A/N: First the good news: I have an account over on AO3, see my profile for that. Had fun with that this week.
Bad news: fair warning - the last month has been slow, so I'm behind with new chapters and might need to post less often. But the Easter visiting/visitors are gone, so things should pick up I hope.
Thanks as usual for all the reviews. Sorry to lose you Aerynzu, but I understand. This is a big chapter, tying up some plots with this one. Enjoy!
Trials, Temptations and Gifts
"Don't fight the tide. A wise man waits for it to turn."
The seer's words unsettled me as I dressed for the trial. I wanted to believe they meant Sookie would leave Quinn, but I doubted the seer gave a fuck about my happiness. Given the backstage drama earlier, it was likely she was just gloating, gloating over the tiger's misfortune, as eager for it as I was.
Or had been. I was less eager now: if Quinn fell, would he take Sookie down with him?
Wearing a mid-grey suit, suitably neutral for a judge, I went out into the lounge just as Goro came out of the room he shared with Salvatore.
"Cutting it fine, Samurai," Neb said from the couch. Goro was judging some of the minor cases, due to start shortly. "Your apprentice kept you busy."
"Did we make too much noise for you, old one?" Goro shot back, smirking as he left.
I raised an eyebrow at the Egyptian. He shrugged. "They were quite vocal."
Salvatore.
And Goro. That was … new. How had I missed that?
Oh yes. Depression. I had been neglecting my retinue. That must stop. Vampire relationships were intense, and thus uncommon, and this one was a concern if it ended badly. And Salvatore had not been a lover of men during my time in Oklahoma, which raised a red flag. A bloody flag, in fact.
I walked into their room without knocking. Salvatore was sprawled on the unmade bed reading something written in Japanese. He sat up quickly, putting the book aside. "Your majesty?"
"Eric," I reminded him for the umpteenth time as I closed the door behind me. The room smelt strongly of sex. "What are you reading?"
"Heike Monogatari."
The famous epic of warring clans in twelfth century Japan. "Goro is teaching you bushido."
"Yes," he said cautiously.
"Including the Way of the Youth." Salvatore was no adolescent, but he was centuries younger than Goro.
He stilled. "Is that a problem?"
"Perhaps. You have had his blood." His eyes widened slightly when he caught my meaning, and he shot to his feet, fangs down.
"How can you think that of Kikugoro!" He gestured angrily, continuing in his native Sicilian. "He is a man of honour, he would never–"
"He is almost four times your age," I interrupted.
"He is not controlling me." He scowled. "He won't even let me take more."
I blinked. That was a very … personal admission. He sat down on the bed, avoiding my eyes and running a hand through his thick curls. "Goro is right," I said quietly. "That would not be wise."
"Why do you care?" he muttered.
"Because fealty goes both ways." I paused to search for the right words. "In Oklahoma you preferred women."
"It is not the sex I crave …" He sighed. "You have someone who shares your blood."
Ah. The connection. "You miss Vittorio."
He nodded, his dark eyes solemn. "I trust Goro with my life. He is not coercing me. I swear it."
"Very well. See that it doesn't affect your work."
Satisfied with his answers for now, I left him to his reading. In the lounge, Neb was monitoring the corridor on his laptop: Jephson had installed a camera so small and quiet it was virtually undetectable. Fast enough to capture vampire speed too, technology had caught up with us. I took a seat and began checking my emails.
"Oscar is back, with a friend," Neb announced, turning his laptop towards me.
I recognised the woman on the screen. Petite, with a dark bob. Eva, from Georgia.
She bowed respectfully when Oskar brought her in. "Your majesty."
"Eva. What brings you here?" I said. "A message from your king, perhaps."
"She says she is acting for herself," Oskar said, going over to the fridge and grabbing a bottle. One of the expensive ones: he was going to be testy for the next few nights, freshly tied to eight other vampires.
I gestured at the couch and Eva sat, hands folded demurely in her lap.
"Oskar is right. I am here in memory of the pleasant nights we shared, at a time when I had few." She smiled fondly, and despite myself I smirked back. Her maker Franco had not been kind to his humans. "If you look favourably on my king as a result, that is a bonus."
"I am all ears."
She got straight to the point. "There is talk about you amongst the hangers-on, and it is not good."
I sat forward. "Explain."
She looked down, smoothing her skirt, a nervous habit she carried over from her humanity. "They say you were forced to marry Freyda, that you were her puppet, that Nadia outwitted you. That you survived only by chance, and your days as king are numbered."
I suppressed a hiss, even though I had expected this. I glanced at Oskar and Neb, who both shook their heads. This was news to them too. No-one had dared repeat it in earshot, which was some consolation.
"The source is Wisconsin," Eva added. "Some dismiss it as sour grapes because you were seen with his wife, Maude, and her link to your child is known. Others… " She shrugged.
That was not good. Others believed him. With good reason: he was privy to the details of my marriage to Freyda and the extent of Nadia's plans at her trial.
I said, "Thank you. I will not forget this, Eva."
"You are welcome." She stood and bowed.
Oskar threw himself on the couch after she'd gone. "Wonderful, Eric. First Tennessee, now Michigan and Wisconsin. Any other kings you've pissed off?"
Definitely testy.
Neb said mildly, "Ohio perhaps, or was it Bartlett that gave him that constipated expression last night at the opening?"
We both turned to look at him in surprise. Toilet humour wasn't his style.
"Bartlett," I confirmed and added to Oskar, "I don't believe Michigan is truly pissed. He is playing Maude at her own game."
Oskar looked doubtful. "And Wisconsin…?"
"That reeks of Nevada."
At that they were both alert. Oskar hissed and asked, "What has that caped fucker got to do with it?"
I gave him a look. "Lets just say Wisconsin was not exactly impartial at Nadia's trial."
"Wisconsin is a long way from Nevada," Neb observed.
"Felipe has something on him," I said. "Something Maude would be very interested to hear."
"And you know what it is," Oskar said, his eyes flashing.
"Yes. Bill Compton has his uses." All those secrets he kept, for one. I smirked. "If Maude should happen to find out her husband had stirred up trouble with the wolves in her state and blamed it on Iowa…"
"Wisconsin would think Felipe had betrayed him," Neb finished. "And he would have no reason to continue acting for Nevada."
We were all grinning, fangs down.
…
Oskar briefed us on his first meeting with the Amun council: still splintered, but there were a few members who understood it was time for unity. My mood was lighter by the time Neb and I met Mithradates in the lobby.
I was judging the dispute between Red Rita and Missouri. Somewhat unexpectedly as I was new, and had a treaty with Arkansas. But Missouri's neighbour Iowa was also on the panel, so that evened things out. Ohio, with no horse in the race, was the third judge.
On the face of it, it was simple border dispute that got out of hand, losses on both sides and no clear picture of what happened. Not the first time the Missouri boot-heel had been fought over.
"How go the trials?" Neb asked the demon.
"Takahashi caused a stir," Mithradates said, his face serious.
"How?" I asked, bracing myself for more bad news.
"A case about match-fixing. One of the accused gave his blood to a pit-fighter, a Were. Goro … berated him for it."
"Berated?" I asked. That sounded mild for Goro.
The lawyer's eyes twinkled. "Well, he removed his arm too, but I believe the tongue lashing had more impact. He's quite creative with his insults."
I smirked, pleased that fucking his apprentice hadn't tempered Goro's mercy. As we made our way backstage my phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out, glancing at the message before I turned it off.
Bartlett wanted to see me after the trial.
"Any developments on the case?" I asked Mithradates.
"Missouri has produced a witness, a true shifter."
Interesting. Backstage, Iowa exchanged a nod with me. She was wearing a fetching lilac gown that set off her pale skin and dark hair. Ohio was wearing a tux. Someone was trying too hard.
When the Pythoness arrived we filed out onto the stage. Her attendants settled the old crone on her throne, stage right, where the tiger was standing, arms folded. The judge's table was stage left, and I noted Neb below it, stationed discreetly by the wall, facing the crowd. He wasn't taking any chances.
I took the chair furthest from Quinn. With a flourish, Ohio pulled out the central chair for Iowa – he was definitely trying too hard. As she sat down, tucking her skirts neatly under her he said, "That's a lovely gown, Kiera. You're a rose between two thorns."
"A rose with thorns of her own," Iowa said lightly, flashing him her fangs.
His smile faltered slightly. "Quite. Very witty, my dear."
Kentucky saved him from further embarrassment by opening the trial and we began. Missouri spoke first, insisting Arkansas was the aggressor, but the evidence was murky and incomplete. Ohio seemed persuaded by his claims, and was particularly scathing in his questioning of Red Rita, pointing out a land grab made sense: Rita would gain access to a strategically important bridge over the Mississippi, into Tennessee.
Rita was unruffled. There was prior incident: two of her subjects had been killed in the area, Missouri had paid compensation. She presented that as evidence of an ongoing local feud.
Then Missouri had the witness was brought out. The shifter was grey-haired, stocky and surly.
"Tell us what happened," Iowa ordered.
He shrugged. "It was dark. Didn't see nothing."
Missouri was most displeased. It was clear he'd expected his witness to co-operate.
The Pythoness rasped, "Kentucky."
He appeared at her elbow and they had a whispered exchange, too quiet for me to overhear. Kentucky nodded, and disappeared. The Pythoness leaned forward, her milky-eyed stare boring into the shifter. "You will tell us what you know."
He raised his chin defiantly and shook his head. "Ain't one of you. You got no authority over me."
"I wasn't asking, fool." Her cackle was dry and hard, bones rattling in a grave. I understood her mirth when Kentucky returned to the stage ten minutes later.
With Sookie by his side.
When Quinn made a move to go to her, one fierce look from her stopped him in his tracks and I had to hold back a smirk. She didn't flinch under the seer's unsettling gaze either. This time she had no need of my strength, no need of anyone's but her own to stand before us, back straight and head held high.
She was magnificent.
With a sly glance my way Kentucky announced, "My telepath is at your service, Ancient One."
"Excuse me, your majesty," Sookie said sweetly. "I think you misspoke. You hired me for the summit, but I'm not yours."
She had firmly but politely corrected his pronoun, so politely all Kentucky could do was gracefully concede defeat. "Of course, a slip of the tongue," he said, only a twitch in his jaw giving away his annoyance as the Pythoness wheezed with laughter.
The old crone was particularly easy to amuse tonight. She said, "Telepath. Our paths cross again."
Sookie bobbed that awkward curtsey. "Ma'am. It's been a while."
"A mere blink to these sightless eyes. Now, to business. This shifter," she flicked a withered wrist at him, "is refusing to cooperate. Read him, find out what he knows."
The shifter growled and made to move. The Missouri vampire who'd escorted him in grabbed his elbows, pinning him were he was.
Sookie frowned at that, and then addressed the Pythoness. "Ma'am, are you aware of the details of my contract with Kentucky?"
The old crone eyed her. "Is it relevant?"
"I am contracted to provide security for the summit, ma'am." Sookie's voice was calm, clear and strong. "Using my telepathy for anything else is at my discretion."
All signs of good humour left the Pythoness. Scowling ferociously she glared, first at Kentucky who visibly tensed, and then at Sookie, who stood firm. She asked acidly, "Do you object to uncovering the truth?"
Sookie licked her lips, and I could tell she was picking her words carefully. "Ma'am, witnesses in our courts, American courts, can plead the fifth. That means they can't be compelled to give evidence that might incriminate them."
Clever, clever woman. I hid another smile.
The Pythoness barked at front row, where the lawyers sat, "Is this true?"
Iowa's lawyer, the most senior, nodded gravely. "It is, Pythoness."
The old crone turned her head to Sookie again, narrowing her eyes. "Very well. What do you want for your help, telepath?"
"The witness goes unharmed. No retribution. Guarantee that, and I'll find out what I can."
"Done," snapped the Pythoness. "No retribution for his part in this." She glared at Missouri and Arkansas in turn until they agreed.
"Thank you, ma'am," Sookie said, bobbing her head. "This will be easier if I touch him."
"Get on with it then," the crone said sharply.
Sookie approached the shifter, who shrank away from her as much as he could. She said soothingly, "Just relax, sir. This won't hurt a bit."
Iowa handled the interrogation, leaving me free to watch Sookie. I revelled in the opportunity, taking in her expressions, the sound of her voice, the way she moved.
A good judge had to concentrate on testimony, after all, and no-one could say I neglected my duty. Or tell that my focus was her, not the shifter. Sookie read him like an open book, answering Iowa's questions with poise and grace when he refused. The way she held herself, masked her reactions…
Glorious.
Fuck, I had missed her. I wanted her back. Fuck waiting for the tide.
Her lips pursed when we got to the heart of the shifter's sordid little tale: he was a thief, not the first to use shapeshifting for that purpose. He'd been in Kennet, Missouri, the night in question, off-loading some stolen goods. That explained his reluctance to testify.
"He saw Gregor that night?" Iowa asked. "In Kennet. You're sure?"
Gregor Mendelson, Rita's sheriff, had been based in Jonesboro, fifty miles from Kennet. He was missing, presumed dead.
"Yes. With half a dozen vamps." Sookie closed her eyes, concentrating, a look I knew well. "He saw them taking weapons out of a car."
"This is important," Iowa warned. "Did they mention Arkansas by name?"
Sookie shook her head, eyes still closed. "He was too far away to overhear, and he didn't hang around."
I leaned forward, ignored the tiger's deepening scowl, and indicated I had a question.
"Miss Stackhouse." Her eyes snapped open at my voice, but I didn't get to bask in her stare. She looked away, staring resolutely over my left shoulder. She could weather the old crone's stare, but not mine?
I asked evenly, "Has his mind been tampered with?"
"No, not as far as I can tell," she answered. A faint blush coloured her cheeks. She wouldn't look at me at all. Because of the tiger? Before I could dwell on that, Ohio spoke.
But you can't be sure?" he asked. "The memory could be implanted?"
"Reading twoeys is harder," she explained patiently. "So no, I can't be certain. But his memory seems intact."
Sookie had told us all she could. She left and I was sorry to see her go. And sorry that the shifter's unwilling testimony had pinned the blame squarely on Arkansas. Whether Red Rita planned the raid or her sheriff acted alone, either way our laws held her responsible, and that put me in a difficult position.
The Pythoness asked for our verdicts. Iowa was in no doubt of Rita's guilt, and I agreed. Ohio surprised me by switching sides to support Rita, claiming that the shifter's evidence was second-hand and inadmissible. That earned him a sharp glare from the Pythoness and a thoughtful look from Iowa.
Red Rita was furious, most of her ire directed at me judging by her occasional glances and the odd phrase I caught as she had an intense exchange with her lawyer. An unsanctioned attack on another state could see her striped of her throne. Bad for her, bad for me – I'd lose the treaty with Arkansas that protected my northern border.
Fortunately, Mithradates and I had discussed this eventuality. The half-demon got to his feet and coughed, attracting the seer's attention.
"What is it?" she snapped, back to her cantankerous self.
"Ancient One." He bowed. "If I might pass some papers to Louisiana?"
She grunted, waving the tiger forward. Quinn leapt down from the stage, took a file from Mithradates and brought it reluctantly to me, like a glorified office boy. I made a point not to thank him.
The file contained a list of precedents, older cases that allowed me to argue for leniency despite the guilty verdict, a hefty fine rather than dethroning. And, more importantly, to be seen doing so.
As Missouri had lost relatively few subjects and no territory, Iowa and Ohio were amenable to a fine. The Pythoness agreed, and Rita looked somewhat mollified by my intercession on her behalf.
Iowa stopped me once we were backstage. "I am impressed, Louisiana. You followed the law, not your alliance. It would have been easier for you to find Missouri at fault."
I shrugged. "The evidence was clear."
"Yes, it was." She stared thoughtfully after Ohio's retreating back. "It seems not everyone is above taking advantage of the judge's chair."
…
Neb was silent in the elevator. I thought about Sookie. Again. It was becoming a habit.
How to get her back? I had precious little time left here to make an impression. But the prize. Fuck, what a prize. She'd been stifled with Merlotte. Tonight that fire was back, she was more self-assured, more… More her.
She had read that shifter so easily too. Her skills had grown. Was Quinn's tiny mind transparent to her now? Perhaps that made the tiger more attractive. She did so hate being deceived, she likely found it comforting to have proof of the kitty's honesty. Who could blame her after her experience with Bill.
Was I any better? At Sanctum, her sharp accusation that I lied to her had stung. There was truth in it. I care for you as much as I am able … should have turned you … Weasel words designed to mislead. I had certainly been less than honest at times.
I shrugged the regrets away. So, telepathy gave her an edge, put her in control. Not that she needed it, she'd cowed the tiger with just a look earlier. I smirked to myself again, then sobered.
Perhaps she preferred her men tame. That would explain a lot.
Before I could lament what that idea meant for my chances, the elevator opened. I followed Neb to Bartlett's suite. Neb knocked and Bartlett opened the door himself, jacket-less.
His dress shirt was torn, the cuffs flapping, and there was a fading bruise on his cheek. Neb looked past Bartlett into the room, then gave me a warning look as he stepped back protectively, closer to me. I could smell Russell inside. And blood, faint but there in the air. I shifted my weight slightly, alert for movement.
"Neb," Bartlett greeted shortly, his free hand fisted tightly at his side. "Eric will want to hear this alone." Then Bartlett bowed to Neb and spoke in a tongue I didn't recognise.
Neb turned to me. "He guarantees your safety. I will wait in the room opposite, if you agree." He waited for my nod before he left.
Bartlett stepped aside, and I entered warily, scanning the room. The couches were slightly askew, as was the heavy coffee table between them. A lamp lay smashed on the floor, near an overturned and splintered corner table. No ash smears in sight, no smell of death.
Russell, the only other occupant, was sitting on a couch, fussing at his face with a blood-spotted handkerchief, his usually immaculate appearance in disarray. His suit was a mess and his nose had been broken, but it was almost healed.
A lover's tiff? It appeared so. I didn't smell anyone else.
Relaxing slightly, I turned and raised eyebrow at Bartlett, who had leaned his large frame against the closed door, arms folded.
"Sit." He gestured sharply at the seating area, adding as an afterthought, "Please."
I took the couch opposite Russell. His face was relaxed, but there was a tension to his narrow shoulders, a slight twitch in his jaw. A pair of cuff-links sat discarded on the table between us. Bartlett's, as Russell still had his. Russell waved his handkerchief at the upturned table, the smashed lamp. "Forgive my husband, he has a flair for the dramatic."
Bartlett hissed, and took a step towards the smaller vampire. Russell hissed back and two sets of fangs clicked down.
I sat completely still.
After a long second Russell bowed his head, and withdrew his fangs. In my periphery, Bartlett relaxed. Whatever they had fought about, it seemed Russell was the loser. He sat back against the couch, straightening his pants and flicking dust off his knee before he raised his eyes to mine.
"Bartlett wishes me to apologise to you," he said stiffly. "We have a difference of opinion on how I amuse myself."
"At my expense, I assume," I said evenly, stretching an arm along the back of the couch, the picture of patience and calm. Someone had to be, marital tempers were clearly frayed.
"Not exactly." Russell tucked his handkerchief away, but I caught the sly gleam in his eye. "But it did involve someone … close to you."
I dropped my arm back to my side and sat forward, looking first at Bartlett's grim face and then back to Russell. Pam. Or Rory. Hiding my fears for them I demanded flatly, "What did you do, Mississippi?"
"I made Miss Stackhouse an offer of employment," he said nonchalantly.
I fought to control a surge of possessiveness, mindful of Bartlett's presence. My words were clipped. "Her employment is no concern of mine."
"Enough, Russell," Bartlett said sharply. "Tell him."
Russell scowled at him, but continued. "Serena was present." When I didn't react, he added, "I believe you enjoyed her company earlier."
In a flash I understood.
Sookie, with the woman I fucked just hours before. A woman whose mind she could read.
Wonderful.
Russell had obviously set that up to see Sookie squirm. I eyed him with distaste, imagining him as an obnoxious child, pulling the wings and legs off insects. Careful to keep my face blank and tight rein on the urge to lunge across the table and re-break his nose, I asked coldly, "Is that all?"
"Yes. See?" Russell said, turning to Bartlett. "Eric is pragmatic to a fault. He would not break off our alliance over something so … petty. Besides," he glanced slyly back at me, "sometimes a filly needs the sting of the spurs. Serena was well-satisfied."
"You risk much with that strategy!" Bartlett was furious, his words harsher than any I'd heard from him. "When will you learn, Russell? 'Jealousy, that dragon which slays love under the pretence of keeping it alive.'"
Russell flinched, his face stricken.
Staring him down Bartlett spat, "You never understood, did you?"
Russell's eyes softened. "Mon ami," he whispered, voice full of regret.
Bartlett said softly, still with an undercurrent of anger, "De Vega was right. There is no greater punishment."
"And no greater glory," Russell finished in a whisper, a heavy look passing between them.
I felt like the third wheel. All this talk of love and jealousy – their fight was clearly over more than Russell meddling in my affairs. Was it Russell's history with Bardulf that stoked Bartlett's rage?
Turning to me, Russell sighed heavily. "Bart has a point. I apologise, Eric, sincerely. I did not mean to cause you … difficulties in that quarter."
"Accepted," I said, squelching my emotions flat. I could be angry later, away from Bartlett.
Russell got to his feet, approached his husband and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Forgive me, dearest."
"You will make it up to me, I'm sure." Bartlett was still grim, but his eyes danced as he stepped aside and most of the tension left the room with Russell.
Bartlett took Russell's place on the couch opposite me. He looked from the cuff-links on the table to his ripped shirt and said drily, "Marriage is never easy. Cruelty is one of Russell's least endearing traits, and his … games are something we have never seen eye-to-eye on." Giving me a shrewd look, he added, "I do not think petty cruelty is much your style either."
"Cruelty seems a little strong," I said evenly. "I doubt Miss Stackhouse cares who I fuck." I didn't honestly know which was preferable: her apathy or fury. Neither would do me good, and the truth probably lay between the two. Mild annoyance, perhaps.
"Yes," said Bartlett. "She must be accustomed to seeing such things with her gift. She has an excellent poker face, doesn't she?"
He paused, letting that hang in the air for a moment, wide hazel eyes fixed on my face, and just as I realised what he was hinting at he added, "She certainly looked unmoved when I ran into her leaving Serena's room."
A bolt of curiosity shot through me before I could stop it, and, when his eyes became knowing, anger followed hot on its heels. Then something completely unexpected happened.
With a quiet scraping sound, the cuff links slid across the table, away from me and towards Bartlett. Gaining speed, they shot into the air and pinged off his knee.
What the fuck?
Both of us dropped fang and hissed, Bartlett looking as shocked as I felt.
…
After a tense few moments of silence, Bartlett bent slowly and retrieved the offending items from the floor. He looked at them curiously. "Catch," he said, tossing one to me. I examined it while he watched me with an amused expression. It was warm. I sniffed it cautiously. No scent of magic.
"Someone has been gifted with demon blood," Bartlett said, eyebrows raised and mouth curling at the corner.
Ah. That was me? Shit. I looked down at the small square of metal and a million questions began to form in my mind.
Tilting his head, Bartlett repeated seriously, "Someone has been gifted with demon blood, and isn't at all surprised that I know that."
Fuck. I leaned forward carefully, keeping my eyes on him as I deposited the cuff-link back on the table.
"Where did I tip my hand, I wonder?" he said pensively. I stayed silent. "Ah! That night at the pool. You weren't jealous of Russell and Miss Kingfisher at all, were you?"
He didn't seem angry, which was good. I nodded cautiously.
He relaxed, spreading his arms over the back of the couch. "Well played, Eric. I didn't suspect a thing. You're an excellent actor."
Leaning back too, I shrugged. "It comes in handy."
As had knowing what he could do. An advantage I had just lost.
"You must have suspected before then," he mused. "Kansas, the summit?"
"No. Later, after Oklahoma. Seeing you with Russell and Stan, with your retinue. You are a little too perceptive around others."
"Still, that was a clever ruse, Eric. Very clever." He smiled. "Set an empath to catch an empath, eh?"
I stilled. "You know Rory's origins."
"Yes," he said evenly.
"Do nothing to hurt her, Bartlett." Flicking my cuff open, I pushed my jacket and shirt up, revealing the faint scar on the inside of my left forearm to him. His eyes widened. I said, "I am honoured to call her blood sister."
His eyebrows shot up. "As she is honoured to call you brother. I mean her no harm, Eric." He thought for a moment. "Did she mention where she got the name Kingfisher?"
"No," I said, redoing my cuff and adjusting my jacket.
"Her husband, the demon one, called her that."
"Nestor. You knew him?"
"We were related, distantly. On my mother's side. My father was mortal."
When I worked out Bartlett was an empath, I suspected he began life as a half-demon. It was good to get confirmation, and that he appeared to trust me with the knowledge. I relaxed a little and asked lightly, "Are there kingfishers in the demon realm?"
"No." He chuckled. "It was a joke. Nestor was a minor king when they married."
"Ah. She didn't mention that." Unsure if he would answer, I asked cautiously, "Does Russell know what you can do?"
"Yes. But telling him was not without cost." He looked away, watching his hand as he toyed with the piping on the back of the couch for a moment. "A century, to be precise. It has taken us a long time to get where we are." He looked up. "Time I fear you do not have with Miss Stackhouse."
I grimaced. A century? I wasn't that patient. "Perhaps that is a good thing."
"You think the tiger a better choice because she is mortal?"
"She is happy with him." It cost me to admit it, but I couldn't deny that she seemed happier, more confident, stronger. Flourishing, in fact.
"Russell does not believe he deserves her. And neither do you," he said shrewdly.
It was my turn to fidget with the couch cushions. Deciding I really didn't want to talk about Sookie I asked, "How long have you known Russell?"
"Too long. Not long enough. This dance of ours has lasted half your lifetime." That made sense of Russell's comments on his constancy. He chuckled. "Very frustrating, when I knew what I wanted as soon as I met him. Was it that way for you?"
"It grew on me," I said. Like a fungus, I thought, smiling at the memory. There was really no point in hiding it from an empath.
"Ah, the glory of love," he said, smiling back. "And how wretched jealousy for an unworthy rival."
I hazarded a guess. "Bardulf?"
He snorted. "There have been many. Hugh was not the worst by a long chalk. I meant you and the tiger."
"Ah." I stared at the cuff-links for a moment, sobering. "He is… admirably protective. But also arrogant. He doesn't know when to back down."
"Pot, kettle," Bartlett said, his eyes twinkling. "Seeing your own faults in others is never comfortable."
"You have a point," I conceded. "Neither of us could protect her from Bardulf. He is making moves again."
"She won't fall under his control. Time has been bought."
I raised an eyebrow. Rory, Russell and now Bartlett meddling in my affairs? That was entirely too many cooks.
"Do you know Lorenzo Bertolini?" he asked. "About five centuries old. He's been in Eastern Europe for the last two."
"The wine-maker?" And hatchet man for hire. "I've heard of him."
"His maker recalled him," he said casually. Too casually. "He's been in Memphis these last few months."
My eyes narrowed. "Your doing?"
"I merely whispered in the right ears," he said modestly. "Those Europeans are concerned about their investment in Special Events. Lorenzo is protecting their interests."
"Ah." Keeping Bardulf in check, lessening the threat he posed to Russell.
"Quite. Lorenzo is also watching over Miss Stackhouse."
I sat up, immediately suspicious. "What is his interest in her?"
"He's returning the favour." He paused expectantly, but had to add, "For his maker. Donatello."
"For Teresa," I said putting the pieces together. Donatello felt he owed me because I'd spared his other child, Teresa, when I took Louisiana.
Sometimes it paid to be merciful. Especially as Donatello, nicknamed the Banker, was rich enough to buy out ten events companies without blinking. It would be his style to buy out the other investors too, if he'd sent a child to Memphis. Bartlett had protected Russell and strengthened my loyalty to him with one move.
I said admiringly, "That was neatly done."
Dipping his head to acknowledged the praise, Bartlett reached for the cuff-link on the table. "That is a useful gift you've been granted. More so if it works on silver."
My eyebrows rose. "Indeed," I said, seeing the possibilities at once.
"Be wary. Intense emotion will trigger it. You're lucky it manifested while we were alone." He slipped the cuff-links into his pocket. "Ask me, Eric, before the curiosity chokes you."
"Good or bad?"I asked, stalling.
"Depends on your perspective."
I fixed on his face, bracing myself. "Tell me what she felt."
"Turmoil. Jealousy. Anger, worthy of bloodlust in fact." His eyes didn't leave mine. "Also confusion, disgust, guilt, self-loathing."
"Ah." I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, recalling the terrible swell of emotions that barrelled down our freshly formed bond at Rhodes: disgust, shame and such a strong sense of violation it almost brought me to my knees. Luckily, Andre and the tiger had been too busy facing off to notice.
Fuck.
Apathy would have been better.
Fucking Russell. Sookie may have had a twinge of jealousy over Rory's message, but at least I hadn't rubbed her nose in it.
Was she angry at herself? Or at me? Did she hate me for making her feel things she didn't want? Oh, how familiar I was with that. No wonder she wouldn't meet my eyes at the trial.
"You see why I was furious," Bartlett said drily. "Jealousy is not a destructive emotion for Russ, he revels in it. He has long failed to realise we are not all wired that way. He believed he was furthering your suit, but I fear he has hindered it. Can you truly forgive him?"
I stared at the ceiling for a while longer, before lifting my head and meeting his eyes. "Yes. As long as it doesn't happen again."
"Oh, it won't." His fangs snapped down. "I'll break more than his nose if it does."
…
Neb was quiet on the way back to our suite, and my thoughts were dark. We had the place to ourselves so I took the opportunity to start a conversation we needed to have.
"How long have you known Bartlett?" I asked.
Neb didn't seem surprised. "Long enough to know he is even-tempered. Is the discord in his marriage a concern?"
"No. Did you know him before he was turned?"
His eyes became luminous, wide. "Shall we discuss this in a more private space? If you wouldn't mind." He bowed respectfully.
I lead him into my room. After the door was closed, I asked, "You think the lounge is still bugged?"
He shook his head. "This is for you alone. Not Oskar, not Goro, and definitely not his pup."
"I will tell no-one. You have my word." I took the bed, gestured at the chair.
Sitting, he asked, "What do you know?"
"That Bartlett was not human." I kept it to that, not sure how much he knew.
He nodded. "I will tell you the part of Bartlett's story that is mine to tell. Bartlett worked for me, before he was turned."
He knew Bartlett was demon. "As a lawyer?" I guessed.
"No. Bartlett was too adventurous for a courtroom, he liked to travel. He was an antiquary of sorts, a finder of rare and exotic items. Such things as your witch makes. Items of power. I collected them in death, as I had in life."
"Oh?" It was the most I'd heard him say about his past.
"Yes, an unusual hobby for a scribe. One that attracted my maker's attention." He smiled faintly and shifted to sit cross-legged on the chair, leaning back, hands clasped over his stomach. His eyes were dark, far away. "Bartlett worked for me, on and off, for about three centuries. During the Ptolemaic dynasty, then under Rome, a turbulent time for Egypt. I kept a household in Alexandria. It had a strongroom, and guards, for when I brought items to identify at the libraries there. Even after the great library was destroyed, the Serapeum held much of use to me. One night, around 230 AD, I rose to find my household in disarray, my guards slaughtered, my treasures plundered. And Bartlett, mortally wounded."
"You turned him?"
Neb shook his head. "He refused my blood, belligerent as ever, preferring death to blood-slavery as he called it. I didn't wish to lose him. He has an extraordinary mind, and we were … friends. Swearing to abide by his wishes, I went to the Haty-a, the local governor. She had two prisoners at the time, one facing final death and the other a year entombed. She offered a stay of execution to whomever turned Bartlett. The fool facing entombment declared he would take a year in silver over the taste of demon filth." He looked at me. "That was your maker."
"Ah. Ocella always did … rub people the wrong way."
"You are underselling his ability to stir trouble for himself," he said drily. "Lucky for you that he refused. Had he accepted, I would have staked him within a decade and you wouldn't be here."
"The other vampire?"
"Yes. She was older, a better candidate. Once Bartlett was in control of himself I ended her and freed him as I promised. Bartlett spent a few decades under my wing gaining strength and then we parted ways. We have no tie but friendship."
"Thank you," I said simply.
"You are my king, Eric. My loyalty is to you, however long my history with the Crow."
After Neb left, I took off my jacket and tie, and laid on the bed, tossing and catching my phone idly. It all fit: their comfortable interaction, the slight deference Bartlett paid Neb…
I looked at the clock. Fuck the hour, I needed to speak to Rory.
…
After my enlightening conversation with my systir, there was a knock on the door. I looked up from the bag I was rooting in.
"Come," I said, tossing the bag back into the closet and slipping on a thick gold signet ring as Oskar entered. He was carrying a single red rose, and frowning.
"For me?" I said, grinning at him. He was irritable, I could tell from the set of his shoulders, and poking the bear was so enjoyable. "Is there something I should know?"
"Room service delivered it," he said tersely, handing it over. "There's a note."
There was indeed, in an envelope. I smelt only rose and human on it. The card was printed and it read: 6:00 am, the roof.
No name. Who thought me stupid enough turn up for a potential ambush? Smelling the rose again, I began listing possibilities, and then laughed. Oskar raised his eyebrows. It was right under my nose. With thorns too.
Iowa. Interesting, what did she want with me? I handed Oskar the card, and while he read it I blurred to the closet, pulling off my shirt and dropping my trousers.
"You're going?" he asked, incredulous.
"Yes. Go change into something practical," I ordered, grabbing a dark pair of jeans. "Neb too."
"Who is it?"
"Iowa, and no, I don't know what she wants." I was curious, and glad of a distraction from Sookie to be honest. I pulled on the jeans and grabbed a black sweater.
"Hm. Intriguing. What about Goro?"
"Two of you should be enough."
"Of course." He waited until the sweater was over my head to add, "Don't wanting her thinking you're a coward. You could never resist looking good for a woman."
My belt, the nearest thing to hand, hit the door as it closed. The idiot was laughing on the other side.
…
I landed softly on the hotel roof and let go of Neb. Both of us scanned the shadows as we stepped apart. The roof was perfect for a private rendezvous, only overlooked by the building across the street. That was where we'd left Oskar, armed with a crossbow. Iowa stepped out from behind an air-conditioning vent on the other side of the roof with her second Clovis, an enormous brutish Frank who looked as if he'd slammed face first into a wall repeatedly. He was grinning, gold-capped teeth reflecting the moonlight under his crooked nose.
I knew he was more intelligent than he looked.
Iowa gestured for him to stay put, and I nodded for Neb to do the same. Iowa and I met in the centre, clear space between us but close enough for conversation. Neb and Clovis, who were patrolling the edges of the building for unwelcome eavesdroppers, wouldn't overhear us.
"Iowa," I said, noting her dark slacks, olive sweater and tightly braided hair. We matched: dressed for trouble.
"Louisiana." She glanced across the street, towards Oskar's position. "A wise precaution."
"Indeed," I said, gesturing towards the other end of the hotel, where I'd seen the flash of a gun sight.
"One can never be too careful," she said.
"No," I agreed, and waited for her to tell me why I was here.
"I have a proposition."
"I am listening."
Her slate-grey eyes fixed on mine, their tawny centres glowing like warm honey in the moonlight. "Or more accurately, a proposal."
I blinked. Thrusting my hands into my pockets I asked carefully, "A marriage proposal?"
"Yes." She waited a moment. "I've had more enthusiastic responses. Should I be insulted?"
Her tone was neutral, and I opened my mouth before I had any idea what I was going to say.
She raised a hand, her eyes crinkled with amusement. "I'm teasing. You have every right to be wary after Freyda. But this is different. You will be negotiating your own contract, for a start."
Yes, I fucking would. Never again. I said carefully, "This is somewhat of a surprise, Kiera."
"So I see, Eric."
Why me? I shoved my fists deeper into my pockets, puzzling over her motives. "You are established, respected. My throne is barely warm."
She said, in a thick Irish brogue, "For sure, you'll be waitin' a long time for it to warm under your dead arse."
Taken by surprise, I barked out a laugh.
"There, that's better," she said, smiling. "I never thought of you as someone who sold themselves short. You may be freshly crowned, but you've already impressed me."
"The trial?" If I sounded doubtful, it was because I was. No queen of her good sense rushed into a century long marriage with an unproven king, however impressed they were.
"Yes, amongst other things. Frankly, it's not about you. I like what Indiana's group are doing – the way you're handling the BSA, feeding, the shapeshifters. I want in."
"That is not my decision." But Russell, for one, would be pleased to have another northern state on board to keep Bartlett company.
"Of course. But marriage would ensure a welcome into the fold, would it not?"
"Why marriage? It is not the only way," I said shrewdly. There had to be more to it.
"Ohio and Illinois are expressing interest. And Missouri, but he hardly counts."
I raised an eyebrow. "No, not unless you wish to take his state. He is on the outs."
"Yes, and desperate. But a state rotting from the inside is no use to me."
Ah. Someone from within was after that throne, and wouldn't take kindly to Iowa interfering. "You share a border with Illinois. An alliance with him would make you powerful."
She shook her head. "He is not one to share anything. My people are loyal, he cannot take Iowa by force, but he is rich, richer than most know. If we marry, he will swallow me whole."
"I see. Why not Ohio? A marriage there worked for you before."
"Yes, before. This Ohio is arrogant and untried." She shrugged. "Maybe you're not the only one haunted by a former marriage."
Yes, she flinched when Rhodes was mentioned at Nadia's trial. "Your late husband, were you…?"
"He was a friend," she said firmly. She looked up at the clouds. "A dear one, one I miss more than I anticipated. I cannot quite bring myself to marry the vampire who stepped so eagerly into his shoes, even for the sake of my state." She sighed. "Ohio I can turn down without repercussion, but Illinois is another matter."
"Ah. Marrying me would give you an out. And what do I get out of this, apart from earning Illinois's displeasure?"
"My strength, my resources to add to your credibility, entrench your position. Another ally. Unless you think the others would object?"
I considered that for a moment. "No, I don't believe they would. Bartlett, for one, respects you. I do not have to consult them. Nothing prevents me marrying where I please." Never again, I had made sure of that.
"But perhaps you prefer to keep your options open. Alabama is closer, and I doubt Zola favours Tennessee or Kentucky. She may suit you better." She was watching me, judging the effect of her words. "I do not need an answer now, Eric. By the end of the summit, perhaps?"
I took a few steps away from her, and paced to and fro slowly, looking up at the sky, where the city lights flushed the clouds with colour.
What she was offering made sense. I would gain from it, gain much. I should welcome the opportunity, but I was baulking.
And not over Zola.
It was Sookie. Sookie wouldn't touch me with a pole if I was married to someone else. Sookie, who was in the building under my feet, but might as well be a thousand miles away. Sookie who'd be gone in less than a century, who'd shown no sign of wanting to rekindle anything between us. And who knows how long it would take to repair the damage Russell had done. She couldn't even look at me tonight.
Fuck.
Oskar had complained enough about me thinking with my cock. If he knew I was torn between my duty towards Louisiana and my heart, he'd gladly rip it out of my chest for me.
Not that I wasn't tempted to do that myself.
It didn't matter. I wasn't ready to give her up, however low the odds.
I returned to stand before Iowa. There was a slight frown creasing her pale brow, but I judged her thoughtful rather than angry. Good, a polite refusal in a few days time then. I said, "I will need some time."
"I see. May I approach?" I nodded, and stepped forward as she did, closing the gap between us. She dropped her voice to a vampire-whisper. "I get the impression you are … not on the market?"
My eyes snapped to hers. If there was any hint of threat, or derision, or fucking pity…
Iowa knew I'd traded a century for Sookie's protection, and it didn't take a genius to work out what that might mean. I was having difficulty keeping my fangs up, and the sudden heat building in the signet ring on my finger reminded me to regain control.
Iowa didn't waver, her eyes were calm. That helped, and I forced myself to relax.
"I have an idea," she breathed. "One that will serve both our purposes."
"What is it?" I whispered tersely, still distinctly uncomfortable with the whole situation.
"We open negotiations, let it be known. You shore up your reputation and support my introduction to your group; I get a graceful out with Illinois, and safety in numbers." She paused significantly. "But negotiations do not always reach agreement."
A weight lifted from my chest, but I held my relief in check and searched her face. She seemed sincere. Using spurious negotiations as a ruse wasn't uncommon, neither were negotiations that fell through. There would be very little come back for either of us. And it wasn't like Sookie was even interested. She would be back in Memphis in three nights.
Tides turned slowly.
For all I knew, she'd marry the tiger and stick with him when the undertow dragged him down.
I had nothing to lose. I'd be a fool to refuse. I said carefully, "There will be no retribution if I break things off?"
"No. I swear it. I don't want an unwilling husband. And the same goes for me?"
"Yes. You have my word."
"Then we have a deal, Eric the Northman."
She held out her arm and we clasped forearms in the old way, as two warriors on the battlefield.
I looked down at her. "A pleasure doing business with you, Kiera Delaney."
She smiled. "Clovis is probably having kittens right now."
I grinned at the image. Yes, neither of our 'snipers' had a clear shot. "Oskar is cursing me to the heavens, no probably about it."
"You should have that stick surgical removed from his arse," she said, laughing as we broke apart.
I watched her leave, realising I liked her. She was fair, forward-thinking; she would fit in with the group. If it wasn't for Sookie, I'd have jumped at her offer.
Oskar was more pissy than ever when I wouldn't tell him what Iowa and I had discussed. I was smirking at his annoyance when we got back to the suite.
Then I saw who was waiting. No-one knew how he'd gotten through security, but then the cretin had always had a remarkable gift for evading detection.
Bubba, fresh from Las Vegas and de Castro's court.
…
Footnotes:
The two quotes on jealousy Bartlett used:
'Jealousy, that dragon which slays love under the pretence of keeping it alive.' – Havelock Ellis.
'There is no greater glory than love, nor any greater punishment than jealousy.' – Lope de Vega.
