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Chapter 36
From the One Who Knows Best
Antón Bernardini released a heavy sigh after Vladislaus had left, the silent emptiness of his townhouse unusually stifling. He made his way back to the warm and inviting glow of the study, but the usual comfort of his books and trappings offered little reprieve from the weariness that had settled in his bones. His eyes scanned the space that had been his sanctuary these last few years, not really taking in much detail until his gaze fell upon the desk overrun with books – his beloved's journals. The undead heart in his chest cracked at the thought of his deceased wife. Even with all her secrets and scheming, her powers and well-intentioned meddling, he had loved her with every fiber of his being.
But these last few weeks had tested that devotion in a way immortality had not; where a part of him, that weak and human part, had grown frustrated with the witch – and irritation left to fester unresolved because she wasn't here to talk it through with him as she once had been.
There were so many things Mariella hadn't told him, so many plans and secrets she had kept hidden – from the details of this prophecy, down to Elina's covert operations as spy… and soon to be martyr.
Yet, that wasn't all.
There was also the matter of Francesca Chase – of the poison in her veins and that dark passenger that threatened to overpower her – and he couldn't help but wonder why his deceased wife had chosen to keep Frankie's identity a secret for as long as she did. How different things might have been, had she revealed it sooner, had she given Dracula and his intended the time they deserved to get to know one another without the threat of war and destruction looming over their heads.
The thought had his brow furrowing.
Vladislaus had declared his intentions – that he was willing to risk the threat her blood held on not only him but the entirety of their race on a fool's hope.
Antón had to admit he admired his old friend's courage – admired, but feared it also, because what if they were wrong? What if nothing could circumnavigate what Marcus Augustine had done to Francesca?
The Italian exhaled softly, feeling more his age in that moment than he ever had in his centuries of living.
No – if Dracula fell and the whole of their kind with him, Antón admitted to himself that he could go in peace knowing that he had done all he could. He only hoped Mariella would be waiting for him on the other side.
He smiled a little at the thought, a rueful curve of lip as he caressed one of the pages of his wife's journals before moving over to the old vinyl record player situated between two bookcases. It was a tune he knew well, one that made his heart ache in a way that was almost pleasant as he closed his eyes and succumbed to memory –
Mariella's hand in his, her dark skin warm and soft as she would step into position, letting him hold her as they would dance around the room.
I've got you under my skin, ol' blue eyes sang and Antón's chest splintered just a little more, the music seeping through and causing his heart to swell. I've got you deep in the heart of me.
If these were to be his final days, he would spend them in memories of her and of the time they had shared, of the time that maybe – just maybe – they would get to have again when true death took him and he crossed over into the plain of gray mist, his beloved waiting for him.
Bernardini became so lost to the music, the dance he was sharing with himself and the memory of his wife, that the knock at his front door actually startled him. The disruption yanked him right out of the spell Sinatra's music had put him under, cruelly thrusting him back into the present.
He would have ignored the door, honestly wanted to, but something unseen seemed to be tugging at his sleeve, encouraging him to leave the study to head into the foyer.
What he found on his doorstep surprised him.
"Miss Chase!" he called out, opening the door a little wider.
The rain falling behind her was torrential as she pulled back her hood, the misty sheen on her face reflecting the light of the house. Her smile was demure.
"What an unexpected surprise!"
"Signore. I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said.
He surveyed her appearance quickly, taking note of her dark clothes – comfortable and nondescript, as if she had been aiming to blend in. Her dark hair had been pulled back into a braid, a few defiant wisps having fallen loose – no doubt from the wind. And while her complexion was clear and youthful, there was an exhaustion behind her eyes that centuries of experience had him picking up on immediately.
Evidently, Vladislaus wasn't the only one who had been having trouble sleeping lately.
"No, not at all," he said, motioning for her to enter. "Come in out of the cold. Shall I fix you some tea? Or would you prefer a brandy?"
"Whatever is easiest to acquire," she said, stepping into the house. When the door was shut behind her, he offered to take her coat before leading her into the study where the music was still playing.
"Please, have a seat," he said, motioning to the chair by the fire he usually reserved for his majesty before procuring two glasses and a bottle of booze. As he poured, he glanced over his shoulder at her. She had taken the offered seat but was eyeing the desk overrun with journals with a guarded expression. It made him wonder how much she knew, but he decided not to lead in with that. Instead, he turned down the music before handing her the drink. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Before I begin, I have to apologize for showing up here unannounced… again," she began, but he was quick to interject.
"Nonsense. I told you that you were welcome at any hour without a moment's notice and I meant it."
She smiled, deciding not to argue.
"I came here because I need your help… and your advice," she explained, taking a sip of her brandy before placing it on the end table beside her. When he nodded his assent, she continued. "Dracula… Vlad… he knows who I am, and that I know who he is, yet he hasn't tried to broach the topic for further discussion directly. Are you able to tell me why?"
"I believe it's because he wishes for you to initiate that conversation," Antón answered simply. "He doesn't want to rush or pressure you into something that you're not ready for, and that includes openly acknowledging who he is… and all that that entails."
Her expression suggested she had suspected as much. He could sense her mind was aflutter with thought and considerations, yet she remained absolutely silent for several long seconds, deliberating.
"Is there a reason why you haven't broached that topic yet?" the Italian asked carefully. She took a little longer than anticipated to answer.
"At first, it was because I didn't want to believe it," she admitted. "I was so unsure if the Vlad I had come to know was real or not – if he was as false as his alias, or if the man I was coming to know was indeed the king I've been sworn to for over half my existence. When we were in France, I had the opportunity to get to know him better – and while I still have so many questions about his past and where he's been and why he continues to pretend he's someone he's not… I don't know. There's this part of me that still feels as though the man I've come to know is sometimes more Leinhart than he is Dracula – if that makes any sense."
Frankie paused, considering her next words carefully.
"I want to know him as he truly is, Signore," she confessed. "The way you know him. The way his children know him. I wish to understand who he is at his core, without the alias and the secrets, and especially without that infernal concealment charm."
Antón had to stifle his amusement.
"So what's stopping you?"
"I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I think I'm afraid to."
"Why?"
"Because I know it'll change things between us – and the uncertainty of how exactly things will change… it frightens me."
"And why does it frighten you?" he asked patiently.
He knew the answer the moment he took in the change in her expression. Her eyes had softened and the smile she wore was lovely and sweet.
"Because I've come to care very deeply for him, Signore – and that makes me feel incredibly vulnerable."
He'd never say as much, but he admired her honesty.
"Do you love him?"
Frankie nodded before whispering, "Yes. I believe I do."
Bernardini tried his hardest to hide his pleasure and relief at hearing her utter the words, but it was near impossible. His lips twitched upward even as he struggled to conceal his smile with a strategically placed finger, feigning consideration.
"Have you told him?"
She shook her head, that beautiful expression she had been wearing faltering.
"No – and this is where I need your advice."
"You don't know how to tell him?"
"It's not that. I'm afraid to give him hope," she said, reaching for her drink again. She nervously drained the contents of the glass in a single breath before continuing. "While his training in France put me on the path to getting better control over my blood-rage, there's still the condition of my actual blood to consider… this poison running through my veins. I want to be able to give him all of me, Signore – everything I have and everything that I am and have been and could be. It's what he deserves – what the prophecy demands. But I can't do that without risking not only his very existence, but that of our entire species. I want to help restore what he's lost – his throne, his children, this city… even his soul, if such a thing were within my power. I want to be able to share in his burdens, in his triumphs and his losses. I want to be there for him the way he has been there for me – the way he continues to be there for me, even with the vexatious circumstances of the last three weeks."
Bernardini remained silent as she spoke, unwilling to break the spell of her sudden candidness.
"But he deserves a queen, Signore. An equal. A blood-bound mate who would inherently share all of this with him… and I physically cannot give that to him, as much as I may wish to."
Francesca fell silent again as she allowed her words to hang in the air, the weight on her shoulders almost visible as she slumped forward a little, appearing defeated. She turned her head to look away and for an instant and Antón could have sworn he saw her eyes glistening with unshed tears. It tugged at the very heart of him.
He had known many of Vladislaus' lovers and closest friends in his lifetime, a good many men and women who had been utterly devoted to his majesty, who had loved him in their own way. But what he was witnessing now from this brave and stalwart woman touched him unexpectedly. There had only been perhaps a handful of women he had encountered that he had ever dreamed worthy of his friend and sire. But Francesca Chase made them all pale by comparison. Even his own beloved sister who had put Dracula on the course to rediscovering his humanity again could never have held a candle to this dark-haired beauty, the agony of her struggle written all over her face.
Francesca loved Vladislaus – so much more than she was saying, of that he was absolutely certain. And her fear of hurting him and potentially losing him because of what she believed to be her shortcomings… it was agonizing to behold. If anything, her consideration did her more credit than she realized – that selfless devotion; that willingness to sacrifice her own happiness to keep him safe – or at least what she believed to be safe.
"I don't know what to do, Signore," she said at last, her voice holding a barely decipherable quiver of brimming emotion. "I care for him. I love him. But I don't want to keep him bound or obligated to me when I cannot give him what he is owed."
"I think you should talk to him," Bernardini said immediately. "You should tell him exactly what you just told me and let him decide. Put all of your feelings and fears and expectations and hopes on the table and then resolve what is to be done together – if not as a couple, then at least as partners. You both have an investment in how all of this plays out. The choice should belong to both of you equally."
Francesca said nothing as she visibly mulled over his words. He took advantage of her silence, continuing,
"Might I also suggest that you share with him your unspoken reservations when it comes to being blood-bound," he added with a knowing expression that took her off guard. Her eyebrows raised in surprise at his words, but it was clear he had a better understanding of her than she had anticipated. He tried not to appear too devious. "While I do not know all the details regarding your history, I know enough to recognize the apprehension in you. I also have it on good authority that you've been hurt more times that you would ever dare to admit," he added, his suspicions confirmed when her eyes fell to her hands in her lap.
"My dear, love is never easy – especially when you're dealing with the depth of devotion that comes with being bound to someone. I know Vladislaus doesn't exactly have a stellar track record when it comes to things like commitment and monogamy." He chuckled a little at that. "Although in his defense, most of the women he would have dedicated himself to were never around long enough – my own sister being one of them."
"Yes… he told me about Veronica."
Antón's smile held a sadness to it, but he continued.
"I know Vladislaus – better than most, I would think. Although he loves to pretend to be heartless – fear is an excellent motivator for keeping those that would challenge his authority in line – his capacity for love runs deep. He's just incredibly selective when it comes to whom he lets in. Centuries of disappointment are responsible for that, though I think if anyone could understand what that's like, it would be you," and he sent her an affectionate look. "I saw firsthand how devoted he was to his children – and that was long before they became his blood-bound heirs. I also saw what their loss did to him. Some would say that kind of devastation was owed to being bound to them, but those closest to him knew better. He's sired many souls throughout his existence, but has only ever formally bound himself to the Dracul Sânge. Never to anyone else. The fact that he would even consider the possibility of extending that great honor to you – blood condition or no – is telling, if you ask me."
He could tell by the look in her eyes that this was news to her.
"Talk to him, Francesca," he continued with earnestness. "Tell him the truth. But be warned that if you do, if you give him even a glimmer of hope, he will fight for you, consequences be damned. So be sure that this is what you want before you approach him. Don't let the fear and uncertainty you feel rule you. I can empathize with your hesitation – to make yourself vulnerable, to relinquish control and place your fate and heart in the hands of another. But love – in all its forms – requires a certain degree of submission. And, speaking from personal experience, that surrender can be the most liberating thing you'll ever know... if you let it."
Frankie remained silent as he spoke, taking in his words, digesting them.
"I don't mean to overstep my boundaries," he added carefully, "but I can't help but wonder if that's why you've always kept the people in your life at arm's length… because it makes you feel safe. That's why you crave control."
The woman bristled a little at that observation, but she made no attempt to refute it.
"Vladislaus is very much the same way – so ruled by the disappointments of his past, the secret fear of being betrayed. But you know what I've noticed, Francesca de Chacier?" Antón smiled. "You give him hope – and that is something I haven't seen in my old friend in a long, long time."
Bernardini paused once more for emphasis.
"Love is a choice, Francesca – more so an act than it is a feeling. I think now you need to decide if you'll live out the next century keeping yourself safe behind your walls, or if you're ready take that leap of faith with him, together… to whatever end."
Frankie replayed the words the Italian had spoken in her mind over and over again as she made her way to Carmen's.
The fact that he would even consider the possibility of extending that great honor to you – blood condition or no – is telling…
The words and all they implied left her feeling terribly conflicted.
On the one hand, it moved her – this suggestion that Vlad cared so deeply for her, that he might even love her enough to consider…
But on the other hand, it worried her. Dracula knew of her situation, of the condition of her blood. Was he really willing to risk the whole of their species on the off chance that he might be immune to her after all?
It was a touching notion, but also deeply unsettling.
She wasn't sure she could put the lives of countless vampires at risk – her own friends and family included – on a snowball's chance in hell.
But still…
Are you ready to take that leap of faith with him… to whatever end? Bernardini had asked her. His choice of words brought to mind the line in Mariella's prophecy – that with blind faith on a moonless night, the dragon would claim what was his.
The very concept of faith was something Frankie had always struggled with throughout her life – from faith in unseen powers of the divine to faith in her fellowman. But could she have faith in Vladislaus, in what they were destined to be together?
She wasn't sure.
Her mind started to wander to those idyllic summer days and nights in France – how long ago they seemed now. Memories of the way he would look at her, his gentle consideration, the secrets they had shared, things they had discussed… the passion he had barely been able to keep leashed. For an instant, Frankie wondered if she was ready to explore those deeper levels of intimacy with him – not just physically, but emotionally as well.
She knew the answer the moment the query flitted across her brain.
Of course she was ready.
In truth, she had been ready that first night they had kissed in Carmen's cellar.
And it had terrified her – terrified her that this could be real and that she could somehow lose him if she relinquished control, if she surrendered herself to him the way instinct demanded.
She was still adrift in the sea of her thoughts when she finally arrived at the alliance headquarters. Jacob had managed to pack up all of his equipment at the hotel in a matter of hours and was now in the process of unloading the last of it into the war room, Danny, Damon, and Lyra offering their assistance in setting it all up while Rémy brooded silently in the corner.
Carmen and Vesper were still combing through the files from Elina with Vlad overseeing the work, though he was the only one to notice Frankie when she appeared in the doorway.
Their eyes met on pure instinct and Francesca felt all of the uncertainty from earlier melt away under his gaze. It would never cease to amaze her how effortlessly her thoughts and anxiety seemed to quiet whenever he looked at her. Even with knowing expressions passing between both Carmen and Lyra, Frankie didn't try to hide the soft smile that curved her lips.
"Where have you been?" Rémy asked, too consumed in his own ruminating to pick up on the way she had been looking at his friend.
Frankie turned her attention to her brother.
"I was following up on something," she replied, wondering if she should feel guilty for misleading him. Maybe it was petty of her to still begrudge him his previous interference, but doing so made it easier to avoid the guilt of deceiving him. "How are we coming along here?"
"Nearly set up," Jacob announced, overhearing the conversation. "We should be online any minute now."
"Did we decide on where to place the decoy signals for the broadcast?" she asked, entering the room. Rémy kept his post by the door, holding up the wall.
"I had a few ideas, though I think it would be far more poetic if we had the main one planted somewhere in the palace," her brother-in-law replied with an impish grin.
"A pity that's not a viable option," she said, stealing a glance out of the corner of her eye where she caught Vlad still watching her. She had to bite back her smile.
After a couple more cables were plugged in and a switch was flipped on, the servers, which had been situated in a previously empty closet, hummed to life, the lights flickering green before they glowed a steady neon blue.
"Looks like we're online!" Lyra announced.
"Excellent!" Jake took a seat on the floor just outside the closet, leaning against the wall as he began to type a string of code into his laptop. "Now I just need to connect to the cloud, bypass the palace firewall, and…" The percussive symphony of fingers to keys continued until he stopped and a disembodied voice rang out over the speakers already installed in the room.
"Hello, Jacob."
Frankie felt a chill run down her spine as she immediately recognized the voice. She could sense her brother's identical reaction, the two with wide eyes and disbelieving countenances.
Rémy actually managed to peel himself from the wall, taking a cautious step forward.
"Was that…"
Jacob, having thought nothing of the A.I.'s voice until now, blanched.
"Oh… shit. Sorry. I can change it if you…"
But Rémy held up his hand. Another step forward.
"That's… that's her voice."
He sent his sister a look as if silently asking if she had heard the same thing. She only nodded, the corners of her lips tugging into an astonished smile.
Jacob typed something into his computer and the A.I. spoke again.
"Hello, Reynaud."
Frankie shook her head in disbelief.
"How…" she began, but the man was already explaining.
"I started working on it a couple of decades ago using a voice modulation program. Took me ages to get it right. But this… this is my pride and joy. Look – "
He typed in another string of code and the hologram projector over the conference table, which was currently displaying Elina's footage, flickered once as he hacked into it. Appearing in the center of the files was a three-dimensional rendering of Frankie and Rémy's long-deceased sister.
Frankie covered her mouth.
"That looks like Margot," Vesper said, looking to Carmen for confirmation. "Like the painting at Uncle Armand's house."
"Yes," Rémy managed, visibly shaken as he stared up at the hologram with wonder in his eyes. He looked to Jake who was merely smiling. "How… when did you even have the time to do this?"
"Like I said – I've been working on it for years. She might be a projection, but I've been tweaking her programming for a while now, uploading her quirks, the nuances in her expression. I suppose you could say she's my Cortana. Or my Siri or Alexa – whichever you prefer," and he waved his hand dismissively.
"Does Armand know?" Frankie asked, still staring up at the smiling face of her deceased baby sister.
It was like a sign – a portent of hope and it sent shivers through her entire body, her eyes prickling with unshed tears.
The loss of Marguerite had been the catalyst for the deterioration of her relationship with Alphonse, the marking of one of the darkest periods in her life. And while the woman was long dead and would never return, Frankie felt a flicker of hope, which was amplified by the feel of Vlad's eyes still resting on her person. The promise of a new beginning was already swelling in her breast. It was too much to merely be a coincidence.
"No – it's been my little secret," Jake explained. "Although I've been working on this one since you freed me from the palace dungeons. Was thinking of setting it up at the house – if Armand wants it, of course," and with a few more clicks, another apparition appeared – this time of their aunt, Cece. Carmen actually swallowed a sob.
"That's amazing!" Vesper exclaimed, leaving her post to go sit next to Jake, looking over his shoulder at his computer. "Did you do one for Louis and Vita, too?" she asked, referring to Frankie's mother and father.
"Not yet, but I could."
"Jake…" Francesca whispered, clearly moved. She couldn't bring herself to say anything else. His smile grew a little sheepish.
"I figured if we're about to unleash hell, it might be nice to have some friendly faces helping us along the way… but if it's too much or if you're not comfortable…"
"No," Frankie interrupted with glistening eyes. "It's perfect."
Silence settled in the room for a moment until Rémy, clearing his throat of emotion, turned to his brother-in-law.
"Now that you're set up, what comes next?" he asked, the first thing he had spoken directly to the man since his arrival earlier that evening. Jacob tried to hide his relief.
"We finish combing through that footage and compile our greatest hits while we send a few folks out to set up the decoy signals. Don't need Marcus tracing this back here."
Rémy nodded.
"You said you had a few ideas of locations? Can you show me?"
Jacob nodded.
Frankie could have wept for joy at the white flags she had just seen go up – something only her dear sister could have accomplished and she smiled up at the holographic projection in a look of gratitude.
On the other side of the table, behind the illuminated rendering, she noticed Vladislaus still watching her intently. His gaze reminded her…
"Rémy, I need to borrow Leinhart for a little while," she announced suddenly, turning to her brother.
"What? Why?" he asked, eyes darting between the two with sudden wariness.
"I visited with Bernardini earlier this evening – that's where I was. He told me that he could put me in touch with Dracula, but recommended that I take Vlad with me as an intermediary," she lied, desperately trying to keep her voice level and expression neutral, "since he's worked for his majesty for centuries. And, as he's a trusted ally of our organization, he could help in pleading our case if it comes to that."
Rémy considered her words.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked after a while, words brimming with unspoken meaning, his gaze earnest. "Meeting with Dracula… that's a big deal, Frank. Maybe I should go with you..."
"No," she said almost a little too hastily, but she quickly reined herself in. "No, I don't think that would be wise. He might take that as an affront. But with Vlad present, he has someone he's already acquainted with, someone he trusts..."
"But if you end up in danger, there's no guarantee that his old alliances won't take precedence over your safety – no offense Vlad."
"None taken," the man replied, face devoid of any real expression. "Although I can assure you that if it came to that, I would protect your sister with my life."
"Do you think it could come to that?" Rémy inquired cautiously.
Vlad and Frankie exchanged a quick series of looks before the former replied.
"No, I don't. She's coming to him in good faith. And given what is to lie between you both," and he looked fully at Francesca this time, "I don't believe you will be in any real danger of his majesty. He will hear your case and consider the options. Besides, better to meet with him now before you formally declare war on Marcus than to do it afterward. At least this way, you could receive his blessing at minimum, his public support at best. But all of that is yet to be seen."
Vlad, still playing his part beautifully, then looked to the woman's brother, squaring his shoulders with the kind of confidence a good solider would wear.
"I'd be happy to keep an eye on her, Rémy – with your leave, of course."
It took every ounce of self-control Frankie possessed to appear as neutral as possible. The anticipation that was currently tying her insides into knots was almost unbearable.
Fortunately, Rémy didn't take long to decide.
"Yes," he said at last, missing the way Carmen and Lyra were smiling at each other just then. "Keep her safe. And Frankie?" Rémy looked to his sister and pointed a finger of warning in her direction, though his smile was mischievous. "When you meet the king, promise me you'll play nice. We don't need any more enemies."
The woman couldn't help the wry smirk that curved her lips.
"I'll try," was all she said. She then looked to Vlad and motioned with her head for him to follow her. "Come, we should leave now while the night is still young."
Dracula had to school himself as he made his way toward the exit, struggling to keep from dashing out of the room with a grin on his face. But he managed to remain the picture of pure impassivity, even after he and Frankie were alone in the hall and out of earshot of the others. She looked at him then, a purposefulness in her expression that had not been there previously. It made him curious.
"We need to talk," she said in a low voice. "Somewhere quiet… and private. Where we can discuss certain things without the risk of being overheard or disturbed."
Dracula's smile was slow and lethal – borderline predatory.
It's about time, his eyes seemed to say.
Her skin crawled with anticipation.
"I know just the place," he said.
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