Chapter 2: Heart Vein
London. December 1621.
Aurora . . .
Jack's mind drifted as he gazed up at the silk brocade canopy of the bed. Was she Venus descended to Earth? Inigo had once shown him a drawing of the birth of the goddess by the Italian artist Botticelli. When Jack first glimpsed Aurora, it was as if she too had magically risen from sea foam.
He'd been painting clouds destined to serve as a backdrop for Apollo's arrival on stage when Bryn floated in with a wearh so beautiful she took his breath away. Jack cringed when he recalled his awkwardness. He'd hardly been able to stumble out a word of greeting. But Bryn sprang to his rescue, maintaining a steady stream of chatter as well as praising his artistry far beyond what it deserved.
Aurora invited him and Bryn to visit her at York House. That evening he'd played viol for her in a small antechamber, and Aurora demonstrated that she was a gifted lutenist and singer. They initially played trios, but after a few minutes, Bryn left them alone. That was when Jack discovered Aurora was even more gifted in the art of love.
"Your mind is far from me," Aurora said softly, rolling on top of him. "I'm glad your body isn't." She kissed his shoulder, her teeth lightly pressing into his flesh without breaking the skin.
"I was only thinking of you," he murmured, tracing the slope of her breast with his finger. Sunlight streamed in through the window. On a Sunday morning, the Duke and his wife were attending church services and would be gone for at least another hour. Aurora had invited Jack into her bedchamber during their absence.
Aurora rolled over, pulling him on top of her. Conscious thought stilled . . .
Eventually, they got dressed. They had coffee in a small sunny room overlooking the Thames. Aurora had introduced the beverage to him, and it was growing on him. Coffee was gaining in popularity in London. She told him it had arrived in Venice over fifty years ago but even before then, there had been coffeehouses in Malta. Aurora was familiar with foreign lands and cultures he could only dream about.
"I wish I could travel to Europe," he said. "You must think I'm a dull and uninteresting fellow."
"Not so," she declared. "This is my first visit and already I'm enchanted by the richness of your culture." She took a sip from a porcelain cup. "London is quite famous in our world. It's rare to see witches, wearhs, and daemons living in harmony. I used to think witches were evil, but now I've met many whom I'm honored to call my friends." She gazed at him worriedly. "Does that shock you?"
"Not at all. I also count witches among my friends."
She smiled, her periwinkle eyes looking up at him from under thick lashes. "Do you think of them as your sisters?"
"That's an accurate way of phrasing it. As well as aunts, uncles, cousins, and nephews." The Normans, a family of witches, were as close to him as Leonard and Bryn.
"I hope someday in Venice we will also have peaceful relations."
"The harmony in which we live is due to Father Andrew Hubbard. Would you like to meet him?"
She hesitated. "I've heard a rumor that he requires all creatures to let him drink their blood. My sire is very private. He would never wish for me to undergo anything so intrusive. Do you think the priest would force me to comply?"
Now it was Jack's turn to be uncertain. He longed to tell her she wouldn't need to, but he doubted he could dissuade Father H. It was for the best she didn't realize he was Jack's sire. Both Father H and Philippe had drilled into him the necessity of keeping such details secret. Base case, wearhs didn't discuss their past. It had been one of the hardest lessons he'd had to learn.
When he was a child, his mind was filled with unanswered questions about the Roydons. He didn't realize that was a prelude to his future life. Only now he knew, never to ask. In the case of his heritage, he had even more reason to remain mute. He didn't know of anyone else other than Philippe who was aware that Matthew's son Benjamin had sired Father H.
Jack sympathized with Aurora's concern to protect her father's privacy. If Jack were visiting Venice and somebody demanded to drink his blood, he'd depart rather than allow it to happen.
"How long do you plan to stay in London?" he asked, preferring not to give her a direct answer.
She bit her lower lip. "I intended to stay only a fortnight, but now . . ." She reached over to clasp his hand. "My heart commands me to linger."
"Father Hubbard may not hear about you for a while."
She raised a coquettish eyebrow. "Because I'll be in bed? That would suit me very well."
Aurora might look and act innocent, but Jack had already discovered that was far from the case when they were in the privacy of the massive canopied bed in her chamber. More than ever he was grateful to Blanche for having taught him how to comport himself, and to Leonard for having arranged it.
Leonard understood from his own experience how difficult it was for a wearh infant to control his passions. He'd sought help from Blanche, a wearh beauty who normally only invited noblemen into her bed, to provide instructions. Jack could have easily fallen hard for her, but Blanche always made it clear that she never remained for long with one person. Instead, they'd become good friends. Jack wondered what she'd think of Aurora. Blanche had spent the past decade in mainland Europe. Perhaps they'd met.
Sept-Tours. December 15, 1621.
In a few days, it would be Saturnalia, the start of the holiday season. Philippe liked mixing Christian, Roman, and Scandinavian traditions. Pierre and Françoise were in charge of decorating the hall with greenery. Ysabeau was in the kitchen, consulting with the chef on the menu for the feast.
Philippe had assigned himself a much more challenging task—preparation of the clock. Diana's fascination with the device during the Yule season she and Matthew spent at Sept-Tours was a fond memory. The water clock featured a model ship. As water was funneled onto the ship from a pipe, the ship's extra weight caused the hand on the clock dial to rotate. Each year he fashioned a spectacular effect for when the hour of midnight was struck. This year, he'd returned to an old favorite. A mechanical wolf would howl the hour.
Freyja's scent wafting into the hall alerted him to her presence before he heard the rustling of her skirts.
"I thought I'd find you here," she said with a laugh. "Should we wear armor to the feast to protect ourselves from whatever devilry you've concocted for the clock?"
Philippe clasped elbows with her. "It won't be necessary. You'll be relieved to know that I don't plan to repeat last year's explosives. How was your journey?"
"Next time I'll wear men's clothes and ride a horse," she declared. "The carriage is a torture not to be inflicted on anyone." She added in a lower voice. "I stopped in Venice on my way back."
"You have news?"
At her nod, he beckoned her to an alcove where they could sit away from the noise of the decorating crew.
"I visited a friend who's currently living in Venice, Blanche Rayford."
Philippe was familiar with the English manjasang. In the fifteenth century, she'd lived in Rome. Her taste in art was exquisite. He'd occasionally consulted with her about Italian paintings to be added to the family collection.
Freyja extended her right leg to display her shoe which was ornately festooned with ribbons and embroidery. "Blanche and I indulged ourselves with several pairs of new shoes. No one can compare with the cobblers of Venice. I'd hoped to meet with Bryn while in Venice, but Blanche told me I'd missed her by a few weeks. She returned to London as the traveling companion of Aurora Dandolo."
"A manjasang?"
"Yes, and one I was unfamiliar with."
"As am I."
"Blanche didn't know much about her either except that she'd paid for the privilege of calling herself a Dandolo. I decided to check with Domenico."
Domenico Michele was well-known to Philippe. A former doge of Venice, he continued to make the city his headquarters. The manjasang was clever and totally without scruples—a dangerous combination. He probably viewed both Gerbert and Philippe as obstacles to his own ambition, but he was more than willing to play along with first one then the other for suitable reimbursement. He'd cultivated members of the Congregation to be his allies and switched his allegiance with the wind.
"I persuaded Domenico that Aurora bore watching. He discovered she's Gerbert's daughter, and I confirmed it." Freyja chuckled. "London better watch out. Aurora looks like a blonde angel but could be as manipulative as her sire."
Philippe pondered the news. Up to now, Gerbert hadn't displayed any interest in the British Isles. It was conceivable that was still the case, but Gerbert was as clever at using his children as Philippe was. Earlier in the century, Gerbert was been in Prague in a never-ending search for the Book of Life, a grimoire he'd once possessed then let slip through his fingers.
"Gerbert may have delegated her to search for news of that English witch—the one who was rumored to be Matthew's companion," Freyja suggested.
Philippe nodded. "Gerbert will never give up until he regains the Book of Life. If he's learned about Bryn, he could believe she'd be a useful tool."
Freyja wrinkled her brow. "I don't follow you."
"Andrew Hubbard rules over all creatures in London. Unlike the rest of the world, many London manjasangs have friendly relations with witches. Has Bryn ever mentioned witches to you?"
"The subject never came up."
"She lived many decades in London. She would have had to become a member of Hubbard's flock. Aurora could intend to use her as a stepping stone."
"Or she could simply be curious about England," Freyja suggested. "Aurora's been a frequent visitor to Blanche's palazzo, and Blanche waxes euphoric about life in London. I'd always considered London culture to be inferior to that on the continent, but I may need to revise my opinion. She showed me a portrait of herself that an English manjasang had painted." Freyja laughed. "Can you imagine? Not your normal calling for one of us, but the portrait was exceptional. Blanche claimed he's also a court musician."
"Did she give you his name?" Philippe asked, suspecting that he already knew it.
"Only his given name—Jack. She described him as swoon-worthy."
Just how nefarious was Aurora's visit? Bryn knew not to mention anything about Diana and Matthew, but would she feel the same restraint about Jack? Bryn likely didn't know about Aurora's sire. What if Aurora and Jack met? From the way Freyja described her, she possessed a beauty that could prove irresistible to a young pup like Jack.
If he fell in love with her, would he allow her to taste his blood? The risk was intolerable. Philippe left the hall and returned to his office. More than ever, he appreciated the uneasy truce established between himself and Hubbard. This would be a test of its solidity.
#
"Tell me about Aurora," Hubbard ordered.
Bryn shrugged. "She's a delightful creature I met in Venice. She's staying at the Duke of Buckingham's house as the guest of his wife."
Hubbard had dispatched a courier to bring Bryn to Christ Church Greyfriars. He didn't suspect her of anything malicious but she should have brought Aurora to him immediately.
"How long has she been here?"
She bit her lip. "Three weeks."
"You know the rules. Why didn't you bring her to me?" He was keeping his tone even for the time being. They were simply two wearhs conducting a pleasant conversation in the nave of the church.
Bryn hesitated. She had the grace to appear embarrassed. "I would have, but Aurora pleaded to hold off. She didn't intend to stay long in London."
"For two days I might be lenient but she's been here nearly a month."
"I'll speak to her," Bryn promised.
"You'll do more than that," he retorted, letting anger seep into his voice. "Take two wearhs with you and bring her to me. I insist on compliance."
Bryn's forehead creased. "You should know there's a complication."
Hubbard sighed inwardly. Wasn't there always with Bryn? "What is it this time? Are the two of you intimate?" He was quite familiar with Bryn's relationships. That could explain her reluctance.
"I wish that were the case. I don't wear my heart on my sleeve." She winced. "Unlike Jack. I think he may have fallen in love with her, and she shows every sign of being the same way."
Jesu. Hubbard pinched his nose as he channeled his fury into something manageable. "What role did you play in this disaster?"
"I didn't see any harm," she said, jutting her chin out defiantly even as she stepped back a pace. "Jack was lonely and grieving. Aurora's exceptionally mild-mannered. I thought they would be a great match. And they are. Haven't you noticed how happy Jack is lately?" Bryn's moss-green eyes pleaded at him for understanding.
"If you'd brought her to me straight away, this could have been easily resolved without Jack ever getting involved. Do you know who Aurora's sire is?"
"She's never mentioned it."
"She wouldn't, and with good reason," Hubbard snorted. "Gerbert d'Aurillac is his name."
Her eyes widened. "The former pope?"
"The very same, and even more relevant to the present situation, the enemy of Philippe de Clermont. I received a letter from him, warning me about Aurora. Gerbert is seeking a witch, one who Jack holds dear."
He didn't need to identify Diana by name. Bryn was already familiar with Jack's history with her. But what she didn't know was Gerbert's hatred of witches. "Aurora could be on a mission for her father. By associating with her, Jack could place all witches in peril. Still, I shall not prejudge. As long as Aurora is willing to submit to my test, she can remain in London. But under no circumstances should Jack associate with her."
Hubbard held himself partly responsible. He still viewed Jack as an infant, someone who wouldn't think of mating with someone. But if he were besotted with Aurora, he might let her feed from his heart vein, and all his secrets—as well as Hubbard's—would be revealed. Had she already done so?
Was Bryn right that the pup was in love? Hubbard groaned to himself. He'd already known his lectures would likely be ineffective. This was exactly why he'd been glad to not sire children. The conversation he would be forced to have was already leaving a sour taste in his mouth.
#
Father H greeted Jack at the entrance to the bell tower when he returned from Whitehall to change his clothes before going to see Aurora.
"Come with me to the crypt," Father H ordered brusquely. "We need to talk."
"What's wrong?" Jack raced through his activities of the past few weeks. He'd been too distracted by Aurora to get into any real mischief, and Leonard was spending his free time with Inigo.
"That's what you'll tell me," he said ominously as he led the way down the staircase. "Wait till we're in a location where we'll be undisturbed."
Jack swallowed. Had he found out about Aurora? Jack hadn't disobeyed an order. Not exactly. He'd simply put it on hold.
Father H entered the crypt, directing Jack to close the heavy oak door. One short stub of a candle provided more than enough illumination for them, but it cast forbidding shadows over Father H's features. Was he about to get another lecture about the ungodliness of thrusting? He braced himself for the worst.
"I received a letter from Philippe," Father H said, sitting down at the plank table in the center of the room. "He alerted me to a wearh who's arrived in London under false pretenses."
Jack listened in shock as his sire told him about the contents of the letter. Would Aurora try to use him to find out about Mistress Roydon? Philippe was confident that he was right, but the picture he painted of Aurora didn't match the woman Jack had grown attached to.
"You're right that she didn't disclose who her father was, but neither have I," Jack said. "You lectured me to not discuss my past. Why are you holding that against her?"
"I'm not," Father H said calmly. "I'm the last person to cast aspersions on someone because of who their sire is. Philippe is ready to brand her as a duplicitous whore because of her father, but I'm reserving judgment. For all I know, Aurora may be the epitome of virtue."
"She told me several of her friends are witches."
Father H eyed him skeptically. "And you believe her?"
Jack didn't say anything as doubts began to creep in. Had she been lying to him? If that was the case, was she also insincere about her regard for him?
"Philippe warned me that she could use you to try to discover the truth about Matthew and Diana," Father H added. "Up to recently, I held Philippe and Gerbert in equal contempt. Both wearhs are too arrogant by half." He took a slow breath. "But my opinion of Philippe has improved with time, in large measure because of his changed attitude toward witches. Gerbert has made no such improvement. He despises witches and considers daemons inferior beings. In his mind, wearhs are superior to every other creature and warmblood on Earth."
"I would never tell Aurora about the Roydons," Jack protested. "You know that."
"You might not intend to, but it could slip out. Answer me truthfully. Are you in love with her?"
Was he? He cared for her deeply, but he hadn't stopped to consider the nature of his emotions.
"Do you want her to be your mate?" Father H pressed relentlessly. "Because if you do, then it would be her right to drink from your heart vein, and you wouldn't be able to hold onto any of your secrets. I regret not having already discussed this with you. I'd hoped my admonitions would suffice. If you truly wish to protect Diana and Matthew, you must avoid liaisons. Their future depends on it."
#
Aurora looked at Jack as she gave a soft, regretful sigh. "I'm sorry, but I cannot submit to Father Hubbard's request. Such an act would be a betrayal to those who had confided in me. I hope you understand."
Jack nodded. "And I respect you for it." When Father H had given him the ultimatum, Jack knew in his heart that Aurora would refuse. The lecture about mating practices and drinking from heart veins was unnecessary. Leonard had already warned him. This would be his last visit to York Hall. "Where will you go?"
"The duke is traveling to Ireland with his wife. I shall go with them." She gave him a coquettish smile. "Perhaps you'll visit me there?"
"I'd like to." Jack spoke in all sincerity, but he had no intention of associating with Aurora again. He simply couldn't risk the chance she was a spy.
The lesson he'd learned was that he'd be well advised to follow Leonard's example. Witches and daemons, even with the heartbreak of eventual separation, were far safer. According to the Covenant, inter-creature relationships were forbidden. The love between a witch and a wearh such as what Master and Mistress Roydon had for each other was anathema. But if Jack were to find love, he'd have to follow their path and seek it among warmbloods.
Father H had a low opinion of the Congregation and considered the Covenant they'd drawn up to be trash. Jack was torn. Philippe had been the prime force behind both the Congregation and had originally been a strong proponent of the Covenant. But now even he must view it as antiquated and flawed.
Did Leonard and Bryn feel similarly constrained? They'd promised to keep the Roydons' secret as well. More than ever, Jack realized the difficulty of the burden he'd imposed on his friends.
#
I shall leave tomorrow for Dublin with the Duke and Duchess of Buckingham. From there, I hope to advance our cause.
Aurora set her quill on a brass holder as she considered her next words to her father. Dublin was a provincial backwater compared to London. She doubted it would present many opportunities that would interest him. But in view of the Duke's importance to the Prince of Wales, it was worth the sacrifice.
She'd miss Jack. In addition to his personal allure, he appeared to be her best source on witches in London. She planned to continue to correspond with both him and Bryn. She smiled to herself. Clandestine assignations in country estates could offer a great deal of appeal. She had all the time in the world to deepen her connections.
Notes: Jack's journey to find love came to a dead end, but his future looks bright. Charles I is a devoted patron of the arts and the English nobility follows his example. Jack, Leonard, and Bryn will have no shortage of work.
My next story in the series is Winter's Rages. The year is 1645 and England is in the final stages of a ruinous Civil War.