A/N: Much thanks for Mamacita-san for the beta! She's a treasure! And if you're reading please review, and thanks for sticking with it!


12.

House Tipu's Healer Anait was at a loss to explain it, but just as Anupama Saha was explaining to a rapt Intended Raure the purpose of the speckled volcanic glass she was about to lay on her daughter's brow, the glow in the stones studding the silver choker around Lady Suruthi's neck flared and died. When the spark faded the collar lay open and innocuous-looking as any other piece of unspelled jewellery.

Suruthi's hands flew to her bared throat. "I'm free!"

Healer Anait lifted the foul thing away, looking over the House's Lady with concern. "Yes, but how?" Had Prakash been convinced to release the collar? Was he dead? Either prospect carried danger for the beloved Lady.

Suruthi shook her head. "I—I am all right." She met the healer's worried eyes. "And if he is dead I am no worse for it," she said wonderingly. "I feel no loss, no overwhelming sorrow; no grief so consuming that I will perish from it." She turned her questioning eyes to Etienne. "I—I feel myself, but...with the anticipation that completion awaits me. As I have not felt since before I was bonded to Prakash. Etienne, how can this be? I am Suruthi Saha again."

He favoured her with a gentle smile. This was Marjeta's work, to be sure, and he needed to return to the Kynaston right away. "It has happened before; it is the dissolution of a perverted bond. Prakash's actions surely count as a violation of the bond, and the tie between you is now broken. This is a rare happening, Suruthi. You have been given a gift—the chance to forge a new bond with a soul that is a truer match. We are not often wrong in our choice of mates, but something fundamental changed in you, or Prakash's soul has been so corrupted that you no longer suit one another. Grieve for what has been lost and heal. Your House will need your strength in the days to come," he added with the sure echo of his Sight.

In the meanwhile, Harry was amazed. Whatever had happened to free Lady Suruthi from the collar's effects, the results were astonishing. Already, in just these few minutes, her skin was rejuvenating at a frightening pace. It was as though all her blocked healing abilities were now rushing forward to do the work they'd been denied. He watched in admittedly morbid fascination as scabs rapidly formed and flaked away, revealing first shiny, pink new growth, then recovering the melanin of her usual skin tone. He'd never seen anything like it. He was so rapt with fascination it took Etienne several tries to get his attention; and then, grinning at Harry's curiosity, he suggested they take their leave so the family could discuss what had happened and Lady Suruthi could continue to rest and heal in peace.

Healer Anait promised to keep Harry apprised of her recovery, and Lady Suruthi herself invited him to return for another visit when she was fully recovered to thank him for his compassion and his attempts to heal her. "And so we can teach you more about the magic of stones and gems!" her father, Prasad, added. "That, too, Intended Raure," Suruthi's mother, Anupama, smiled, "but more because you are now a friend of our family. You are always welcome to at the Sahas' table."

Harry and Etienne parted ways when they returned to Kynaston, but not before Etienne promised to send a messenger with some elementary texts on stone, ritual, Earth, and runic magic that afternoon. He sauntered off with a grin and a promise to quiz the groaning wizard later. Harry had no intention of devoting the rest of the warm afternoon to study, despite his interest. Surprisingly, he felt in need of a nap, and with a quick wave to Aidan and Thayure, who'd been incredibly unobtrusive all morning, he locked himself in his suite intent on just that, and maybe an indulgent soak in his luxurious bath after. He was on holiday, after all.

Harry hung up his robes and slipped back into just his pyjama bottoms. The cool bedding felt fantastic against his skin and he was asleep almost before he knew it.

He pressed a line of kisses down a slender throat; this time it was his own voice, rumbling low in a seductive purr. "You are so very beautiful." He cupped his hands on the cap of muscle that defined his lover's shoulders and squeezed gently, nuzzling behind his ear. He stroked his palms down the long, strong arms and clasped the elegant fingers of his lover's hands in his own. "So very beautiful, and mine," he whispered into the perfect shell of his lover's ear. Heads turned and lips met in a soft kiss of assurance and affection. "Yes, yours, amta ame." He felt again the press of lips to his, and then came the heady whisper, "Always yours. Always, sen daralis beleth."

Harry woke feeling both well-rested and puzzled. He hadn't had any dreams of his mystery lover the night before, so why now, in the middle of the afternoon? And why had their embrace felt so right? He'd made a claim in this dream, and it had been affirmed as though love and passion were a given between them. He wondered if the dreams were truly an effect of the Amoraj and if it was the High Lord he met in his dreams. That thought unsettled him; no way was he ready to entertain thoughts of Malfoy—no, it was Draco now—that way. He'd only just started to admit he might like the man; he definitely wasn't ready to wrap his head around lusting after him. And besides, he liked that his mystery lover made him feel special. If these dreams were from the High Lord and he shared them with all his Intended, it would spoil the allure for Harry. No, it was better to think his unknown lover was his alone.


He brushed his fingers over his neck and smiled softly as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. It had been a short nap, but a refreshing one. Am I yours already? How does my soul know what my mind cannot? Draco mused as he stretched, but stopped suddenly as he registered another presence in the bedside chair. Instantly alert and on edge he turned his head to meet the smirking countenance of one of his least favourite people.

"Casimir, what are you doing in my bedchamber and how did you get by my guards?" Draco barked, all languor burned away by his irritation.

"Oh, my Lord, I hope I did not startle you," the socialite crooned. "I was passing by the Lady Castellan's office when I heard she was in need of a messenger, and I offered my services. You were resting so peacefully I was loathe to disturb you, though your guards let me in right away. Was I wrong to have waited?" he asked innocently, batting his long lashes. "Your dreams seemed so soothing—" daringly he traced his hand along Draco's thigh toward the pronounced bulge in his sleep pants— "I hadn't the heart to wake you."

Draco growled and stood quickly, dislodging Casimir's hand. "Enough, Casimir. Your soul did not answer the call; you've no cause to touch me. Relay your message and leave."

"Of course, your Highness." Casimir dropped his head deeply. "The Lady Castellan begs your immediate counsel on a matter of grave importance. She awaits your presence in her office."

"You fool!" Draco spat. "You sit here watching me sleep when the Lady Castellan has sent you with an urgent message? Get out, Casimir, and do not let me see you for some time after this." Draco was disgusted. The courtier occasionally had his uses, but he fancied himself a smoother operator than he actually was and valued himself too highly in the various court intrigues. That he thought he could come into the High Lord's chambers as he had and take such liberties without repercussions told Draco that his ego had soared to new heights. "Leave now, Casimir," Draco said, dismissing him, then turned to his wardrobe. "And Casimir," he added just as the idiot reached the door, "if you ever lay your hand on my person again I will have that hand severed. Do you understand?"

Casimir blanched, hearing true sincerity in the voice of his liege. "Yes, my Lord," he croaked in a low voice, then hurried away.

Before long Draco was dressed and stalking down the corridors, his newly chastened guards on alert around him. He did not wait at Marjeta's office door but simply strolled in and shut the portal behind him.

"By all that is holy, what possessed you to send Casimir to me?" he demanded, eschewing even a perfunctory greeting.

"I take it he did something inappropriate?"

"If by inappropriate you mean invading my bedchamber and watching me sleep for who knows how long, then yes! Marjeta—"

She held up her hand and shook her head. "Surveillance," she mouthed at Draco's affronted look.

He nodded grimly, then turned back to the door. Placing his hands on either side of the seam where the double doors met, Draco took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began a soft chant. As the words spilled from his mouth a green glow surrounded his hands then spread. Across the doors, down to the floor, across the floor, and up the walls to the ceiling; the light moved swiftly until the room was awash, then faded just as quickly as it had begun.

"We are secure." Draco turned and sat heavily in the chair before his seneschal's desk. "What is going on?"

"Casimir was too conveniently placed. I sent him to you rather than give him time to report to whoever is behind this."

Draco raised a hand. "Too conveniently placed when?"

"When I came up from the dungeons after finding Prakash's dead body he was in the hall above the dungeons and looking as if he were in a hurry to get somewhere."

"You think he killed Prakash to silence him."

"Yes, and delaying him gave me time to contact Captain Nicodemus. Casimir is being tracked as we speak. I don't know that we'll find the evidence needed to indict him in Prakash's murder, but he'll be brought in for questioning tomorrow and hopefully we'll find out who he's reporting to in the next few hours."

Draco nodded. "Well done. We'll uncover the plot one way or another. Now, about Prakash—what happened?"

"Fast-acting poison. Traces of blue powder were around his nose and mouth. Guards are investigating. And I've sent a messenger to Tipu. It's fortunate I was able to break the bond, Draco. If we'd lost Prakash and Suruthi there would have been great turmoil. As it is, things are more complicated now. A dishonoured lord, murdered before his trial for treason? The camp of conservative traditionalists is going to be in an uproar at the next Council meeting."

"True, but we'll proceed as best we can. The Amoraj will go forward, as will the induction of House Inari. The conspirators are likely Prakash's compatriots and we will need to begin a delicate interrogation of all the Council. We're running against the clock on this, Marjeta; make use of as many of Nicodemus' people as you have to. I want this resolved as soon as possible.

"I'm going to start the round of Houses now, beginning with Tipu. I'll have lunch with Lord Levi of Damek to discuss the gardens. I'm afraid Eloene will have to do without your company at dinner tonight. I want a full report on the investigation into Prakash's murder, an update on the Casimir situation, and the initial plans for the Inari induction gala by then."

"You'll have it."


By mid-afternoon Harry had relented and with the introductory book of runes tucked under his arm he made his way down the deep stone stairs from his balcony to the open greenspace below. He picked a perfect spot under a wide, shady tree and found to his surprise that he was rapidly drawn into the explanations and uses of this branch of magic.

"I hope that's pleasure reading," a deep voice interrupted.

Harry looked up at the tall sandy-haired man. He briefly remembered their meeting the morning of the Presentation. Bright blue eyes sparkled at him as the man held out his hand. "Aerun. Well, it's Everett really, but I'm trying to get into the habit of using the name they gave me." Harry blinked his surprise. Etienne had said magic-kind from all over the world answered the pull of the Amoraj, but he really hadn't expected an American, as Everett's accent announced him.

"I'm Raure," Harry answered, shaking the extended hand.

"Nice to meet you." Aerun smiled and crouched beside Harry, tilting his head to get a better look at the book. "Runes, huh? Not exactly pleasure reading, then."

"Not exactly, no." Harry grinned in response and continued, "I am enjoying it, though."

"You sound like my old man—he's always brushing up on runic magic." At Harry's confused frown Aerun explained, "It's the family firm—Warrington and Sterns, Wards and Wands since 1763."

Chuckling lightly, Harry lifted his book. "This must be old hat for you, then, what with runes being such a major part of the warding business."

"A bit," Aerun offered. "We had very thorough lessons in runic magic at Salem Academy, but I was pretty advanced even before I started school. How about you? I see you're brushing up on some of the elementary stuff there—you need a refresher for a project or something? I have to warn you it can be pretty intense, so if you're looking to do a major work you're probably better off hiring somebody."

"Oh, uh, thanks, but no...actually we—I didn't take runes at all in school, so I'm just trying to catch up a bit."

Aerun gave an approving nod. "Nothing wrong with wanting to improve yourself. I have to say, though, there are better ways to spend a sunny afternoon than with your nose in a musty old book!"

"True, but my guide is likely going to test me on my new-found knowledge later, and knowing him I'll get teased terribly if I don't get through at least some of this today. Besides, you're the expert—you should be offering me your services!"

"Sorry, buddy, I'm on vacation!" Aerun joked with his hands up. "No, actually I'd love to give you a hand, pass on a little of what's cluttering up the old attic here." He tapped his head.

True to his word, Aerun helped Harry through some rudimentary lessons and then taught him a game based on rune memorisation. They spent the rest of the afternoon chatting and playing, and Harry found himself truly enjoying the other man's company. So much so that he was disappointed when Aerun called a halt to their last game on account of dinner. "I'm supposed to meet my guide, and it's going to take me forever to figure out how to get back there," he said regretfully.

"Perhaps I may be of assistance, then?" Etienne piped up, and the other men startled. "Sorry! Didn't think I'd catch you so off guard. I'm Raure's guide, Etienne." He extended his hand toward the American.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Aerun."

"Well, Aerun, I understand you're to meet your guide for dinner. Do you know where?"

"I'm just supposed to meet her at House Ahearn," the man shrugged.

"Ah, I think I know what Jasmine has planned for you. She is an excellent cook, and because of the mourning days I'm thinking she wanted to get you out of your rooms but not subject you to the dining hall. Would you mind terribly if Raure and I invite ourselves along? She always cooks enough to feed a large family, so I'm sure there'll be plenty."

"Sounds fine by me, especially if you can get me to Ahearn without getting lost."

"That I can certainly do, though you could have asked your guards." Etienne added cheekily, "But now you'll have company for dinner!"

They made it to House Ahearn and through introductions and explanations in less than thirty minutes. Almost immediately Jasmine Sione, Aerun's guide, bustled them off to a private courtyard in the section of the House where she made her home, and sat them down to eat. Harry was again struck by the varying beauty of Kindred decoration and architecture, as the courtyard was all small manicured trees and stonework. He was eyeing a large, glowing stone covered in carved runes in a corner when he noticed Aerun's gaze had followed his. "Those are some impressive protections," Aerun noted approvingly.

"You know of rune stones, Intended Aerun?"

"He's studied runes his whole life, Etienne," Harry answered as the other wizard nodded. "Between the two of you there might be hope for me yet!" He grinned and lifted the cover off a fragrant rice dish, explaining to Jasmine, "Etienne is trying to close the gaps in my lacking magical education."

"The glaring, cavernous gaps," Etienne snickered. "I don't know how far we'll get, Raure, but I'm determined that you'll have some rudimentary rune lore under your belt by the end of your stay!"

His audience laughed and Aerun clapped Harry's shoulder companionably. "Don't worry, Raure; I'll help you with your homework."

Harry shook his head but smiled as he tucked in to the plate of delicacies before him.

While they ate, conversation flowed from one topic to the next, Kindred guides answering the questions put to them by the curious Intended. No topic seemed taboo. Finally Jasmine offered an answer to one question that had plagued Harry from the beginning. "Kindred are highly ritualistic beings," she said, lacing her fingers together over her wineglass. "Symbolism holds great meaning in our lives. There is no more potent symbol than blood. Blood ties are connections between members of a family; blood rites are among the most powerfully sacred and profane; blood carries life through our bodies; with every beat of our hearts, life courses through our veins. In sharing blood we share life and connection—we join ourselves with other beings of Earth, renewing and rejuvenating ourselves. Feeding is a ritual of connectedness."

"I see questions in your eyes, Aerun. Ask," Etienne prodded gently.

"Can you feed on just anyone? And yeah, I get that it's somehow beneficial to you, but I've heard things about vamp—I mean Kindred—ripping people's throats out. I can't see where killing is all that life-affirming."

A hideous scowl momentarily twisted Jasmine's pretty features."Rogues," she spat. "They have no understanding of our ways, of the beauty in the exchange—they only know the flush of power gained in Feeding and seek to glut themselves on it. Kindred are not meant to be alone, Intended; we need our mates, our families, our Clans to stay sane and whole. Rogues have no family. No sanity. They are lawless wretches who know nothing but bloodlust and self-gratification. No healthy Kindred would take what was not freely offered. It is rare to come across Kindred so abused or starving that they fall into bloodlust. Generally there is no need to kill—no reason to kill beyond wanton depravity, and those that do are no kin of mine," she finished vehemently.

"We have strict laws that govern Feeding," Etienne continued. "During the new moon, when our primal essence is strongest, we are called to blood and to the sharing. It is meant to be sensual and joyous, but as you know, what something is may be perverted by popular imagination, especially when monsters masquerading as Kindred help the misperceptions along."

"I don't understand why so many Rogues put your society at risk like that," Harry questioned.

"Nor do I," Etienne responded tightly. "They have been granted the precious gifts of enhanced life, yet they disdain life and encourage those who seek our destruction. Rogues do not fear our laws, though they are subject to them. The penalty for violating the sanctity of Feeding is death, and Weirwardens are formidable enemies."

"Weirwardens?"

"They are enforcers. They hunt Rogues and bring them to justice. We do not leave monsters to roam the countryside unchecked, Aerun. Though we cannot undo the wrongs they've committed, we can do our best to ensure there are no further victims when we learn of a Rogue's actions. Each Clan has Weirwardens who patrol their territories, investigate suspected crimes, and mete out justice in accordance with our laws. They are also the ones to offer Mercy to the victims of Rogue attacks."

"What is Mercy, Etienne?" Harry asked riveted by the conversation.

"A peaceful and painless passing from this life if the victim's injuries are too severe for treatment or turning."

"So Weirwardens are killers," Aerun stated blankly.

Annoyance flashed over Etienne's features, "If death is what a victim chooses, then Weirwardens provide that service rather than allowing them to linger in agony. There are those so frightened of us, who so abhor us, that death is preferable to being turned."

"Victims of attacks are offered turning," Harry interjected, sensing the growing hostility between his guide and fellow Intended. "How else does someone become Kindred?"

Etienne softened his glare and nodded gratefully at Harry. "A Kindred may come before the Clan Council and argue for a beloved or a dear friend; a stranger may come among us and petition, having learned our ways. Turning is not just the last resort of the desperate or dying. It is not an easy undertaking. There must be deep conviction and commitment on the part of the prospective chylde and equal dedication from her or his new family."

Harry sighed. There was so much he was learning, so much that reconfigured what he thought he knew about these so-called Dark creatures. He wished, not for the first time, that the Kindred weren't so ardently secretive. Relations between them and wizards could be—should be—so much better.

Maybe there could be some kind of ambassador? I'll have to ask Etienne about that.

"It's getting late." Jasmine interrupted his musings. "Let us take all this up again later. Perhaps after the fires?"

After a tentative agreement the men excused themselves and made their way back to their suites. Harry and Etienne quietly parted from Aerun and crossed the greenspace to Harry's apartment.

"You've been very quiet, Harry. Is everything all right?"

"Hmm? Oh. Yeah, I'm fine, Etienne. You just gave me a lot to think about tonight, is all."

"In good ways, I hope," Etienne offered with an intent look. "You are among us to learn and know us, Harry. And the truth of it is that like any other culture we have our complexities. Do not judge us by the actions of a cursed few. Please."

Harry smiled faintly and clasped Etienne's slender shoulder. "No, I wouldn't. I won't. You're a very diverse people—like everybody else there's good, bad, and a lot of in-between."

"Truly," Etienne nodded. "Now," the Seer grinned, pulling a small cloth pouch from his robes, "on to more practical things!" He cupped Harry's hand in his and upended the pouch so six small pebbles tumbled into the wizard's palm. "These are—"

"Rune stones," Harry finished.

"Yes. These have the most basic protective runes on them. Children will buy stones like these in the market to make little tokens for their friends usually. You should know what each character means over the next few days."

Harry smirked. "Let me guess: there'll be a quiz."

"Exactly right!" Etienne chirped.

Harry stroked his index finger over the pebbles and nodded. It would be a fun challenge to work out the impressions on each. He was pouring them back into their pouch when Ulrike came gliding through the window. "Hello, girl! What do you have there?" Harry quickly tied the pouch and set it on the desk next to Ulrike's perch, then took the letter she carried from her talons. "You were certainly fast with that. Thank you." She preened and took a treat from his hand.

Harry glanced at the address and smiled. "It's from my friends at home," he said to Etienne, who nodded and stepped toward the door.

"I'll leave you to it, then. Have a good night, Harry."

"Thanks. Good night, Etienne." He waved slightly as the door closed, then settled himself on the couch with his letter.

Dear Harry,

We're so glad to hear from you. I'm relieved that you arrived safely, though you'll remember I did tell you that international Portkey would be a much more convenient way to travel. I looked into a few things and the region where you're staying sounds perfectly lovely. How did you meet Marjeta, and however did she convince you to abandon your initial plans so quickly? I hope you're being careful; there is such a thing as being too trusting, you know. Does her family own the inn where you are now staying? Is it a Wizarding place or Muggle? Both? You'll have to let me know how it goes there, especially if it's Muggle-friendly. Mum and Dad have been talking about visiting Prague for ages and I'd love to give them a recommendation.

We're all doing fine here. The kids miss their Uncle Harry, though Rosie's already asking what you'll bring her when you get back. I swear, that girl!

Ron and I can't wait to hear all about your trip. I hope you're eating properly and getting enough sleep.

Love,

Hermione

P.S. Hedwig and Ulrike get along famously. What kind of owl is she? I've never seen one like her before; she's such a beautiful bird.


Reever Stillcreek huddled deeper in the darkened alcove. The chill from the stone and the deepening night settled in his bones. He clenched his jaw so his teeth wouldn't chatter. No, that was a lie; his tight muscles weren't proof against the cold, they were to keep his fear from giving him away to the city guards, who at that moment were dragging away his fellow conspirator and sometime lover. He peeked out of his concealed spot to see Casimir thrashing between the arms of two guardsmen.

"I demand you unhand me!" he heard Casimir shriek. "I swear I had nothing to do with Lord Prakash's death. Nothing! I swear it! Let me go! Let me go, damn you!" Casimir struggled, but the guards did not loosen their grip.

Reever shook his head. All their plans were coming apart. There'd been Kindred slaughtered by Hunters in the Gardens, Lord Prakash was dead and branded a traitor, and now Casimir was taken in by the guards. He fingered the missive Casimir had passed him earlier that day. It had made no sense to him—fifteen strange symbols under a long passage in Latin. "You don't need to understand it," Casimir had scoffed when Reever had questioned him. "Just deliver it to Lord Barnabus as quickly as possible."

But now Casimir was arrested and the guards were sure to be looking for Reever soon; he knew Casimir would have no compunction about naming his fellow conspirators if he thought it would gain him a lighter sentence. Could he get to Lord Barnabus before the guard found him? Perhaps if he turned himself in the Council would be lenient? Treason was a capital offence, and Reever did not want to die. He fingered the parchment again. No, he did not want to die, but he questioned now whether Lord Barnabus held the key to his survival.