Godric's crooked grin promised trouble. Pamela herded him across the living room of the double suite. She spoke firmly, her expression lined with determination. "The mirror is right there. See for yourself."
"I don't need a jacket."
"Of course you don't." She corralled the ancient toward a makeshift dressing station. "But you'll try the blue one - for Rosalyn."
Rosalyn hummed noncommittally from where she was sunk into a sectional, only half-hearing her name.
"See?" Pamela waggled the jacket like a matador and managed - only just - to get her grandsire into a chair.
"I'm not your doll," he reminded her.
"If Ros doesn't like it, we'll scrap the idea. Promise." Nothing in her tone suggested this was true.
"Then what? Do I get to wear one of your slinky dresses?" He arched an eyebrow. Pamela snorted.
The sounds of their playful bickering washed over Rosalyn. For the first time since being reborn, her senses weren't crawling with hunger. Calm coursed through her limbs. Her flesh felt weightless, her mind clear. The mechanics of it confused her, but Godric had somehow performed a hard reset on her body with sex.
Eric sauntered in from the adjoining room in the midst of slipping into a cream blazer. He caught Rosalyn staring in open appreciation. Grinning wolfishly, he bent to kiss her good evening. His breath was sweet and his hands ranged freely over her curves. "How's my bonded this evening?"
"Better now." She caught him by the hem of his black cashmere turtleneck and tucked it into his waistband with a rough tug to pull him closer. "You look delicious." His grin widened. Before he could reply, the sound of his progeny's exasperation distracted him.
Pamela half-growled at her grandsire through a set of straight pins clenched in her teeth. "I can't get the fit right if you don't stop wiggling."
"Stick me with a pin again and I'll teach you to fly," Godric threatened.
Eric swept in and bumped Pamela aside to safety. "What's the problem, folks?" He took a long appraising look at his maker and whistled through his teeth. "Hot damn." He reached down and flicked open a third button on Godric's shirt. "Looks better than good to me." The midnight blue coat made the pop of exposed ink at Godric's gaping collar obscene. Swiping a daub of pomade between his palms, Eric emulsified it and assumed hairdressing duties. "Which do you want: 'You're fucked' hair or 'Whose your Daddy now' hair?"
Godric skewed a glance upwards. "Those are my only options?" Eric smirked. "Very well. The latter, I suppose."
"Yesss, Daddy," Eric chirped and set to work.
"Are you two planning an interrogation or a seduction?" Rosalyn laughed.
"Trial," they answered in unison.
Rosalyn sat up. "What trial?" Mentally, she was bracing herself for an evening of torture. She didn't like it; she also knew she had no say in it. "I thought Arun would be questioned first."
"Of course he will," Godric replied. "He'll give his testimony and be cross-examined. But things will move quickly. We've had two centuries to fact find. A verdict must be handed down before news of Arun's survival leaks."
Eric tousled the top of Godric's locks and spritzed them in place. "If you didn't notice, Arun went into Athens guns-blazing with a death wish. He chose to make his presence known. We can't know for certain that he wasn't spotted."
The carnage Arun had wrought in Athens had been considerable. It proved he could be a useful weapon. The question for them now, Rosalyn supposed, was how. "You're trying to figure out how to use him against Roman."
Godric's mouth ticked up in pleasure at her understanding. "Just so."
If Arun was guilty and had conspired with his siblings and Roman to murder his maker, then he held crucial information which could be extracted. Any torture would be a consequence of the trial - not evidence in it. Rosalyn found that mildly reassuring. Alternately, if he was innocent, Arun had every motivation to fight alongside them for their cause.
"Everybody who's anybody takes note when there's a change in a major bloodline's leadership," Eric continued, "but this business with Arun is a whole different order of big fucking deal."
Pamela hummed in agreement. "Dead bitches love to gossip. Clan conspiracies involving the Council? Patricide charges? Resurrected patriarchs? Tongues will wag for centuries."
The urgency made sense, Rosalyn figured. "We have to get ahead of the news before everyone in our world starts taking sides."
"Exactly," Eric said. "Maybe Arun's cover isn't blown, but once people know the Council has broken down and our family is directly involved, it won't be a covert op against Roman and his toadies. It will be open warfare."
Against us, he meant. Rosalyn shivered, recalling Pamela's friend-or-foe flashcards from their wedding planning. "What do our numbers look like in that scenario?"
Eric didn't sugarcoat it. "Bad. There are some folks who never fully swallowed Roman's lies about Arun and Sibyl following their grief into the sun after their maker's death. But the High Counselor's hands have always looked clean and that hell-bitch Thea has had a lot of time to make new allies and drum up supporters in the meantime."
"Plus, people are extremely lazy," Pamela added. "If they don't have beef with how the Council has worked, they'll be pissed at us for rocking the boat and will join ranks against us. So lazy and stupid."
Godric stared blankly at his hands. "They are young. They don't appreciate the fragile architecture of our world."
Eric scoffed. "More like they don't know that you're the architect."
"You overestimate my influence, Eric. That is very unwise." Godric turned to Rosalyn. "You heard Sebek. This is not North America. No one in the Old World supports our schemes and we have no protection here but him. This matter must be settled quickly - and to everyone's satisfaction."
"He means," Pamela clarified, "don't screw up the criminal case by interfering with the interrogation and try not to piss off the Egyptians. Whatever happens, don't forget that Iset is here representing Queen Neith. She is not your homegirl."
Eric pulled a face. "No, she most certainly is not."
Rosalyn groaned. "Tell me you didn't have some botched hookup with her."
"Oh, he tried," Pamela said, not hiding her annoyance. She held out a black pantsuit at Rosalyn. "This is for you. So that the Princess doesn't think we're lazy and stupid." She tossed a pair of gold earrings at her for good measure. "If she shows up and you're still in those gnarly shorts and flip flops, she's going to think we're a bunch of clowns on vacation who aren't serious about assisting her in the work she was sent to do. Play the part."
Rosalyn narrowed her eyes at the suit. Play the part? Her gaze slowly drifted back to Pamela. Oh, she knew her role. Being addressed in that condescending tone by literally every vampire around her had clarified it for her perfectly. Everyone assumed she was a naive newborn. They treated her like a child, or worse, like Godric's plaything. She wasn't going to correct their assumptions. Let them underestimate her and she would see just what slip-ups they made thinking she was too new to notice. With a snap of her wrist, she chucked the garment back at Pamela. "That says 'boardroom', Pam. I want them to think 'bedroom'. What else do you have in your magic suitcase?"
From the corner of her eye, Godric bit back another smile.
Pamela clutched the rejected pantsuit to her chest and stammered an offended defense. When she still had not moved, Eric spoke up. "You heard your mater. Fix it."
Pamela returned with one of her own dresses. She handed the hanger over hesitantly. "Be nice to that. It's vintage Léger."
"I see. She gets to have your slinky dress?" Godric said, pretending to be jealous.
Pamela huffed at her bangs, then remembering something, disappeared into the closet again and came back with a chain. "You get the bling, Grandsire." She slipped it over his head.
The flash of gold immediately caught Rosalyn's eye. "Is that Tarquin's goldpiece?" she said in disbelief. Godric fiddled with the coin strung on the chain and studied himself in the mirror. The pendant had somehow been salvaged from the rubble at the Dallas bombsite.
"Do you mind?"
"No. I'm just…surprised? You're okay wearing something that Amleth gave us?" She did not want to be reminded of how poorly things had ended with him. Or how good Amleth's attention had felt before it blew up in her face. She still had flashbacks of the way he'd pulled his shirt wide in invitation before that dreaded phone ring. She had burned for him. Then she burned because of him.
"I'm testifying on behalf of Tarquin. I can't lose track of what we are after."
Rosalyn steadied herself. "Right. Of course. Tarquin deserves justice."
"Justice?" Godric scoffed. "There is no righting the injustice that killed him. The truth will have to suffice."
"That's all you want? Really?" Rosalyn grimaced. "Because frankly I'd like our frickin' charity money back if that's not too much to ask."
Pamela held up a perfectly manicured finger. "She has a very good point. I also want our money back."
Godric looked between the two expectant women staring and raised his hands in resignation. "Consider me reminded of my duty."
~OOO~
The family waited for their host in one of Akhet House's entertaining rooms. Without the musicians and dancers, the lounge had the vaguely tired, disreputable air that all clubs have once the music stops and the house lights come up. One of the courtesans served them breakfast cocktails, and they sat on high-top chairs around the bar sipping their drinks. Sebek's assassin, Emir, joined them for a pint. He had heard of Stan Baker's death. "Tough break," he said to Godric. "That's the job, I 'spose. Can't imagine you needed him much, considering." Emir looked like he wanted to say more about Godric's astonishing capacity for deadly force, but chose otherwise.
"Stan served his Sheriffdom well," Godric offered.
Emir nodded, then admitted that they were not especially friendly. "A colleague is a colleague, though. He died in the line of duty and that ought to count for something, no?"
Godric was about to thank him for his condolences when suddenly, from outside, a sharp whistle pierced the night. The sound was too unnatural and too high-pitched to be anything other than a vampire. It was a signal.
Eric was instantly a blur of action. He leapt through the air like a cat and slid across the bar, tackling Emir to the ground in a heap and neutralizing him with a crunch. The assassin had been mere feet from Rosalyn and their maker. By the time they hit the floor, Pamela had already smashed the crystal stem from her champagne flute and was ready to stab anything within reach. Only Godric sat unmoved, except that he must have moved, because where once he had held a glass, he now had a vicious-looking knife.
In that space of time, Rosalyn managed only to blink. She realized the unfamiliar blade in Godric's hand had come from somewhere on Emir's person. He had known the whole time that the trained killer beside her was armed.
Emir held his hands up in surrender. "It's royal security," he wheezed. The force of Eric's body had broken several of his ribs. "They do a sweep in advance of the princess's arrival."
"You run Sebek's security op here?" Godric asked.
The assassin shook his head vigorously. "No." Eric tightened his vise-like grip, ready to pull him apart. "I've run the Princess's detail before!"
"Who do you work for - Sebek or the Princess?" Eric demanded.
"Me," Sebek answered calmly, entering the room with Arun in tow. He paused, taking in the scene, then nodded, approving of how the vampires had closed ranks around their youngest. "Stand down, Eric. Let us take the evening air while the soldiers do their work."
Eric released Emir, and Godric twirled the knife on his fingertip before handing it back to the assassin. Emir accepted it warily. "Err…no hard feelings, yeah?" Godric glared at him in reply. Emir backed away, his legs unsteady beneath him.
Outside, troops stormed straight through the peaceful gardens of Akhet Place with their thick-soled boots and heavy weapons. The palace occupants and staff flooded into the courtyard. The Vizier appeared unfazed by the disruption; protocol had to be followed. He chatted amiably with the team leader while the buildings were searched, his embroidered robes flashing in the lamplight.
Elsewhere on the lawn, Pamela and Eric gossiped with one of the belly dancers, unconcerned about the man in chains beside them. Arun knelt at Godric's feet, head hanging. Godric held the end of his chains loosely, like a dog leash, and scanned the courtyard. Seeing something that turned the corners of his mouth down, he slid a hand over Arun's shoulder. To hold him there or to reassure him - Rosalyn had no idea. "I'm gonna go for a walk," she announced.
She milled about the crowd trying to locate Niobe. When she couldn't find her, she distracted herself with the night-flowering plants in the nearby moon garden. Eric noticed her ranging and went to her, looping his arm through hers. "Pamela could design something like this for you when we get back home." His yard was not suitable, he explained - too many shade trees - but he assumed she would be house hunting for a larger property when they returned.
"House hunting?" she said blankly. They had not discussed future living arrangements. Even the prospect of returning to Shreveport seemed unreal. Eric babbled on about the pros and cons of dealing with homeowner's associations as if they were guests at a tea party. For Rosalyn, there was nothing remotely normal about this situation: a man was clapped in medieval irons and an actual ancient Egyptian was overseeing a military operation on his front lawn.
"Arun doesn't have any shoes," she finally said, sending a troubled glance over her shoulder. Someone had given him better fitting clothes - a black tank and loose cotton pants - but nothing to cover his feet. Arun caught her furtive look and made a strange expression, as if he wanted to tell her something.
Eric saw their exchange and made a split-second decision. "Ros? Look at me." He pulled her further into the garden and stared deeply at her, pressing meaning through his eyes.
"You can't glamour me, dork."
He kept staring. He ran a knuckle over her jawline and she heard the snap of vegetation behind her. She suddenly felt the caress of petals over her cheek. She went to turn toward the sensation.
"Keep looking," he encouraged, using the gentlest tone. "What do you see?"
"What are you-"
"I need you," he told her, pouring hunger into his voice. More gentle fluttering of a flower over her skin.
"We should talk about what happened between us last night. Don't think that -"
"I need you," he insisted, his voice dropping low. "Do you feel me?"
"Yes," she exhaled.
"Tonight will be difficult. Empathize with me." She nodded. "Good." He ran the velvety blossom over her lips and kissed her lightly. "Focus on me tonight, and what I need. Don't let your gift wander."
"But -"
He kissed her again, experimentally, and slid his tongue into her mouth. Letting out a little moan, he withdrew and whispered into her ear. "So many places I need to taste."
She felt herself flutter in reply. "You want me distracted," she accused.
"I want you. Touch me as much as you like. Okay? I don't want to get wind that you've shared your empathy with anyone else. Ros?"
"Yeah?"
"I will spank you if you cheat on me and your hands wander."
"Oh. Um." She swallowed unconsciously. "Okay."
"Okay what?" The unyielding blue and gold of his eyes had her transfixed. She knew what he was doing. Maybe it was for the best.
"I'll be good for you," she promised.
"Mmm, yes," he purred. "And then I'll be bad for you. Deal?"
She agreed. He had used his empathic touch on her. Strange to think she had ever worried about being compelled. It was far more inconvenient that Godric so often refused to do it. Learning the hard way was…hard. They couldn't afford another of her newborn screw-ups. Not here. Not now.
From the corner of her eye, she felt Arun's blazing gaze. He was studying their interaction intently. He made another odd, tight-lipped face. Eric grunted. "We should go back."
The troops regrouped in the courtyard. They began removing their facemasks and heavy gear. Rosalyn tugged at Eric's sleeve and pointed. He huffed in surprise. The soldiers were all women. Strong-limbed, highly disciplined, beautiful warrior women.
The guard closest to Sebek tossed her mask and gloves to one of the other troops. She had dark hair cropped close to her scalp and piercing eyes lined with heavy black liner. Sebek lifted her hand and kissed her ring with a shallow bow. Godric immediately fell to one knee. Everyone else quickly followed.
The military detachment was a decoy. Princess Iset had already arrived.
Sebek waved two concubines over and they offered the princess a drink. She downed it thirstily and slapped the glass back on the tray. "What's with the duo?" she asked Sebek. "Are you short staffed?" Apparently he always had three women to work as hostesses.
He nodded graciously. "I am, Princess. A lamentable choice on my housekeeper's part, but it happens." Rosalyn frowned. Her concern for Niobe grew.
"That's unusual for you." Iset waved the staff on display away. "How depressing. Let's get on with it, shall we?"
Iset whisked across the grass in soundless steps toward the spot where Rosalyn and her family waited. She paused to greet Rosalyn. "Welcome, sister."
"Your highness." Rosalyn dropped into a low curtsy. The princess took her in. If she had thoughts about Godric's second-born, she kept them to herself. She then cut her eyes at the rest of her kin. "And look at you. All grown up. Good to see you." Rosalyn assumed she was speaking to Pamela or perhaps Eric. It was her maker that bowed in acknowledgement.
"The honor is all mine, your highness," Godric said.
Her gaze drifted down to the pendant displayed on his chest. "Here to take sides, I see."
"On the contrary, your highness. I intend to see out a final obligation to the deceased."
"Sure you are."
She pivoted dismissively to Eric, who met her with a flourishing bow. Iset rolled her eyes hard and moved on without a word. "Madame de Beaufort," she said, greeting Pamela instead. "A vision, as ever." Pamela batted her eyes and curtsied elegantly.
Finally, the princess turned her attention to the prisoner. "Christ, Arun. Get up. Enough with the theatrics." To Rosalyn's confusion, no one had actually expected him to behave like chattel. Cleverly - perhaps a little too cleverly - kneeling had minimized his presence. He rose and towered over everyone. The messy bun piled atop his head added inches. Iset clucked a tongue in distaste. "What a disaster. Come on."
Inside the main hall, she deliberated with the Vizier. "Terrace or back gardens, do you think?" They discussed the matter. Air flow and wind direction and ventilation were a concern. A decision was made and Iset's retinue snapped into action assembling folding tables drawn from hidden closets. A heavy-duty gas burner was lugged onto the terrace. Clinking cases full of glass jars and vials were set out and arranged, checked, and rearranged according to Iset's exacting directions.
Rosalyn looked questioningly at Godric. He offered no explanation. His mental bond had become a wall. Not to keep her in the dark, he had warned, but to keep her from broadcasting too much. Eric slipped his hand around her elbow once more. She gestured silently at the tables and the vials he gave a slight shrug. He was equally unsure about their purpose.
Outside, an industrial-sized pot was set to boil on the gas. Tension threaded through the vampires in the parlor as the water heated. It became pronounced when Iset cast a handful of herbs into the water with an incantation. Rosalyn glanced up at Eric. His jaw was clenched, his gaze fixed on the herb boxes. The roll of the boil built and more matter was added. The smell and the strange words became unsettling.
"I don't need that," Arun blurted out, a panicky waver in his voice. He pulled at his chains and begged Godric and Iset. "I told you. Take my blood if you want confirmation. Drain me if you must. I'll talk! I have nothing but the truth to tell you."
In a movement faster than Rosalyn could comprehend, Iset was suddenly inches from Arun's face. "What if I don't want your filthy blood?" she asked, her lip curling cruelly.
Arun's eyes watered at the proximity to the woman's ancient power. In her flash of anger, her aura had swelled outward, pressing on their organs, threatening to break the compound walls. Arun blinked repeatedly. "Forgive my weakness, Princess. I am afraid."
Iset patted Arun's cheek and he flinched. "Let's just get this over with, yeah? I want to hear about what Rosalyn did to make her maker go full Genghis Khan on her."
If Rosalyn could have died all over again, she would have. They could sense how doggedly Godric had marked her, she realized. They knew. They all knew. As it was, Rosalyn wanted to pass out from the smells wafting from the terrace. Iset must have noticed her peakedness, because she returned to Sebek's side and consulted with him in hushed tones.
"...sensitive…" Rosalyn overheard her saying.
"I agree…at this age…"
"...side effect…?" Iset clarified.
"...concern…the Queen…" Sebek nodded and went to them. "We feel it is best if Lady Rosalyn was not present for the administration phase. It may not be safe."
"Safe? From what?" Rosalyn demanded to know.
Sebek met her stare directly. "From the Poison Oracle."
~OOO~
Eric knew precious little about Egyptian magic. What in the actual fuck was a Poison Oracle? Some sort of truth serum? Just once, it would have been nice if Godric shared what he knew before he walked into a situation where it became relevant information. His maker had obviously known about Sebek's fantastical trick that purified human blood of its industrial pollutants. Godric hadn't bothered to mention it. Not when he and Amleth were developing Tru Blood. Not when he had opened a bar whose success directly impacted his position as Sheriff. Fucking silent. It was positively maddening.
Now, Eric watched as Iset brewed a cauldron full of noxious herbs. Owing to an unfortunate incident in his younger days, he loathed a true witch. That Godric seemed tolerant of the scene unfolding before them was surprising as well. Especially given that it was a vampire working the kettle. This wasn't some hocus pocus theatre being performed to drum up fear in the prisoner. Iset was spelling witchwork with an acuity and power he had rarely witnessed.
Eric had questions - quite a few of them, in fact - and Godric refused to answer him in the bond. Finally, his patience wore thin and he jammed a thumb into his maker's ribs. Talk! he shouted at him in the radio silence of their bond. Godric turned sharply and cast him a look that would have cremated a weaker vampire. Eric averted his eyes in submission.
He distracted himself with the sight of chains in Godric's gloved grip. His maker's hands always looked fucking delicious wrapped in leather. It reminded him of some of their more hardcore experimentation. Eric stared blindly, lost in recollection, wondering at what his future held given the previous evening. He didn't know this version of his maker, what Godric might desire. Or, what boundaries Rosalyn might want to cross. Eric's only hope was that she would try. He wanted her to be fearless with him. To treat him in ways no one else would dare. Without the limitations imposed by a maker tie, they could venture into waters together that neither Godric nor Pam could tread. Eric chased those thoughts and stared at Godric's dangerous hands until he finally noticed how Godric was holding Arun's chains. Far, far too tightly.
Eric snapped out of his fantasies into the present. Several of the chain links had begun to warp under his maker's knuckles. Godric's muscles were shaking imperceptibly. Not from fear. It was flight instinct. He was desperate to ditch the restraints. He did not want to be the one holding those chains for what came next. Godric's eyes darted back and forth from the gurgling pot to the back of Arun's head, then from the pot to the alabaster vessel standing by.
Was he worried the potion might affect him if he got too close? Gods, had he taken it himself before? Eric hated not knowing. He tipped his chin subtly toward Sebek. Could the Vizier not do the honors? Godric's eye twitched - always a bad sign - and Eric felt helpless to say or do anything more.
Sebek eventually dragged one of his overstuffed couches to the center of the floor and asked for the prisoner. Godric somehow kept his courtly composure as he handed him over. The Vizier bound Arun to the couch like a spider would its meal, thoughtfully winding the heavy silver fetters across him. It was a technique Eric himself often employed. Like hobbling a horse, the captive's own chains tightened the more he struggled. In Arun's case, the heavy silver was brought around his neck. The panic in his eyes grew as he stretched and tested his range of mobility.
"I wouldn't try to fly off on us," Iset warned, her grin shining and inhuman. One hard flail and Arun would pull his own head clean off.
"I cannot fly," Arun stressed. "You've been fed very bad intel if you think differently."
"Hush now. We'll find out soon enough." She decanted a measure of liquid from her brewpot and brought the carved stone vessel to his mouth with two hands. Arun leveled his gaze, the brave, brazen motherfucker, and opened his mouth defiantly to receive the boiling liquid. It hissed as it seared down his throat and he wept and choked and continued, somehow, to drink.
Arun was silent for a suspended, unending moment, before finally making several desperate gasping, whistling sounds from his nose. Then, long after it seemed possible for anyone to have endured it, he filled the halls with a series of horrific, bellowing screams. Sebek leaned down and pressed Arun's hands into the couch to prevent him from arching too far in his agony. Eric, with his warrior's stomach and years hardened at Godric's side, looked straight past him to the wall. Not from cowardice, he told himself, but respect for the man he once knew. He did not want to witness Arun dishonoring himself. The vampire writhed and screamed in pain, his veins bulging thick in his skin, his neck straining purple under the silver scorching it. Bloody spittle and tears ran criss-cross over his cheeks from his mouth and eyes.
Godric tilted his hand open in the narrow space between their legs where they sat. Eric nearly scoffed out loud at the gesture. Then he saw his maker's expression. It was completely blank, which meant he was concealing a great deal. He wasn't offering reassurance - he was asking for it. Wordlessly, Eric took his hand and they waited for the poison to set in.
Arun's pain twisted into something hallucinogenic and he bucked and panted against it, gagging each time under his restraints. "Iset. Iset!" he called blindly. "Iset you have known me!"
He sure had. Worldly bastard with his shy charm and snippets of poetry forever poised on his pouty lips. They had made a game of it for a time, he and Eric, conquering the beauties of the old courts. Eric had taken the sport too seriously, of course. And Arun had come back from his conquest with Iset in a panic. "Never with the First Ones," he'd chattered, beads of blood sweat trickling from his brow. "Never, Eric. Do you hear me? It's a horror. Never so near the original source of our power." Eric hadn't listened. When had he ever? And how Arun had laughed at him then.
Gods, they had lived ages together. That it should come to this felt surreal.
Arun eventually collapsed against the sofa's contours, limbs like wet ropes. Godric freed his hand and folded it under his thigh, and Eric leaned forward to understand what he was witnessing. A low wheeze emitted from Arun's chest.
"We may begin," Sebek nodded to the Princess. He turned to Godric. "Rosalyn?" he asked simply.
Godric did not hesitate. "Absolutely not."
Eric strongly disagreed but kept silent. Rosalyn was already wandering around the estate looking for trouble. She would be livid when she found out that she had been excluded from the entire inquest. Someone - likely he - would have to fill her in and would be subjected to the brunt of her frustration. Frankly, the woman needed to be exposed to the dirty side of justice. If she thought Eric was a thug for how he dealt with his underlings as Sheriff, she had another thing coming as a bloodline consort meddling in global supe affairs. But alas, no one had asked him. He motioned at Pamela to follow after her.
Sebek accepted Godric's decision without delay. Iset read out the charges against Arun: "Failure to declare yourself to local authorities. Failure to pay annual taxes…" The long list was ordered from the smallest of infractions to the most severe. "Conspiracy to disrupt official Council business. Conspiracy to commit sedition. Conspiracy to murder of a Council member…"
And the final nail in the coffin: conspiracy to aid and abet patricide.
Eric shuddered. The mounting heinousness of the crimes against Tarquin affected him. There had been no great love lost between himself and the man, but no one should learn the most final of lessons from their own child. It was sickening.
Eric had mostly hated Tarquin for his imperiousness, for his incessant interference into their lives, and most of all, for the terrible effect he had on Godric. Rosalyn had every right to be suspicious about the way Tarquin's ghost haunted their maker. Her sharp instincts instructed her where Godric's fumbling attempts had failed. The two men were toxic together. For each other, to each other. Cut of the same mean fabric in opposite shapes, they reinforced every nasty impulse the other had. The tumultuous seasons of violence and abuse in their relationship caught everyone in their wake - very often Eric, and most especially Amleth. It was hell - when it wasn't glorious fun.
That had been Tarquin's great trick. He made it so wonderfully easy to be sucked into his schemes. Tarquin possessed every quality that an impressionable young Viking like himself had valued. He was incautious and wildly charismatic, and more conceited about his worth than any creature in existence. It was arrogance backed by legendary triumphs that, to Eric's naive eyes, merited praise.
Eric didn't understand his ambivalence about the man until much later. Around the time that psychoanalysis was invented, Pam had heard enough stories about the dead vampire to diagnose Tarquin's lethal allure. She had absolutely no time for such a man and was sick of hearing them wax nostalgic about their adventures with him. She paused one night from her fashion plates and explained - with devastating accuracy - that Tarquin was "a self-pitying narcissist who played on Godric's fragile sense of self for his own power-hungry dreams and could they please shut the fuck up about that asshole already."
For a brief, terrifying moment, Eric had feared his maker would retaliate against Pam. Instead, Godric simply got up, excused himself, and disappeared for several weeks. Amleth had, by then, long relocated to Japan with his children, but when they next met at an event, Amleth immediately sensed something had happened within the family. Eric had to explain that Tarquin was now a mostly taboo topic if the peace was to be kept. Amleth fell quiet, nodded in understanding, then left the convention. They had spoken little of the dead patriarch since then.
Whom they did discuss, with great fondness and laughter, were Tarquin's children - the ones that had not been monstrous. Arun and Sibyl had spent decades on and off with them. They were cherished. Beloved. Their loss pained Eric's dead heart and it infuriated him that love had turned into a weakness. It was with that ache and the thought of their importance in his long life that Eric braced himself and listened. He prayed the charges were false. The possibility that Arun and Amleth were traitors was unbearable. He felt the most childish wish that this could all just go away, and he could kiss their cheeks and laugh and things could be as they had.
"How do you plead?" Iset asked.
Arun sat up, a sheen of poisoned blood oozing from his pores. "Not guilty."
"To all charges?" She took a seat and explained. "Dearest, please. Listen carefully: you cannot lie to the oracle. Even fibbing about your taxes will denature your magic from the inside out. Understand?"
He grimaced. "I am innocent."
"Goodness. Let's have it then. Why not start with where you've been?"
A shadow of agony crossed Arun's features before he recovered enough to speak. His story came in short bursts. "We last saw each other in Egypt. At the end of Napoleon's occupation." He looked at Iset and Sebek for confirmation. The year had been 1801. "Easiest to start there. Before the murders. I had been running some of the French merchant ships coming from India. Siphoning off the humans' trade to fund the Council."
"I recall a visit at that time," Sebek said noncommittally.
Arun nodded. "Your queen gave me permission to operate in her waters. To shift the Council's operations exclusively to North Africa after Napoleon's empire collapsed. You'll know that for the next two decades the Council was steadily funded."
"Without fail," Godric noted.
"That was my responsibility. Serving my master well was my only goal."
"Arun," Iset warned. "The poison oracle is not a subtle tool. You lie, you die."
"For twenty-three years," he insisted, leaning into his chains, "I worked faithfully in and around your territory. I ensured Tarquin's government was funded. Don't pretend you weren't reading my reports to the Queen. I ran a tight operation. Above-board, totally transparent."
Iset thumbed the thick criminal file without looking at it. "Piracy and embezzlement aren't on your rap sheet. Stick to the facts related to your charges."
"Fine. I had contacts at every major port of call in the Maghreb and southern France. It was the easiest way to get money and resources into Paris where Tarquin had headquartered the Council. Out of nowhere - " He stopped and gasped in short pants. For a second, Eric thought that he had lied and the poison was killing him. Instead, it was his grief. Arun struck his chest repeatedly with a fist. "My soul!" he cried. He hit himself over and over. "My soul exploded! Out of nowhere!"
Arun let loose a sob that wracked his whole body. Tears flooded his cheeks. The poison had disarmed his ability to hold back the grief. He looked up to the gods and shook his head in disbelief. He recounted the exact hour, minute, and second he felt his maker's bond blow apart. "I was inspecting crates in a shipyard in Marseille. My tie with Tarquin exploded and I thought I would die too."
"You were in France when the murder took place?" Iset said, scandalized.
"Yes. With hundreds of kilometers of rough road between me and my villain sister and that terrorist Roman. How long has Egypt known they were involved? How long have you sat on your hands and let this injustice go unpunished?"
"Who can verify your whereabouts?" Sebek asked, ignoring his accusations.
Arun closed his eyes. "Amleth, of course. He was in Paris with Godric and he knew where I was - which was nowhere near the murder." He paused, thinking. "There will be ship manifests in the Archives Nationales written by me under my assumed alias at the time. My handwriting is unmistakable. The dates will put me in Marseille."
Godric waved a hand. "Unnecessary. We received that shipment. A week and a half after the murder. I'll never forget unloading it. It was supposed to be one of the last before we moved to London."
Arun met Godric's gaze and winced. "Paper."
"Reams and reams of paper," Godric said dispassionately. "What was the Council going to document then? Their deaths?"
Eric let out a tense breath.
Arun continued. "Amleth and I kept a blood tie back then to facilitate communication. He told me to run, to get to a safe house. I always assumed it was under Godric's advice. The situation was volatile. Roman and Thea had not been located and I had just become the paterfamilias. I had Amleth and Sibyl's safety to consider; at the time I still thought Calla and Sonia needed protecting too." He turned to Godric. "But was this true what Amleth told me? If you now suspect he was involved…did he trick me, Gohdi? I don't know how he could have. I would have felt the lie."
Godric licked his lips with a frown. "What you say is correct. I didn't want you anywhere near Paris. A safehouse was the best option. You were an obvious target."
Iset scratched a nail on one of the ornate handles of her chair. "I understand your bloodline's psychic powers are weaker than some."
Arun let out an unhappy sigh. "Yes. Nothing like House Senusret. Certainly not Godric's line."
"Weak enough that your sister could deceive her maker?" Iset observed. "Weak enough that you could?"
"We can communicate. Distance hinders us more than others. Thea was further afield from our maker than any of us most of the time. It's the token bonds that are frail. I'd renewed that tie with Amleth about eight months prior, so it was weak by then. But in a thousand years of brotherhood, Amleth never deceived me."
"This is your trial, not his," she snapped. "Were you blood tied to anyone else?"
"My maker," Arun spat angrily. "That…part of you…that is him…It never goes away."
Eric shivered. He had heard horror stories about the void that lingered, especially if the vampire had met a bad death. Something about the violence of it left remnants of the shattered tie.
The Egyptians turned to Godric. "Has that been your experience?" Sebek wondered. "You were still fully bound to your maker when he was murdered, no?"
The question mortified Godric. He managed to move his lips. "Just as Arun described. It is…a wound…that never heals."
Sebek made a croak in acceptance and they moved on. Eric squeezed his maker's hand. Gods damn the First Ones, they said any fucking thing that popped into their heads. Better the world forget Godric had ever been made by anyone at all.
"What did you do then?" Iset prompted Arun.
"What could I do? I ran. Sibyl was on a mission in Libya. She wasn't blood tied to anyone so I had no way of quickly contacting her. News of the Paris attack spread like wildfire, but I did not trust anyone to carry a message to her directly from my mouth. I sent coded letters by land and sea with no way of knowing whether or when she might receive them. My best bet was that she would retreat to the safehouse I'd set up in Tangier. It was only known to us."
"To whom?" Iset clarified.
"Me and Sibyl. Not even Amleth knew about it and I didn't tell him where I was headed. I had only just set it up the year before, in 1823, when Tarquin announced he was going to move the Council. Amleth didn't know Sibyl's whereabouts either."
Iset waved dismissively. "Defend yourself, not Amleth."
"I'd sent Sibyl on a hush-hush business deal in Tripoli. It was quiet only in an ordinary way. Tarquin would have sensed where she was. The acquisitions would have all been reported normally had it gone through. Again, look at the Council's quarterly financial reports. We were busy working. Our activities, our locations - they are all right there in black and white. I had hoped…" He lost the thread in grief and ran his manacled hands through his hair.
"Hoped what?" Sebek asked.
He shrugged helplessly. "That the safehouse was enough to save her." He wore an obliterated expression. "I do not know, to this day, how Thea caught her trail. Maybe it was the paperwork, in the end. She could never be arsed to trouble herself with it, but surely Roman did."
The pit of Eric's stomach dropped. Sibyl's trail? Sibyl had led her killer to the safehouse? "Fuuuck," he gasped out loud. Godric hissed at Eric for silence. Arun simply acknowledged the horror. He had lived with it for two centuries.
"I waited nearly two months in that bolt hole for Sibyl. Our beautiful girl…" He held out his hands to Eric and began weeping again. "I had time to embrace her. Mere moments to hold her, then…" He filled in Thea's name with a stream of curses that invoked the wrath of the most furious gods he knew. Eric pinched a handkerchief over his eyes, furious that he was leaking emotion, and Godric's knuckles settled against his knee.
"Tell us," Godric insisted. "Tell us how she murdered you."
And Arun did.
~OOO~
Arun detailed his hideous injuries. Told them how Thea had netted them in silver the moment he and Sibyl hugged in reunion. How he watched his blood sister burn as fire filled his own pupils. Only by virtue of his great age and strength had he managed to pull his charred arms and feet from the nails in the crucifix and bury himself in the sand before the flames turned him to ash. Months had gone by before he managed to drain an unlucky shepherd boy - and later, the small search party that followed in the boy's wake.
"So." Iset said, unmoved by his tale. "You survived. Why hide?"
Godric sat forward on his elbows. "Yes, Arun. Why hide from us?" His tone was deadly.
Arun swallowed and inclined his head. "I am the true Tarquinii patriarch. Do you think Roman and Thea would have given us a moment's breath of peace if I'd gone to you? I was a destroyed thing, a cripple. I failed my family. Why bring my weakness and failure to your doorstep only to put you at extraordinary risk?"
"Because we loved you," Godric seethed in a frightening whisper. "And we would have protected you."
"No. Who would have protected me? Your children? I was a blind, mute hunk of charcoal. By the time I could see and walk again you had disappeared!"
Godric shot to his feet. "To find you!"
Eric spun to his maker. "What?" he gasped. None of them had ever known where Godric had gone in those awful years that had followed Tarquin's death. He had vanished from the face of the Earth. They thought he had left them for good.
"You left them to fend for themselves!" Arun cried angrily. "I couldn't go to them. In London? Are you mad?"
Godric stalked toward Arun. "You idiot. I crossed two deserts looking for you. Summited the Himalayas and back. Trekked every cursed bog and forest we had ever known. I knew you would hide if you had survived. I just couldn't determine if you had." Godric blinked back tears of anger. "For the record," he said, turning to the inquisitors, "I found the burnt crucifixes in Morocco. Vampire burnings, undoubtedly. There was no trace of anyone. An odd whiff perhaps, like a ghost, but nothing to track. Just ash and sand." He glared again at Arun. "You were down. You weren't supposed to stay down. Not this long."
"Why didn't you just say so?!" Eric barked in outrage. "Fuck's sake, Godric!"
"Order!" Sebek pounded a fist on his chair.
"Oh, Eric," Arun said, not intending for it to sound like a taunt, though Eric took it as one. "Godric couldn't bear to face you for the same reason I couldn't. I couldn't protect Tarquin or Sibyl. How could I pretend to protect anyone else? I didn't deserve to survive. I couldn't let myself live."
Godric shoved his hands deep in his pockets. Head hanging, he nodded silently at the ground.
"A touching story," Iset said, "I find myself wholly dissatisfied. Perhaps Arun needs a second drought?"
"When I could, I fled to Burma," Arun replied quickly, before she could refill the alabaster chalice. "I needed a place where I could blend in but was unknown. I've been in Asia ever since. Declared myself to the local authority. Paid my taxes. Been an upstanding citizen. I'm known there as Amitav Joshi."
Eric felt his blood freeze. Godric turned to him. "What?"
"I know that name. Gods' teeth, Godric. That's -"
"The fellow that got Amleth and Sean Tan out of some bad business in Penang?" Arun said, raising his brows expectantly.
"You ran teak out of Burma."
"And tea and rubber." Arun shrugged. "But it was the teak that Amleth needed to not get killed by the thugs that ruled Penang at the time."
"You saved his life." Eric sat back in awe. He had heard that story many times. He had only known the name of Amleth's unlikely savior, not his face. The vampire had oddly come out of the woodwork to do business with Amleth the one time only to refuse any further dealings with him.
Sebek rustled impatiently in his robes. "We will, of course, confirm this with King Tan."
"Of course," Arun replied.
Godric huffed in realization. "You were the one who brought Sean and Amleth together. I'd always wondered how they had connected." Japan was a long way from the Malay Peninsula, yet Amleth had been lured to Southeast Asia for a lucrative investment venture at the turn of the century. A thought occurred to Godric. "Did you vet Sean before letting Amleth near him, or did I?"
"A little bit of both, I think." Arun bit back a sheepish smile. "It was pure luck that Amleth came east. I do regret Penang. I thought I was putting distance between him and the samurai lords he crossed. I never dreamed he'd immediately get tangled up with the Malay Kongsi. Vicious, that clan was."
Godric blew out a breath, then crooked an eyebrow and smiled. They were.
"Thankfully he's only needed a guardian angel a few times. I never abandoned him, Godhi. Or you."
"Touching as this is and all," Iset drawled, "Proof that you survived and secretly collaborated with your blood brother who is also under suspicion is decidedly not evidence that you weren't involved in the conspiracy to murder your maker and patriarch."
Arun stared back at her confidently. "Because you haven't asked the right question."
"Why the hell does Roman want to control Tarquin's clan?" Eric supplied. At official summits, it was obvious to every vampire with eyes that the High Counselor and the Tarquinii girls were thick as thieves.
Arun nodded, visibly relieved that they still worked so well together. "Tarquin was an obvious barrier to running the Council. Eliminate him, fine. Why bother with his children?"
"You were always more of a threat than you realize," Godric asserted.
"Perhaps. But he didn't need Thea's help to kill me. So we ask again: why meddle with his children?"
Sebek made a croak in indignation. "You are the one under interrogation, boy. Not us."
"Apologies, Vizier. Thea's vulnerabilities explain my innocence. She was never groomed to run the clan as I was. On the contrary. Tarquin kept her from power because she always reached for too much of it. He barred her from Council proceedings. Sent her on lengthy goose chases as Enforcer to keep her in her place."
"At my urging," Godric clarified. "She blamed me for it."
"Yes, and she blamed Tarquin too. She's a braggart by nature. Only she felt our maker had not given her enough to brag about. He had, in her mind, held her back. As she crucified us, she boasted of all the great things she expected to gain from our deaths. She was so excited."
"So Thea wanted to be the matriarch," Iset said in annoyance. "Fratricide is a common problem. Who hasn't wanted to kill their brother on occasion?" She cast a wry look at the Vizier.
Sebek ignored her. "What did Roman promise her?"
Arun coughed at the bloody phlegm coagulating in his lungs. "Everything she has now. A powerful territory of her own. Popularity. Influence. By all accounts, she's been delighted by the outcome."
"Until Calla grew up and they got greedier," Sebek observed. "Foolish of those women to think they could seize Northman's territory. Even more foolish for Sophie-Anne to have tried to sell it. Egypt likes the Sheriff exactly where he is."
Eric could not help but stiffen. That sure sounded like an edict if ever he had heard one. He didn't like feeling obligated to a course of action, even if it was his own plan.
"But that's my point," Arun stressed. "Thea can't control herself, let alone anyone else. She, Calla, Sonia - they have always been hopelessly dependent. If Thea's a matriarch then I'm the Pope. She doesn't rule Athens anymore than Calla would have run Eric's Area Five. Don't you see? They're Roman's pawns. When he murdered our maker and ostensibly me, they became orphans. They would have scattered like stones without his leadership."
Godric went rigid as something occurred to him. His head tipped in rapid thought. "Roman's manservant, Haleem," he said slowly. "He attended to me when I was summoned to the Council."
"Ah, yes," Sebek said. "The thin one. With bushy eyebrows? He often attends summits with Roman."
"We spoke. He's an orphan."
Iset perked up. "Huh. There's another one - a Turk built like a beetle and manners to match. Borat is the name?"
"Bora," Sebek corrected. "No clan. I remember his case. He worked as muscle for several houses and made trouble until -"
"He was scooped up into Roman's service?" Arun supplied. "There are others. It's a pattern."
"That bastard demon Derek Ronwe," Eric said. "Abjured by his entire kind."
"These orphans," Godric shuddered in horror. "He collects them."
Arun smiled unhappily. "Or - he makes them."
Disturbed, Sebek rose to his feet and swept his robes back in a fluid motion. He leaned down to peer into Arun's eyes to confirm that the potion was still in full effect. "Let us deliberate on this testimony. Lord Godric, a word?"
A/N: Hi loyal readers, old and new, you still with me? Thanks so much for hanging around. Can you believe that I began this story nearly TEN years ago? I'm determined to finish it up. Many thanks to maxxence and oldnumberseven for the encouragement, and special thanks as well to SpiceHoney, whose brilliant beta reading provided Iset with the snappy line "You lie, you die." Because of course she did. Hugs to you all, and talk soon, xx, M.