Chapter 22

A special thank you to the lovely NorthmanMaille for her invaluable beta services and for the miraculous way she always seems to get me.

Theirs was one in a row of niches arranged with a direct line of sight to the dance floor. The space snugly accommodated a large semicircle table with plush booth seating, offering occupants a feeling of privacy as well as an unobstructed view of a large portion of the club. The booth itself provided comfortable seating for up to eight, in addition to which, there was a small table with two chairs to each side, half in and half outside the niche.

Eric and Sookie sat farthest back with Oliver and Mina to Sookie's left; Heller and Genevieve were seated at Eric's right. Karen and Shana took the small table nearest Sookie.

Cerino was right, Eric thought happily as he watched over his entire household enjoying themselves. This was a good choice. There really is something for everyone and so far, the service has been first rate. It occurred to him it might be a good investment to arrange for Pam and the shift managers from The Asgard to visit here to observe their training process.

As if he'd been conjured by Eric simply thinking his name, Cerino himself came strolling into view, with a striking female vampire on his arm.

She's beautiful, Sookie thought, as it became clear the couple, along with the four human men trailing them, were coming to their table. But there's something unusual about her.

Whether they were informed of which darkened niche the Americans were in, or they picked up on the number of human club patrons keeping an eye in their direction, Cerino navigated his party directly to the right spot without a single wayward step. Upon arrival, Cerino offered a genial smile along with an acknowledging nod to both Eric and Sookie.

"Good evening, Cerino," Eric said in his most silken baritone. "Sookie, this is the Ambassador to the Italian Court, Cerino Polce. I am, as yet, unacquainted with his companion."

"I'm very pleased to meet you," Sookie said, extending her hand to Cerino as if to shake his. She silently cursed herself for her mistake as she tilted her wrist and lowered her fingers. How many centuries will it take me to stop getting this wrong? She wondered.

Cerino ignored her error and lightly took the offered hand in his fingertips as he leaned forward. "The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty. I am honored to make your acquaintance at last." His lips barely brushed her skin before he was standing upright again, his hand releasing hers and coming to rest behind the woman at his side.

He didn't need to nudge. She wasn't shy. She was already advancing on the table as he introduced her. "May I present my wife, Paloma de Medici. My dear, meet King Eric, the Norseman, and his Queen."

"Delighted, Your Majesties," Paloma said in crisp, clear tones, her eyes devouring the sight of Eric before settling on Sookie. "I am told this is your first visit to Milan. I hope you will allow me to be your guide and show off our fair city."

Sookie could feel her waitress smile fixing itself in her expression. Pity she's not insane, so I could see exactly what she's thinking. But she had the general idea. "Sounds like fun," she answered, in a tone so sugary sweet it garnered a low scoff and amused grin from Eric as he gestured for them to sit.

XXXXXXX

Shana had been looking around as if her eyes might fall out of her head any minute, ever since they arrived in Milan. This trip was her first outside of Louisiana and so far she'd been awestruck at every turn. Even the few hours she'd spent in Spain were extraordinary to her. It was wonderful to discover the wide world was everything she'd always dreamed, and more.

Before coming to live with and work for Sookie, she'd felt insignificant. She still felt small, but in a good way, because now she was a small part of something bigger; something grander than herself. She belonged. Even here, in this glamorous and unfamiliar place, she fit. She was now a piece in a puzzle that wouldn't be complete any longer without her.

"Isn't this fabulous?" Karen asked, leaning until she was shoulder to shoulder with Shana. It was easy to tune out the vampires' conversations when surrounded by so much eye candy.

"I've never seen so many gorgeous foreigners all in one place before," was Shana's dreamlike reply.

Sookie and Paloma glided past, arm in arm. They were going to dance.

Karen smiled and turned her face to whisper in Shana's ear. "Because most of them probably aren't foreigners. We're the foreigners here." She looked back out at the ocean of people moving through the club. "Come on. Let's go to the bar and have some fun."

"Should we?" Shana asked, glancing out at Sookie, who was still on the dance floor with Paloma.

Before Karen could respond, Eric turned toward them. "Go," he said softly before turning back to Cerino.

"Come on," Karen encouraged.

Oliver pushed back his chair, as if he intended to follow, as the two women left the table.

Mina placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let them go. They're not children. We can keep an eye out for them without hovering."

Though he was clearly not happy with the arrangement, Oliver deferred to his chosen's request. He remained seated, but shifted his chair so he was afforded a wider view of the room as Shana and Karen made their way to the far side. Granted, they were not children, and they left the table with the Master's consent, but even so, Karen was his Mistress's favorite snack. She should not go gallivanting off where she might fall prey to some other vampire who wanted to make a feast of her.

"Remember," Karen said with the confidence of a girl eager to attract some attention, "We're the exotic ones. They'll come to us."

"You think so? Really?" It was an intoxicating prospect, but Shana wasn't completely convinced. "I mean, I'm sure they'll come to you, but-"

"Us, Shana. As soon as we open our mouths, they'll come to US. Everybody loves accents, and to them, we're the ones who have accents." Karen hooked arms with Shana and gave her an encouraging tug. "Come on. Viva Italia!"

Karen headed straight for the bar furthest from the niche housing her Mistress. She wanted attention from men who thought she was attractive on her own, not because cozying up to her might get them closer to the new vampires on the other side of the dance floor.

"Buona sera, signorine."

The greeting came from the bartender. He was wearing a tailored, black vest over an open collared white shirt, and smiling at them as if no other women were in the room.

"Do you speak English?" Karen asked, pushing up against the bar, so her ample cleavage was displayed to its best advantage.

"Of course," the bartender replied with a broad smile, which might have been truly stunning, had he been fitted with braces as a youth. As it was, it was still a sexy smile, and it suited the man who wore it very well. "What would you like to drink?" He asked. As intended, his eyes found their way to Karen's chest almost immediately, but they did not linger.

Though not immune, he was accustomed to the trick of a woman obtaining other male admirers by first monopolizing the attention of the bartender. Few things garnered male attention in a bar quicker than slowing the supply line between them and their liquor.

"Vodka and tonic," Karen purred, her body swaying and her fingers tapping out the rhythm of the music on the bar.

"And what can I get for you, signorina?" He asked, shifting his gaze to Shana.

"Oh," Shana said, as if she hadn't really expected him to take her drink order. As a rule, when she was out with Karen, few men took much notice of her at all; at least no more than they felt was necessary to avoid offending Karen. Yet the way this beautiful Italian man was looking at her, Karen might have disappeared into the night. It was more than a little overwhelming.

"I, uh, well, I don't know, I-," she stammered.

"Vodka, like your friend?" he suggested, without so much as a backward glance at Karen. "Perhaps with a twist of orange for color?"

"Yes. That sounds good," Shana managed to say without stuttering. "Thank you," she called after him as he stepped away.

He looked back and offered a smile exclusively to her as he reached up for a bottle of Ketel One.

Shana watched as he mixed their drinks. She could follow every detail of even his smallest movements against the wall of soft aquamarine light.

Within seconds, she could feel her temperature rising in her face. She quickly looked away and out at the writhing bustle of the dance floor.

"I don't think I've ever seen so many hot guys all in one place," Karen gushed. "This is like heaven!"

She looks like she's been let loose in a jewelry store and told to take whatever she wants, Shana thought. Though upon taking a closer look around, she had to concede the possibility Karen was right. "Maybe," she said.

"Is it possible the color in your cheeks is for me?"

Shana heard the accented words, she even saw the speaker; he was standing at her side, a fortyish man, about her own height, with a swarthy complexion. What she did not do, was realize he was speaking to her, at least not until Karen gave her an exaggerated nudge and giggle. "He's talking to you."

"Or is it too much dancing?" The man continued, encouraged by Karen not shooing him away. "I hope I am not too late to claim a dance for myself."

"You want to dance?" Shana asked, unable to mask her incredulous tone. "With me?" Milan really is a magical place, she thought, as the man who introduced himself as Roberto Corrodelli led her onto the dance floor.

XXXXXXX

Despite her first impression, Sookie found Paloma, as everyone did, too upbeat and vivacious not to like. Her stolen glances and overly flirtatious responses went largely disregarded by Eric, so Sookie resolved to ignore them as well. Paloma had been to the manor born as a human, and her Maker was one of the ancients, who made his home near the sea in the South of Italy. In her entire existence, she'd known nothing but comfort and pampering. When she saw a pretty thing, she felt no obligation to disguise her desire.

On the floor, Paloma was every bit as good, if not a better dancer than Pam, minus the snarky wit. She danced with complete abandon, as if she was alone, with no one looking on. For a time, even Sookie was reduced to being just another awed spectator as Paloma danced what Sookie imagined must have been a veil dance, or something similar.

The rows of peacock feathers sewn onto Paloma's bright yellow skirts swirled wide around her as she danced. She dipped and swayed as if being carried along on a rolling wave of water, her arms ever longing to touch some invisible something just out of her reach. No ballerina was ever so graceful.

Sookie glanced back at their booth and saw, much to her surprise, Eric and Cerino appeared to be deeply engrossed in conversation and not paying the slightest attention to Paloma or anyone but each other. She tried to single out their voices, but they were lost behind the pounding music and hundreds of other ongoing conversations. She decided she could happily nurse her curiosity, rather than deal with her jealousy, had Eric been watching Paloma dance.

The surge of contented confidence she felt pushed her to the center of the floor. She may not be in any danger of being asked to join a ballet company, but this was a nightclub, not a theater, and she knew how to rock a nightclub.

In less than a minute she felt her smile grow wide when she saw the only man in the building whose notice she cared about, look up from his conversation. He might be the legendary and much-feared Norseman to everyone they met, but alone or in a crowd, he was hers, body and mind.

XXXXXXX

Shana took a bigger gulp than she intended from her glass and almost choked. She didn't see Karen, but her drink was sitting on the small table near the aquamarine bar they'd claimed as their base, so she hadn't gone back to the niche. She was bound to be around somewhere.

She took another drink, a more relaxed sip this time. After three dances with Roberto Corrodelli, between each of which he slammed a double scotch, she'd politely said she did not care to dance any more. When he followed, she said, as sweetly as she could manage, she preferred to sit alone. She had a sneaking feeling he was standing not too far behind her, but she was resisting turning to look. If he was there, she didn't want to appear paranoid, and if he wasn't, she didn't want to seem conceited enough to think he'd be lurking there, mooning over her spurning him.

As she lifted her glass for the third time, she was feeling much more at ease, and very pleased to see a quite pleasant looking, and younger than Roberto, man slowing at her table.

"Buona sera, signorina, vuoi ballare?"

"I'm sorry. I don't speak Italian," Shana responded with a slight headshake.

"Please, no apology," he said with a broad smile. "Will you dance?" He gestured again to Karen's glass. "Or do you wait for another?"

"Oh! No, I don't have a date or anything." Now she pointed to the glass that was bound to contain more melted ice than vodka. "That's my friend Karen's."

"And I am her friend, Roberto."

The sound of the slightly slurred Roberto's voice booming from behind her froze Shana in place. All thoughts of responding to the handsome stranger fell away at once. "What are you doing here?" Shana asked without turning to face him.

"You said you do not want to dance more," Roberto said.

Despite the accent and the slurring, there was nothing difficult to understand about the marked worsening of his tone. This is not good, she thought frantically. Before she could think of something to say to hopefully diffuse the situation, the stranger answered on her behalf.

"Perhaps the signorina seeks to find a different friend."

Fabulous. That sounded as if he was challenging Roberto to a duel.

"Questa cagna รจ con me," Roberto fired at the stranger before turning back to Shana. He drew back the hand not holding his drink.

Oh my god, he's going to hit me. Her brain screamed for her to duck, to stand, to raise her arms, to cover her face, to do something; anything, but she did nothing. She couldn't. She felt as if time had stopped.

XXXXXXX

Sookie's happiness at seeing Eric look away from Cerino was short lived. He was not looking at her, as she'd first assumed. She followed his cold stare to the opposite side of the club, to where Shana sat at a table with two men standing, facing her. Something was wrong.

Eric was so much better at isolating a single conversation from among the din of words, music and other noise. His ability to follow several conversations at once, all the while carrying on one of his own was a skill Sookie had not mastered. Nor could she envision herself doing so any time soon.

She grabbed her skirts and ran to Shana's side.

Upon arrival she was forced to stop short to avoid colliding with Eric.

Roberto's fist was moving toward Shana's face when Eric stopped it mid-thrust. Holding Roberto's wrist between his thumb and middle finger, and looking at the attached fist as if he was trying to make out exactly what it was, Eric spoke in deliberately slow, individual syllables.

"So much about a man can be learned by observing his level of self-discipline." Turning to Sookie, he added, "Do you not agree, my love?"

"Yes," she hissed, stifling the urge to say more for fear of demonstrating a lack of self-discipline of her own.

With a grin spreading across his face, Eric returned his attention to Roberto. "As you can clearly see, my wife is suppressing a desire to rip your throat out."

"I, uh," Roberto sputtered, giving his wrist a futile tug.

"In most civilized society, it is considered rude to interrupt when someone else is speaking. Taci, o morire," Eric said, ignoring Roberto's efforts to free his wrist. "Myself, I am able to hold at bay the inclination to crush your wrist between my fingers. And allow me to allay any relief you might be feeling, by informing you my control is dictated entirely by my wish to spare the ladies present the most unpleasant sounds associated with such an action. Your comfort has no part in my decision."

Roberto looked as though he might faint, as Eric's grin grew wider.

With a glance in Shana's direction, Eric continued speaking to Roberto. "You would be wise to refrain from touching this, or any other lady in my party again this evening. I believe the pleasure of your attention has worn thin, and I am in not in the habit of extending more than one opportunity for pardon. I also do not intend to provide you with a list of which ladies are in my party, so you might consider leaving this establishment altogether." Eric opened his hand and Roberto's arm fell limp to his side. "Mentre avete ancora tutti le vostre appendici."

Roberto, who seemed to be overcome with a sudden case of sobriety, turned and moved as quickly as possible through the crowd, concern for his injured pride buried beneath fear for life and limb.

Amid the sighs of relief from some and disappointment from others, Eric's vicious grin melted into an affable smile, which he directed at Shana. "If I am not mistaken, you were considering this man's invitation to dance before you were interrupted? If you wish to accept him, I will bid you good evening and return to my table. If you have tired of dancing, I shall escort you back."

Even though only moments ago she was about to be punched in the face by a jealous drunk, Shana felt like the belle of the ball. Multiple men had asked her to dance, even if one of them was a lunatic, and the King himself had dashed to her rescue when she was threatened.

Isn't it funny how right in the middle of feeling all your fears and insecurities come to pass, one simple act of chivalry can wrap its self around you like a warm blanket and make you feel more safe and valued than you ever have?

Shana was half lost in her own thoughts when she realized everyone around her was waiting for her response. "Oh, yes," she sputtered, looking at the stranger, who seemed to have been struck mute, and giving him a shy smile. "I would like to dance."

"Very well," Eric answered immediately. He too looked at the man Shana was extending a hand to, "Our table is there," he said shifting his eyes toward their niche. "I trust you will return our Shana to us as you find her now, undamaged?"

"Of course, signore. Hai la mia parola."

Eric nodded and took Sookie by the hand, leading her back across the room.

Every detail of this evening must be recorded in my journal, Shana thought as she danced happily with the man whose name turned out to be Vic, if for no other reason than to confirm it was real and not part of some elaborate dream. Eric Northman, the blond god of a Viking, the vampire King of Louisiana, had offered to personally escort her across a crowded room, and she had chosen instead to dance with this man. What an unusual night this was turning out to be.

XXXXXXX

With roughly two hours before the dawn, Sookie found herself standing on a hillside overlooking the city.

"The summer before they died, my parents took Jason and me camping," Sookie said, her voice barely above a whisper as she stared down at the twinkling lights of the city. "We were sleeping in a tent. I woke up in the night and I was afraid. My mother came in and picked me up and held me tight in her arms. When I stopped crying and shaking, she put her fingers under my chin and lifted my face so I was looking into her eyes.

"Let me show you something," she said. "She was smiling. Her smile could make anything better. She carried me on her hip from the campsite to where we could look over a small ridge and see the lake. There must have been a million fireflies out there, flying back and forth along the shore. It was a clear night and when their tails lit up, they reflected off the water. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."

"And did you sleep peacefully after seeing the sight?" Eric asked, tenderly wrapping his arms around her from behind.

"I did," she answered, turning to look up at him. Her otherworldly expression became more focused and she displayed a toothy grin. "Of course, it helped that she came back into the tent and slept beside me."

"Throughout the ages of your life, there will be many changes. One constant you will always be able to rely upon is the comfort found in the memory of your mother's touch." Eric smiled and gave her a light squeeze.

"Do you remember your mother's touch?" she asked as she snuggled against him.

"Have I given you cause to believe my memory is impaired in some way?"

"No. I just have no idea how important mothers are to Vikings."

"Vikings were human. Their mothers were as important a part of their lives as any other humans."

Eric did not loosen his hold and she did not attempt to free herself. "Will you tell me about your mother?" she asked softly.

"She was a strong woman, never ill. She came from an honorable family of high standing in a neighboring village, and was called a beauty by the standard of the day. My father once said the proudest day of his youth was the day he took her to wife. She was thirteen.

Years later, when I had reached perhaps six or seven years, my father gave her a set of three knives, for skinning and slicing meat. They were very sharp. The blades were so finely honed, if you held them just right, you could watch the sunlight dance down the edges, flickering as it went, as if they were on fire.

My father had an eye and a hand for metalwork. He gifted my mother with many fine brooches and hair combs." Eric paused for a moment, lost in thought. A bit of a scoffing laugh escaped him. "She could have assembled herself a full set of armor from her jewelry and adornments," he said, before he resumed his story a few seconds later.

"He'd given her a well crafted set of blades set in solidly constructed, but plain handles. Prevailing fashions dictated every visible inch of wood no longer occupying its place on a living tree, must be carved in as ornate a manner as possible. My father was known to be a talented smith, but his woodworking skills garnered significantly less renown.

The moon made less than half a turn before he left our village with a large raiding party. Already the mornings brought frost on the ground. Winter came early. We soon realized it would not be possible for the party to return before spring.

During the nights and months of the long winter, my mother sat in the glow of the fire and carved the handles of those knives. Sometimes when I woke in the night, I would stand beside her. She would touch my face and smile and say, 'I will have no one say my last gift from Hjalmar was unworthy.' Of course I did not realize until many years later, she was worried we would not see him again. The carving gave her a reason to hold his gift, as if by holding the knives she was somehow holding him and willing him home.

When spring came without bringing the men with it, many lost hope. Each passing day seemed to confirm the worst. One by one, the other women resigned themselves to what they saw as our inevitable fate. We were a village of children and widows. As such we were vulnerable to being attacked and taken into slavery by our not too distant neighbors to the north.

Unprotected and on their own, most buried their valuables as a protection against marauders. Others implored my mother to surrender the ruby pendant my father gave as a wedding gift to the ground, but she refused. It never left her neck. 'I have not buried my husband. I will not bury his gifts,' she would say."

She sounds like an extraordinary woman," Sookie whispered.

"Indeed she was, my love.

My father, and those of the raiding party who survived the winter, returned a month later with much gold, fabric and other valuables. My mother never removed the pendant. When she died, my father took it from her. My elder brother was recently deceased, so he gave it to me. I was to make it a gift to my soon to be wife."

"So you gave it to Aude. I'm sure she loved it as much as your mother did."

"She would have," Eric said in the low and contrite tones of one who is making a confession. "But I could not bare to part with it. She had treasure chests of jewelry, yet this one jewel meant more to her than all the others combined. I could have asked my father for the knives she carved so diligently, until at first glance, they looked as though the handles were made from thick knots of tightly braided hair. He would have given them to me, but he would have seen the asking as weakness. They would come to me when he died. Then I would give the pendant to Aude.

People live and they die. You say the rites and move on, and I did, from every death but hers. She, I carried with me. It was as if her heart was still beating within the cold red stone in the pouch tied to my belt.

And then Ocella came. My old life drifted away and the new one given to me required all old things be shed in favor of the new. Ocella took the pendant and stored it here, in the vault in the palazzo."

"That's why we're here!" Sookie said, pushing back from Eric and staring up at him with all the exuberance of a child on Christmas morning. "That's what you told Cerino you wanted from the vault, your mother's pendant! Let's get it now. I can't wait to see it."

Her enthusiasm made him smile. Almost everything about her made him smile. "Calm down. You will not find it here. It has not been here for centuries."

"Did Ocella destroy it or sell it?"

"No. He was quite fond of jewels. He would not have destroyed it, and he could not sell it. Its value was in the threats he could make against it.

On the anniversary of our first century together, he gave it back to me. The stone had been bound in woven wool to a thin goat leather strap. The wool fell to pieces in my hand. I left the strap on a shelf in my section of the vault. I took the stone with me.

With Ocella's consent, I returned to my homeland. I was able to locate my descendants fairly quickly and in a stroke of luck I still find difficult to believe, I found the great-grandson who owned the set of carved knives. I stole the smallest of the three. It is in the vault.

My second goal was more difficult to achieve, though I did manage it after several weeks. I found Aude, or what remained of her bones, and I did what I should have done more than a century before. I gave her what should have been hers on our wedding day. I left the stone with her before replacing her cover of earth."

"What a beautiful thing to do," Sookie said with a quivering smile and a pinkish dew beginning to pool in her eyes. She regained emotional control immediately, but pride was still evident in her expression.

"Come," Eric said after a long pause. "I will show you a vault more like the one you expected to see in Spain."

They turned their backs on Milan and entered the labyrinth of structures comprising Ocella's monument to himself, his expansive palazzo.

The property stretched over more than a square mile of hillside, and offered a spectacular view of the city. The four-foot stone wall surrounding the grounds had gates, exactly in the center of each side, with the front intended to be accessible only by foot. From the main road, a packed dirt footpath wound alongside a stream until it reached a row of twenty silently roaring, marble lions leading the way to the tall stone archway which served as entrance.

The two story main house sat in the exact center of the property. It was a circular building surrounded by a columned walkway. Short pathways lined with hydrangeas led to what looked like numerous covered patios, the ceilings supported by four ornately carved columns. Eric identified them as they passed. Some were baths, others with seating arranged specifically for listening to a speaker, or eating. A few featured partial walls offering lovers a more private retreat.

Upon entering the house, which struck Sookie as appearing more museum like than any private house she'd ever seen, even in a magazine, the great room took up fully the entire front half. If ever a house was designed to impress company, this was it. It suited Ocella perfectly.

"Would you like to look around?" Eric asked, though he didn't slow his quick pace through the room.

She wasn't nearly as curious about the house its self as she was about the vault, which was where Eric was heading. Since Eric was giving the house and almost everything in the vault away to the King of Italy, she could see no point in taking a tour and seeing something she would be sorry he was giving up. Besides, with the determined expression on his face, if she said she wanted to wander the house, she ran the risk of him telling her to check it out on her own while he went to the vault alone. That was definitely a risk she was not willing to take.

"No," she replied sweetly, clasping his hand so he couldn't suddenly flit away from her. "I can look through museums any time. This is my only chance to see Ocella's treasures."

They finally reached a door on the far wall. Rather than open the door and rush through at top speed, as she'd expected, Eric stopped and looked down at her. "Do you regret my forfeiting Ocella's estate? I did not ask if you wanted the palazzo or any of the rest of it."

"Appius Livius only ever had one possession I want. You."

"Me you have. Is there nothing else?"

"Nothing."

He laughed and offered her a wicked grin. "Shall we test your resolve on the matter?" Before she had time to form a response, he moved.

On either side of the doorway, was a tiled mosaic depicting a peacock, each displaying the full splendor of his fanned tail plumage. Eric placed an index finger in the eye of two different tail feathers and pushed. The panel holding the peacock on the left side of the door slid back about six inches.

"It moves to the left," he said, gesturing toward the recessed bird.

Sookie stepped up and reached out. Her fingers gave a slight tug on the right side of the panel, and just as Eric said, it moved easily to the left, leaving an opening almost as large as a normal doorway, which led into a darkened hall.

Eric reached past her and flipped a switch on the brick wall. The hall was perhaps ten feet long with a doorless entry into a room at the other end. Again, Eric knew the location of the light switch. He nudged her into the room before lighting it.

When the light came on, she was speechless. He was right again, as usual. This was what she'd expected on that hilltop in Spain.

She estimated the room was about the size of a four-car garage, with about a ten-foot ceiling. The wall directly in front of her was covered with paintings in gilded frames. She had no idea who the artists were, but she had no doubt they were all famous. The wall to her left was lined with deep shelves containing stacks and stacks of paper; probably money and documents. To the right, open shelving similar to library stacks protruded from the wall. These shelves contained vases, figurines, various sculptures and artifacts, as well as a lot of boxes of all descriptions. It would take days to go through them all and examine their contents.

The open space on the floor was organized into five neat rows of larger artifacts and sculptures. At each end of each row was a large stone box, about four feet wide, almost three feet deep and three feet tall. Ten boxes in all, and each one was filled with coins, mostly gold.

"Amazing," she whispered, when she finally found her tongue.

"It gave him comfort to come here when he was angry or upset."

"Wow, he must have been in here a lot," she said without thinking.

There was no mirth in Eric's laugh. "Yes. He came here often."

Sookie turned to him and stunned anew by the sight of the wall she was seeing for the first time. The wall with the doorway was covered with rows of shallow niches, each displaying some particular treasure or other. Clearly these were Ocella's most prized possessions.

She managed to pull her attention from the jewelry and gold figures in the endless rows of niches and shift her gaze to Eric. "Will you show me your treasures?'

He smiled and took her hand. "This way."

He walked almost to the end of the niche wall and knelt. The niche he stared into contained what appeared to be nothing more than a felt cloth. He took the cloth and unfolded it in his hand, before extending his hand to her.

For some reason, she'd imagined a much larger knife when he was telling his story. The knife lying across his palm now was no more than seven inches long. It was a set of three, she thought. He said he took the smallest. Maybe the others were quite a bit larger.

"It's a beautiful knife," Sookie said softly. "The handle really does look like someone cut off a braid of hair and attached it to the blade. Your mother was a very skilled carver."

"You may touch it, if you like," he said, tentatively edging his prize closer to her.

She saw him tense a bit when she lifted it from his hand, but he did not shrink away from his offer. She took care not to let it get tangled in what appeared to be nothing more than an old and very worn leather shoelace. The knife symbolized his mother's love, but that thin strip of leather represented the woman herself; her and everything she was, everything he loved about her. This he did not offer to Sookie. He folded it back up in the cloth and tucked it into his pocket.

After admiring the knife, she handed it back to Eric. He upended a velvet bag in a neighboring niche. Several emeralds spilled out onto the floor. He tucked the knife into the bag and the bag into his belt.

Sensing a need to lighten the mood, Sookie grinned up at him. "Can I do something I've always dreamed about doing before we leave?"

There, the smile she loved so much returned.

"I would not have you forgo fulfilling a dream, my love."

She spun in place, hurried to the nearest box of coins and plopped down in the middle of it.

"I wish we had a camera. I'd love to have a picture of me like this," she said with a giddy giggle, scooping coins over her until only her body above the waist and her knees were visible.

"I have the picture in my mind."

Her ringing laughter echoed through the vault. "But I can't show off by putting your mind on display over the fireplace."

"True," he agreed. "And if you could, it would likely make for a poor exhibit, unless your new status as Maker has extended your telepathic gifts to your progeny."

His tone was jovial enough, but she could see concern flickering in his eyes. She had absolute confidence in his love and trust, yet she was equally certain this question would always linger between them. There were secrets he held so close, she knew he would never willingly share them with her, and in some dark corner of his mind, he would always wonder if she could see them despite his best efforts to keep them hidden.

She lifted herself out of the box, spilling coins in all directions. She ignored them tinkling and spinning on her way to Eric. "Your secrets will always be safe with me, my darling, but don't worry. The only ones I have are those you've given me by choice. My gifts are what they have always been, nothing more."

He smiled and touched her face. "There is no jewel in this room worthy of you, my lover."