Chapter XIX: A Round of Morale

The Parisian Den, Noon, Three days later.

A crowd had gathered in the main hall, men and women of all colours crammed together on stools and chairs, the short ones standing, the tall ones seated on the floor. There were about three dozen altogether. Though winter was almost upon them, the air was warm in this hall, humid even…steam rising from the three furnaces, sweat on people's skin. Many had discarded their coats and fleece shawls, the rags that kept them hidden on the outside.

Reflective, Lucian stood in the alcove, watching them…studying their faces, the hum of anticipation hovering over their heads. They could not see him yet, but he could see them. Three days it had taken for them to gather, these lycans from beyond the den, their children absent, the parents travelling by daylight. How dangerous it was for these lycans who lived under the Line. They were the shadows that hid him…they were his people. But they should not be here. In the centre, Auguste was standing on a table, his hand gesturing firmly, raising his arms with every declaration of the honour that had come to their den. No one cared to lower their voice. They were too deep beneath the ground for that. Abruptly the pack-leader pointed, every head turning, like a wave, silence falling as all eyes fell on him.

Silence for the alpha. He stepped forward and they parted, their heads lowering in respect and expectation. Hands behind his back, he circled the room, drawing their faces close, their scents mingling with him. I am among you, he thought. I am for you. They hung on his every turn, allowing him to burn their faces with a glance. This is what they had come for. He leaped onto the table, his hood falling back, his face unmasked so they might see him. So they might understand what kept him fighting this war.

Rage.

His voice was like iron. "Who among you has lived in fear?" He paused on the question, lingering on silence. He would fill it with belief only when it grew too much. "Who among you?" He turned, aiming his hand into the crowd. "You…" He pointed again, a bearded monster of a man sweating under his notice. "…you." Baring his teeth, he showed them the extent of how serious he was. "All of you. You reek of fear."

They could not deny it. Many of them looked away. Others stooped, bowing themselves further, acknowledging the underlying stench that plagued this hall. Shame. Terror. No one dared accuse him of hard-heartedness.

"Your children…" he said softly. "…where are they?" Swift, he crouched, striking his palm against the oak table, gazing at them candidly, knowing the truth of his words. "Hidden." His hand became a fist. "Your homes…" He forced them to lean in, reaching out only to strike his palm against the table again, making every lycan flinch. "Hidden!"

Silver took his eyes. This was what they had come here for, and more, it was what they needed. Uncurling, he stood high above them, always turning, always watching them as they watched him. "They hunt us," he said coldly. "Even now, they hunt us, my friends…" Tonight, there would be no shame in this hall. "…but we will not be cowed." These lycans would learn the necessity of rage. They knew what came next.

Closing his eyes, like a tradition, he broached his question…one that had resounded for the past eight hundred years. "What…are…you?"

"Lycans…" They began uncertainly.

"I said, what…are…you?"

"Lycans…"

He opened his eyes. "Who are you?"

"Lycans!"

He drank in their fanaticism. "Are you weak?"

"No!"

"Can you fight?"

"Yes!"

"Are you with me?"

The roar was deafening, dust falling from the ceiling above as the columns shivered in their stance. These people lived to hide, their existence, their worries tied with their children. All had been warriors of the frontline once…but in these quiet times, they had chosen to hide, procreate under the Line's protection. So far from direct conflict, they needed to believe there was more than just hiding. They needed hope that this war would come to an end, that their children would not have to hide as they did now. He held up his hand, the signal for silence. Immediately, there was only an echo to serve as a reminder of their passion. The scent of fear had faded, but it would never be gone completely.

"Never forget yourselves," he commanded. These words would serve his people in a way he would never fully grasp…years might pass before he saw their faces again. Decades even…but they would remember his coming. "Though you may hide beneath the day, it is the moon that is your strength. Every hour…every minute, we draw closer to that night when we will claim our birthright. Every second we draw closer to peace…not war, my friends, but peace."

He stepped from the table, landing with a thud on the stone floors, already walking forward into the crowd as he spoke to them…taught them…inspired them. "Your children are not here…" He stressed that point. "…but I say again, your children will see that night. You must make them ready. You must teach them what you know. Show them the danger of war before you send them from their berth." He let that final thought settle upon them…and then signalled the end of his address, stalking through the alcove from which he came. "Keep to the shadows, survive the war." Behind him, they repeated the mantra before dispersing. The opening address was never a long one…these people were tired, but a glimpse they had wanted. A glimpse they had had. One by one, these lycans would speak to him over the coming days, but for now…this meeting was adjourned. Raze was waiting for him at the end of the tunnel. The lycan had arrived shortly after morning, the day before yesterday. He had not asked after Reinette. Lucian leaned against the side of the tunnel, and then let himself slide to a seat on the rough stone. He was tired. Every day, more of them came. Almost a full den now.

"How many more," he said quietly.

"Eighteen," Raze answered. "…they will be here by tomorrow."

"Blast." He stood, stepping around his subordinate, pushing open the door to his quarters. The pack-leader's quarters. Auguste had insisted he take up residence here for the length of his stay. The place was opulent, a roaring fire prepared for him, a tray left on one of the side-tables. Auguste had insisted he dine with the rest of the pack, but after the first night, he had started taking his meals alone. He did not consider Raze company. Picking up the tray, he aimed for a high-backed chair by the fire. "Auguste cannot sustain these numbers, Raze."

"If he would consider the merge with Benoit…"

"He has…" Lucian took the chair, drawing his legs up to sit cross-legged, plucking the cloth from the tray. Blood-wine. Marinated pheasant, garnished with the marrow of bones. The chef had even fashioned a miniature wolf out of aspic, the edible creature baring its teeth at the summit of the marrow. It was both elegant and ridiculous. It was French. He balanced the tray on his knees and began to eat. "…I will not force him, Raze. Not yet. Once I am gone, his presence is another stone in our foundation. We cannot take a mutiny in our centre. The Line cannot take it."

"Of course, Lucian."

"Three weeks and then we are gone. The people hear my voice, see my face. They return to their homes. We will address their capacity for growth at the Gathering of the Horde. Benoit will be there." He bit the head off the wolf.

o…o…o

Exiles' Quarter, Two weeks later.

Reinette turned the page of her book, rubbing her temples as she went over the verb again. Tuer. To kill. She was learning French. Quickly. Je tuerai…tu tueras…il tuera… Her hair was starting to grow back, a quarter-inch of white, thinner than it once was. She no longer had to wear the wig, but her features remained hidden behind the veil. The lycans had provided a mirror for her, and that morning, she had taken a good look at her face. An hour of staring before she fell asleep, growing used to every wrinkle and age-mark. This was her face. She must grow used to it. Across from her study-table, Rena was playing with an iron puzzle, twelve rings linked together. It was the same puzzle, but the lycan-woman had managed to solve it in six different ways. Apparently there were rules to that as well.

After her ribs had healed, they had moved her from a locked room in the infirmary to a locked room in the Exiles' Quarter. She was unsure whether Lucian had anything to do with it, but she had been restricted to her quarters for the entirety of her time here. Likely he did not want her divulging his name to anyone close by…and after her beating, she sincerely might have done it. The solitude was not completely unwanted however. She had her own facilities, bathing and toilette…but she knew there were others. She could hear a distant buzz, voices, laughter even. She wondered if Kolya was among them. It would be nice to speak to someone. Rena had been her constant companion for the past two weeks, but she had vowed never to speak to or acknowledge the woman's presence.

Ever.

As far as she was concerned, she was alone in this room.

Unexpectedly, she heard the sound of a key rattling in the lock. She looked up…Rena as well, and before either could remember the volatile nature of their relationship, they looked at one another. Rena shrugged. She was not expecting anyone either. Abruptly, Reinette realised she was acknowledging the woman. She had almost asked her a question. Over her dead body. She gave the lycan a firm look of loathing and then returned her focus to the French. Stay on your side, she thought. Their visitor finished turning the third lock, and the door opened. Though unexpected, she did not need to look up to figure out who it was. Rena stood, bowed and left the room, leaving it unlocked. At least that was what it sounded like. Lucian was another one she would rather not acknowledge. She had not seen him since the questioning, though on occasion, she deigned to consider if he was still screwing the cow across the room. Perhaps he had found riper pickings by now.

He took the other chair. "So how is your eye?" His voice was much softer, much more amiable than the last time they had spoken. When she said nothing, he continued, obviously comfortable with the notion of speaking to someone who abhorred him. "Sabine wishes me to express a desire to see you in good health. She sends her regards."

Sabine. She had almost forgotten the girl. She could not help answering back. "How very kind of her," she muttered. "Hard to believe you could express such a thing after what you…"

"I did not say I would express it."

She raised her eye, finally admitting she would have to look at him eventually. Blood, he was prickly. Why mention such a thing if one did not intend to follow through? "Do you intend to?"

To her shock, it was oddly reassuring to see his face. He was dressed in browns and greys, the clothing typical of a working-class man, the shirt stained, his breeches filthy. His hair had grown a bit in the two weeks, his feet on the table, Rena's puzzle in his hands. He was solving it…faster than Rena. Moving onto the next, he unlinked the rings and began constructing the second puzzle. "Perhaps."

"Well?"

He shrugged, not looking at her. "Are you well?"

It felt as if they were walking on a wire. There was a pause. "Yes," she answered reluctantly, just as careful as he was to avoid the tension of their previous encounter.

"Good." He finished the second puzzle, moving onto the third. This one appeared simpler in his estimation. He had stopped looking at his hands, allowing them to move while he made an obvious inspection of her room with his eyes. There was not much to see…her bed, the sheets neatly folded. Her bags on the floor. The books by the side of her bed. Rena had brought them on her second day in the infirmary. She assumed Lucian had sent them. "We have less than a month till first snowfall. The sooner you recover, the sooner we can leave."

"It might have been sooner had it not happened."

He was on the fourth puzzle. "Well, since we've already established I am a failure in life, Reinette, maybe I should fail to take you with me…"

"I did not mean…"

"No, you meant what you said. Do not recant simply because you are feeling cordial today." His voice was sharp. Silence followed. He was working even faster now, unlinking and relinking the puzzle as quickly as could be done it seemed.

Almost mesmerised by the movement, she opened her mouth…and then closed it, aware that she would get nowhere with a fight. She was composed. Calm… Two weeks of solitude and already she was glad of the opportunity to speak with another person.

"Is that an order?" she finally asked.

He smiled, looking up. "Yes." The puzzle was now on the table. In six minutes, he had solved every arrangement she had seen Rena frown over for the past two weeks. He leaned back on his chair, starting to get restless. He spied the book in front of her and started playing with his shirt-cuff. Something about it seemed to bother him. "So how is the French going?"

"Ah," she said. Perhaps they could stick to these two topics. French and the weather. "The pronunciation is different, but not impossible. Though I believe I have found an error." She flipped to one of her placeholders, a torn piece of parchment from one of the drawers in the desk. "See…here…" Searching out the appropriate line, she turned the book around and pointed to the sentence. "…these two, are they not the same?"

Unenthusiastic, he eyed her and then took the book, frowning at the passage she had pointed out. Clearly the smell of book was too much for him to resist, but he seemed to feel the need to point out that it should not be him that taught her French. Before even looking at the sentence in question, he flipped past the page, muttering over the indignity of it. "There is a reason I set Rena as your guard, Reinette. Her Latin is stilted, but her French is excellent. I'm certain she will be able to solve your dilemma."

Rena.

So he was sleeping with the cow.

"I have no idea whom you're talking about, Lyosha," she said serenely. "…I live alone."

Forehead pursed, Lucian looked up at her declaration…and then laughed quietly, returning his gaze to the book. He only looked at it for a moment and then began flipping through the rest of the translations. "She stays as your guard." Finally convinced she was not hiding an army between the pages, he returned the book to her, holding the page-marker with his finger, his voice taking on the patronising tone of one who was infatuated with his own edification. "As you can see, they are opposites, Reinette. The first is dessus, meaning 'on top of.' The second is dessous, with an 'o-u', meaning 'beneath.' It can be hard to remember, but once your eye has healed, you'll be able to spot the extra letter." He took his boots off the table and stood, clearly at the end of his ability to sit still.

"Mmph…" she nodded, staring at the mud he had left behind on the table. "I appreciate your help, Lyosha. I am certain I will figure out some system of memory that suits us both."

"Like an 'o-u,'" he said bluntly.

"Dessus, as in you. Dessous, as in her. How does that work?"

"Ha." He barked a laugh. Picking up the rings, he started to unlink them, aiming for the door. "…very amusing and the worst innuendo I've heard in history, Reinette. Did you come up with that yourself?"

"Oh, there was the ignorant whore sitting across from me as well," she said modestly, rubbing her neck. She was still sore, but she was getting stronger. They fed her three times a day in this place. Not younger…but stronger.

He smiled, but rather than rise to the occasion, he began linking the rings together again…this time in a pattern she had not seen. A seventh pattern. "Does that bother you?"

"What? The ignorant whore?"

"Being alone."

"Why would it?" She could no longer see the pattern this time; he was working too fast, linking and unlinking…building a prism of sorts. "Maybe if I had a puzzle, I might have something better to do with my time." She stood. "As it is…" Leaning over the pile of books on the bed, she began to toss them to the ground, uncaring of their condition. "French grammar. French verb usage. French intonation. French dictionary."

"Do you want to try it?" He held up the finished pattern. It was a perfect sphere.

She shook her head, hiding her surprise by taking a seat. "My hands are clean, Lyosha."

"And mine are filthy," he said, laying the finished puzzle on the table. His hands were stained from working with the greased iron rings. His smile was barely there. "You may not believe it, but I am pleased to see you in better form, Reinette. I will come for you eventually." He did not say when. He did not say how long they would remain here. He stalked to the door, not even bothering to say goodbye. And for the Fates knew how long, she would be alone with Rena again. Before he could turn the handle, she found herself speaking…

"Lyosha…"

He paused, looking at her. "Yes?"

"How many arrangements are there?" She nodded at the iron puzzle.

He did not hesitate. "Twenty-nine."

"Why not thirty?"

Shrugging, he turned the handle. "Because I wanted twenty-nine when I made the thing."

The door closed behind him. Relaxing, she let out a breath and then settled back to think. She had suspected as much. By word of mouth, every vampire happened upon the general folklore of Lucian at least once in their lifetime. She did not need her memories to remember that he was cruel. He was cunning. And above all, he was ruthless. For almost a thousand years, he had been named murderer or insane…but despite all the titles bestowed upon him, every tale began with the same adage. He was a blacksmith. What else would the stories confirm?

A moment later, Rena entered the room. The lycan-woman immediately aimed for the table, taking the puzzle up in her hands and examining the intricacy of what Lucian had done. Harsh as she was, her tawny eyes lit up, but like amber, they hardened when they fastened on her charge. Immediately on her guard, Reinette sat up carelessly, crossing her legs, allowing one of her shoes to tap listlessly in the air.

The only way to escape would be to learn fast…from everyone. From Allegra. From Lucian. Even from Rena. She knew she was the glass that could be touched, but not broken; it did not change the fact that she had been stained. She would not easily forgive Lucian or Rena. She would not easily forgive the lycans who held her here. But she would learn from them…she would devote herself to being cruel, cunning…and more ruthless than her most recent of visitors. French, German, English…whatever he gave her, she would master it. And when the time came, she would have her revenge. Perhaps Lucian did not remember that part of her own ominous background. Bloodseers always had their revenge. Even if they had to die for it.

Pute, she mouthed in French. It meant 'whore.'

Rena did not say anything.

Rena had no opinion.

A/N: As usual, I ended up writing instead of working. (Oh well.) As you may be able to tell, Rise of the Lycan is already influencing the chapters! I saw the lycan rally in the trailer and had to include a tribute to it. Besides, when lycans aren't constantly fighting for their territory, they become like siamese fighting fish. (Depressed.) Hence, Lucian needed to give them a pick-me-up, raise the morale of the people as Auguste wanted. He also hinted at his abilities in the forge. Hope the latest chapter is met with approval, and thank you for the latest reviews! (Note: I realise it is very unkind of Reinette's character to be calling Rena a whore, but she is still bitter about the beating. Bloodseers remember that kind of thing.)

ThranduilsDaughter: Oh dear...uhm. Lucian has slept with almost every woman in the den. I've been writing it that way on purpose...it became more and more clear to me as time went by. Eight hundred years is a really long time. He loved Sonja, but he's on the rebound. Really, really on the rebound. Anything that moves. (No I'm kidding, he isn't that promiscuous. Well, he is, but it's more a case of having eight centuries to make the rounds. Once in a while, he has relationships that last a few years or more, but they tend to fizzle. He's not really wired that way anymore.) Anyway, I loved Reinette telling him off though. (Even while I was writing it, I was going "go Reinette!" so it's perfect when someone else has the same reaction!)

Sheen: The tidbits of information are my favourite part as well. It's funny, I spend at least fifteen minutes a day dreaming about lycan culture.

Epilachna: I'm so pleased you like my Lucian! It took a while before I could see him in my head though, and for the record, while reading yours, you do manage to put him across in a way that is prime Lucian. I have to admit, I'm both excited and fearful of Rise of the Lycans (Far more excited than fearful. I might bring a notepad to the theatre the second time so I can be like 'born here, wears that, rides horses, etc.'

Mackenzie: Rena is brutal, but I believe there's more to her than meets the eye. In fact, what am I saying? I know there's more to her. We'll be seeing her for many years to come. (She will be a fixture in Reinette's life, though not a constant one.) And you're right...Reinette definitely has spunk. (I figure, we're finally seeing the parts of her that got lost beneath her age, her trauma, etc. Speaking of the beating, I think it kind of woke her up. Sometimes it's good for a character to reach that point when they don't care anymore about being killed. Gives them a world of freedom in their mouths. (And lets them tell off the lycan-master without caring.)

Reference:

Just as a reminder, the Line is a cryptographic system of communication developed within the lycan forces. In the context of this chapter, the main point is that a number of lycans live under the protection of the Line; their locations and safety are all paramount on whether the Line remains secret. As alluded to by Lucian, in the case of a French mutiny, it would be dangerous because the Line could theoretically be cracked in half, France being at the centre of the Line.

(When I say France, I do not mean the geographic layout of the land, but rather the French lycans living there who serve as messengers for the Line. Each one of them represents a moving geographic point on the Line. If their den chooses to mutiny, those lycans would no longer be serving and as a result, there would be an enormous gap in the main system of lycan communication.)

Note: The other danger, as mentioned below, would be the cracking of the Line's code. If the vampires were ever to decode the scent-system used within the Line (for example, the scents used to mark a den or a place of safety), they would have access to an enormous amount of information regarding the lycan population: locations, hidden names, land deeds, etc. (See Chapter VIII for details on the lycan registry.) We will learn more about it as we delve deeper into lycan politics (particularly when we hit the Gathering of Horde.)

"All pack-members switched lives at least five times a century, taking up residence where others could no longer live. All were connected by the Line, a system of communication developed in the late 1500s. In all these years, the Line had never once been cracked, in all likelihood due to scent being one of the code-markers."

- Chapter VIII, The Meeting with Goar