Chapter 10
Mira had been searching for the perfect blood-groom engagement present since she realised she was absolutely in no way going to hand Bertrand an engagement peasant. She was fairly certain that he knew he wasn't getting an engagement peasant, but she wanted to make sure he got a present at least. The problem was that Bertrand was someone who was incredibly hard to buy gifts for. What did you get the vampire who had traveled the world not out of pleasure, but only to follow his duty? And was only engaged to Mira in the first place due to said duty. It was not, as some might say, the usual situation. Still, as she glanced down at her ring, feeling the comfortable weight of it on her hand, it strengthened her resolve to make sure she found Bertrand the perfect gift.
It had taken a while but she was sure she had managed to track down the perfect item, it was all just a case of waiting on the vampire mail to do its stuff and delivery quickly. She held out hope that it would be very fast indeed; but was willing to give it a few nights at least. That wasn't the issue at hand anyway; Krone was insisting they had a rehearsal dinner because she was sure that inviting the vampire press; while without a doubt the smart move to be controlling Vladimira's public appearances, was crass and vulgar and they would need to have everything perfected before allowing a single one near them.
"If we show the slightest sign of anything that could be considered weakness," Krone said to the room at large, having taken over the spot at the head of the table, "they will pounce and feast upon us as if we were nothing more than breather scum." She glared at them all, her gaze lingering between the Count and Bertrand. Clearly, from her expression, she wouldn't mind if either of those two were taken out of the equation. But as it was, that was impossible to do. "We will need to be completely prepared," she insisted, "absolutely nothing can be left to chance."
"Exactly," the Count chimed in, directing his gaze at Mira. "This is why you need to be prepared, Vlatka," he said. "If they ask you anything regarding policies or practices, you turn to me or Bertrand, understood?"
"I think I could answer," Mira started, stopping when she noticed the barely noticeable head shake from Bertrand. A light frown appeared on her face, he had spent many hours teaching her how to both make and upkeep policies that would be beneficial for the good of their kind. She didn't understand why he would now be agreeing with the Count about not letting her answer any questions on it. She shot him a questioning look, to which he did not respond. Slowly, she turned her gaze back to her father. "I mean," she began again, "I think I could answer any questions set to me," she said slowly, "but, of course Dad, I'll check my answers with you." Bertrand gave a barely there nod.
"We still have to perform the blood tea ritual," Magda said, sipping at the goblet of blood she had acquired "It should be completed sooner rather than later, I think," her eyes narrowed at Bertrand over the goblet. "Unless, of course, certain persons are trying to avoid involving themselves in a sacred oath." Bertrand stiffened in his seat, and Mira automatically moved to cover his hand reassuringly with her own, giving it a small squeeze. Bertrand's gaze flitted down, hiding the surprise.
"Mum," Mira said, "since we've gotten betrothed, we've barely had any time together as it is," she glanced up at Bertrand, ducking her head with a surprisingly shy smile. Bertrand understood where she was going, and returned her squeeze with one of his own. They had to be the perfect couple.
"You can understand, Ms Westerna," he said smoothly, "why I've been so slow to mention a ritual that will keep me seperate from dear Mir when I hardly see her as it is." The dropping of the second syllable felt right as he spoke it, though he couldn't quite understand the reason as to why. He supposed it was some instinct for assuming what would be good partner like behaviour. Of course a devoted couple would have pet names for each other. Even if having a pet name for the Chosen One still felt like something that would have him facing death by dawn.
"Irregardless!" Krone snapped. "It is traditional and we always adhere to tradition." She glared at Mira and Bertrand until they let go of each other's hand, though they hadn't quite been aware they were still holding on to each other quite so comfortably. "The blood tea ceremony will take place," she announced, "tonight!"
Ingrid had been enlisted to spend time with her little sister during the period of time that she was expected to remain separate from the rest of the family while they made the preparations for the blood tea ceremony. She brought magazine and her nail care kit with her, and sat filing her nails into perfect points, while idly flicking through one of the magazines. "Hm, see that The Undeads are meant to be making a return gig for their 150th anniversary," she commented idly. "Coffin fillers. They haven't been relevant since they invented the CD player."
"Yeah, totally," Mira said listlessly, not really paying attention to whatever it was that her sister was gabbling on about. "Shouldn't stand for it," she added, proving the point that she really wasn't paying any attention whatsoever to the conversation. Besides which, had she been paying attention, she would have been offended. Mira quite liked the Undeads. She wasn't surely why exactly, but she did, and she would have liked to go to that gig if she was paying more attention and could thus pick up on the details of it. There wouldn't be a question of her not being able to get tickets; she'd get tickets far too easily. "I wonder if it's arrived yet," she muttered semi loudly.
"If what's arrived?" Ingrid looked up from her careful care of her nails, to look over at her little sister with a questioning glance. Mira was back to staring at the ground, picking at the hem of her skirt with no real intention of doing anything. Ingrid bit back the irritated sigh. Mira was really not good at boredom. She would need to deal with that. "Mira!"
"Oh," Mira jumped a little, and fidgeted with her skirts some more. Ingrid waited, and resisted the urge to grab at Mira's hand to stop her fidgeting. It was a very irritating habit, she would need to drop it sooner rather than later. "I just... I got Bertrand an engagement gift," she explained. "Because... just because." If she were capable of it, Ingrid supposed that she would feel a pang of pity here for Mira, and her pathetically obvious ever growing feelings for her tutor. Well, fiance, if she was to get technical about it, but there was the complication of the breather boy. Who didn't even have a blood type that was in fashion at the moment, Ingrid couldn't see the appeal otherwise. "I was just wondering if it would have arrived yet, or if I'd still need to wait," a small shrug, "you know what the post's like."
"It'll come when it comes," Ingrid said. "What are you planning to do about your hen night?" Off of Mira's blank look, she allowed herself a long suffering sigh. Sisters, honestly, couldn't live with them, couldn't stake them because technically it was treason and the punishment was death by dawn. "No worries, I'll sort it. As always," she gave a dangerous smile, that type that would have once sent men to their death. It probably still could, if she ever gathered the numbers that she had back in Stokely just waiting on her hand and foot. "Just leave it all to your big sister." Mira swallowed nervously at Ingrid's look. That look never meant anything good was going to happen. Well, nothing Mira'd consider good, but Ingrid always seemed to enjoy herself. "But as to the mail, I heard Renfield take something in when you were at that ... war council with Krone, Mum and Dad earlier."
Ingrid didn't even need to blink to know that her little sister had just zoomed from the room, with the aim of going to find the drooling drudge that worked for them and retrieving her parcel from him. Really, she mused, Mira could be so predictable at times.
The SCRAP street fangs were among the last vampires in the world Bertrand wanted to spend any extended period of time with. Not that he wasn't proud of his students, they were taking to blood bags and soy blood far better than they had originally suspected they might. It was just that the street fangs could be oddly tiring in a way that Bertrand couldn't properly express. That being said, at least having to work with the SCRAP street fangs distracted him from the fact that the time for the blood tea ceremony was drawing closer. They also had the bonus of not being his soon-to-be-in-laws, and the less time Bertrand spent with them, the better in his opinion. Ingrid was bearable, but Magda was not. The door received a knock, and Mira popped her head round.
"Um, Bertrand," she said, "can I speak with you a moment?" He nodded standing and shooting looks at the ferals towards the back of the room who thought themselves big and clever enough to cat call their Chosen One. She was his fiancee, he wasn't going to stand... He meant, of course, that Mira was the Chosen One, and it was a sign of great disrespect for them to treat her like the more uncouth breather males treated their female counterparts. Yes. Yes, that was it entirely, he wasn't showing possessiveness or jealousy at all. Why would he? This was all part of the plan.
She was stunning in the half light of the corridor, her features delicately lit. Her head tilted slightly, giving Bertrand a greater view of the expanse unblemished skin of her graceful neck, feeling his fangs wanting to extend at the sight of it. Bats. He was not dealing with this well at all. He cleared his throat. "You wanted to see me, Mira?" he asked, making sure that he didn't make eye contact with her, but instead gazed at a spot just over her head. "Even though you know we..."
"We're not supposed to set eyes on each other until the ceremony tonight," Mira finished in a fast gabble. "I know, Bertrand," she assured him, "but it arrived and I wanted to get it to you now before the ceremony and everyone would be paying attention to us and, well," she stopped, and shook her head, lifting up a medium sized parcel at her feet which she handed over to Bertrand with a grin. "For you," she said. "An engagement gift." There was an awkward pause. "It should have come earlier, but you know what the post is like."
A ruckus started up in the classroom, distracting Bertrand from just staring at the parcel like he wanted to. His hands curled around it, as he glanced over his shoulder. "I should get back to," he started, gesturing over his shoulder. Mira nodded.
"Of course."
"But thank you," Bertrand held up the gift, "for this."
"Bertrand," Mira said, a sincerity in her voice that he hadn't imagined, "it's me that ought to be thanking you. I've no idea how I'm going to repay you for helping me." Impulsively she leant forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'll see you at the ceremony. Good luck with the SCRAP lot."
Bertrand took a moment to compose himself before going back into the classroom.
The Count sat at the table, between Mira and Bertrand. Mira had been forced into yet another dress, this time the dress that her mother had chosen for the blood binding ceremony. She had been denied a long sleeved shrug to wear, but had been given a heavy necklace of deep purple jewels that lay against her skin leaving light patterns every time she shifted and the gems hit the candle light. Bertrand caught himself staring, and his hands curled into fists as he rested them on the tops of his legs under the table.
"I don't drink blo-" Mira had started to say, but Krone interrupted.
"There will be no soy blood," she glared at her youngest granddaughter. "This is a solemn oath between you and your betrothed," she said, her voice ringing out in those commanding tones that seemed inbuilt to her vocal chords. "Begin the ceremony!" she commanded, pouring the blood – of a fine vintage and strong smell – into the goblet. The Count lifted it, and sipped. He passed to his right, to Bertrand who copied the actions taken by the Count. He then passed the goblet over to Mira. Their fingers brushed as she took the goblet from him, and she tried to focus on the tingle rathwer than the liquid in front of her. There was nothing she could do.
She sipped.
The blood was thick and warm in her mouth, and it went down far smoother than the soy blood ever had done. She lowered the goblet.
"It is done," Krone announced.
Mira licked a little bit of blood from the corner of her mouth, keeping her eyes locked with Bertrand. She knew she was probably imagining it, but she thought his eyes darkened at the sight. No way out now.