep, narrow streets of Le Chateau de Duke-Gabriel just as Weston opened the back door of the Audi and motioned for me to get in. I wasn’t comfortable sitting in such close quarters with him, so I ignored the offered seat and hurried around to the front passenger door, sitting beside the driver. The older man looked over at me, smiling slightly, and Weston climbed into the car with a sigh.
“I’m Arnold, Miss,” the driver said. “Welcome to Le Chateau.”
“Thanks Arnold, I’m Seraph.”
“You don’t look like one, Miss.”
I chuckled faintly. “No, I don’t,” I confirmed, pulling at a lock of my dark hair.
Confidence. That was something that had changed within me. A year ago, I would have silently fretted if someone had made fun of my name, but not anymore.
That seemed like a harmless enough change.