Authors: A.J. Aalto
“I
totally
want you to grovel. Nobody’s ever groveled for me before. I bet I’ll like it.” I tried not to smile at him, but I’d missed my annoying assistant, and my lips betrayed me, curling ever so slightly upward. I should be angry. He’d lied to me. He’d let down the PCU team. He’d released Malas Nazaire from his bondage and loosed a dangerous creature back into the world. Perhaps the velvet and lace was better punishment than I could mete out. If Batten got his hands on Declan, he’d probably try to strangle him, not that I thought he’d have much luck; we had little information on what exactly it meant to be
dhampir
, physiology-wise.
I pointed out, “You done wrong, kid.”
He nodded, lowering his chin to look at me through his lashes. “Yes. I do realize why you might see it that way. If it makes any difference at all, I’ve taken responsibility for feeding Master Malas all on my own. No human body makes enough to feed him alone, and he’d always had a group feed arranged, but it seems I am able to keep up with the demands of his appetite. He is not killing, he is not draining, and he is not putting any burden on the mortal population of Monaco. I’ve been at his heel the entire time. He’s turned no one. He’s been an absolute prince. This, I swear to you, Dr. B.”
Monaco.
So that’s where they’d been hiding. Was it still considered “hiding” if no one was really looking for you? I’d assumed the primeval revenants would have lowered the hammer on Malas for his disrespect of the Bond and working with John Spicer to turn Youngers into hybrid revenant-zombie creatures. Instead, they invited him to a party. Tricksy old buggers. Or maybe they were scheming. I didn't go in for inscrutability, much. I liked to scrute. I don't think that's actually a thing, but it's totally a thing that should be a thing.
The Blue Sense picked up a flutter of fear in Declan’s belly. I felt my gloved fists relax. “But…?”
His eyes darted away from mine. “I have concerns. About…” He waved his hand vaguely behind us in the direction of the bay. “All of this. For obvious reasons.”
Obvious to you, maybe
. I looked around at the bathroom. Marble floors, pale beige walls, everything tidy and in good order. A big wicker basket in the corner by a silk palm tree held crumpled paper towels. The two urinals were sparkling clean. The air was softly scented with mandarin orange by an automatic air freshener. It was a strange place for a meeting, but we certainly wouldn’t be interrupted by a revenant. The undead don’t need to eliminate unless they eat regular food; their systems use every last drop of blood they ingest. “You can confide in me, Declan. My lips are sealed.”
“We’re running out of time,” he said, and his voice fell under his breath. “Certain people can’t be nominated. It would be disastrous.”
I was going to continue to bluff my way through this, but he must have seen a flicker of confusion on my face. “Marnie, you know why we’ve been called, right?”
“If I say yes, will you buy it?”
He gave a frustrated little cough-snarl. “Speaker Aristoxenus is the right hand of the Overlord. He’s going to monitor the transition of one of the houses into the ruling position, to make one revenant king.” He registered the shock on my face. “Don’t you pay attention to what’s going on at court? Doesn’t Harry keep you updated?”
“Never,” I admitted with a baffled shrug. “Harry says we live in the New World and our concerns are limited to North America and the territory vacated by Malas. Why is the throne unoccupied? What’s happened to the First Turned?”
He couldn’t be dust; the death of a master wiped out that entire bloodline, and since each prince was turned by the king, every revenant on the planet would have been turned to ash if the king had been destroyed. A terrifying thought. I didn’t want to imagine opening Harry’s casket one evening and finding nothing but a pile of dust, but I’d been warned a thousand times that this was perfectly possible; should anything happen to the king or to the crowned prince of our house, Harry would simply cease to exist. I was mentally prepared for it. Emotionally, I’d be decimated. I hadn't even picked out a cookie jar to put his ashes in.
But the king had never been absent from the throne, either. He’d never been replaced. It was unprecedented, unheard of. The weight of the idea settled low in my belly like a slice of sketchy meatloaf that should have been pitched and not eaten as a midnight snack. I wondered if it tied into BugBelly's predictions, and the coming of the trolls. He'd mentioned the immortals and their husbandry of mankind, their burden of sheltering humanity from the onslaught that would surely come if the portal failed.
Falling away into madness
taunted at the edge of my mind.
Declan shook his head. “I don’t know. But the houses that have been called are all eligible to replace the First Turned. The shift will be decided at court. The rest isn’t clear. But…”
Eligible? A replacement?
I felt that flutter of disquiet again from him and slowly peeled off both of my gloves. His eyes widened slightly as he watched me slip them into my pockets. “You don’t want to say it.”
He shook his head “no” in agreement with what I’d said, and, after a shaky breath, offered me both of his hands, palms up, flicking aside his silly lace cuffs. I slid my palms on top of his, and he closed his fingers around mine.
The spark was immediate, and stronger than the last time I’d touched him. That made sense; he’d since become Malas Nazaire’s only DaySitter, and the frightening powers Malas wielded had become Declan’s to share entirely, that mushrooming telekinetic clout on top of his own natural
dhampir
abilities. I couldn’t fathom what power he could wield now.
A slip of heat purled through my veins, so much different than the invasive cold of other immortals; this was the power of the living, breathing
dhampir
, a sweet, pleasurable push. Even his fear was warm and vivacious, and it drummed into my chest like the power of a full orchestra, making my own heart skip ahead to match it. As my psychometry roared to life, it shoved my clairempathy aside to offer me several garish glimpses into Declan’s daily life: struggling to corral his companion’s thirst into a single, manageable urge, battling to contain the surging spillover of lust and hunger from an ancient revenant in his own self, and learning to balance the budding telekinetic Talent Malas gifted to him. I was also granted a brief peek into the mistrust and spite that
monsieur
Nazaire harbored for humankind. Finally, I saw what Declan most feared: the amplification of Talents and hungers that would come with the upgrade from prince to king, the freedom from responsibility to mankind that would come with Nazaire’s complete withdrawal from mortal society, and the inevitable failure for caring for the herd. For a moment my human mind rebel at the “herd” image, refusing to be lumped in with cattle.
Then I got a glimpse of the high parts of Declan’s current lifestyle: fine dining, elegant parties, the lookout point in Old Town, strolling in the quaint, winding pedestrian streets on warm nights, gambling at the bustling Casino Monte Carlo, the marina on the glittering Cote d’Azur. Dinner at the Hotel de Paris on Malas Nazaire’s coin;
le vicomte
had been sparing no expense in keeping his new DaySitter well-fed and content. Spoiled, even.
Though Declan’s new title required of him total loyalty, he and I both knew that Malas Nazaire would be a bad choice for king. Malas had a bad habit of turning people against their wishes, displaying some shockingly bad judgment, and being generally horrifying. Putting him in power would not soften or elevate his opinion of human beings. Malas of house Nazaire had no business being near the throne, much less on it. Declan wanted to say it, but was constrained from doing so.
I withdrew my hands, nodding to show him I understood. “Gotcha. And I agree. Some of the immortals gathered here should not be chosen to ascend the throne.”
Some?
Since I didn’t have any idea who the king was, or which of his strengths made him a good ruler, how could I judge which revenant, if any, would be a good replacement?
Declan seemed relieved. “I’m not sure we’ll have an opportunity to sway things one way or another. It’s not as though DaySitters will be given a vote or anything, if it comes to that. And if it did…”
“We wouldn’t really be free to vote our conscience,” I finished. “Loyalty would require us to stand behind our respective houses.”
He withdrew a square card from the back pocket of his pants and unfolded it. “And did you notice anything funny about which houses had been called?”
I shook my head. I hadn’t dissected the houses themselves. “I take it you don’t mean funny ha-ha?”
“Not a single house with precognition or telepathy.”
Oh, that. Yeah, I'd noticed. The knot in my belly tightened further. “They don’t want us to know what’s coming. Why not?”
“I doubt it’s because they’re baking us surprise cupcakes.”
“That’s too bad,” I muttered. “I have a feeling I’m gonna need a fucking cupcake.”
Declan’s eyes sparkled and his lips curled up again in that sheepish smile. “I’m glad you’re not pissed at me for doing things all arseways. I’ve missed you.” He studied the toes of his half boots for a second and then peeked back up at me. “How’re things at the PCU?”
“You mean, who else might be mad at you?”
“I guess,” he admitted with a one-shouldered shrug. “Is SSA Chapel okay?”
“He’s back from vacation,” I side-stepped. “And he’s not the type to hold a grudge. You know that. I’m fairly certain he was over it two minutes after he found out that Malas was missing. He rebounds quickly. On the other hand, Golden is here in Hammerfest; she’d probably kick your ass halfway to Sweden, so you should probably avoid her if possible. Also, Batten is here.”
“Ha!” Declan grimaced. “Well, I think I’d best avoid him, too.”
“
Yeeeeeaaaah
, good plan. If he sees you in that getup, he’ll beat you up and steal your lunch money.”
Declan smiled down at his velvet and lace. “It’s not my first choice, Dr. B., I assure you.”
“Batten’s still got a warrant to stake Malas. Just a heads-up.”
Declan nodded. “Noted. Thank you. I don’t suppose you can keep it quiet that I’m here.”
“They already know.”
“Well, fuck.” He gave a soft sniff of a laugh. “I’m going to see them at court anyway. I don’t suppose you’ve got any guidance for me?”
“I say you make a flashy entrance,” I advised, pulling my gloves back on. “A whangdilly of a hullaballoo. You know, don’t just walk into the throne room like a goober. Oh! Oh! I know! Do the Bunny Hop. Everyone loves the Bunny Hop.”
“Very helpful,” he drawled. “I meant guidance on our larger predicament.”
A
replacement
. I propped my gloved hands on my hips and thought about it, clucking my tongue. “Well... do we know anyone who
would
make a good king?”
Declan looked pained. “Am I allowed to say ‘no’?”
“Probably not too loudly,” I said. “The biggest problem is, all of these revenant princes, they’ve been around a long time. A really long time. They’re accustomed to living among us in their own ways, in their own corners of the world. Each one has a Talent or two. The First Turned has all nine. He’s accustomed to leading, managing others, not doing his own thing. He’s sacrificed the niceties and freedom of living among humans. He’s been alone, segregated, way up north. He doesn’t miss human beings, of course, because he hasn’t ever spent time around human beings. He doesn’t need us. The princes, I imagine, would. I can’t even picture someone like Harry being stowed up there away from the hustle and bustle of mortal life. It would be like another death. How would he adapt?”
What I didn’t add, but didn’t need to, was: how does a DaySitter adjust to being trapped up in the Arctic for the rest of his or her life? I could see in his face that Declan was dreading that possibility. As a preternatural anthropologist, his life was spent in search of answers, and not just his own genealogy, but all the answers of the revenant history. And I could see that studying it was a vastly better option than becoming it, but wondered if Declan's curiosity at what the king's archives might hold was something he was conveniently overlooking for the moment.
“There are princes there,” Declan said doubtfully. “In their strongholds.”
“Ah, but they’re not
always
here. They’re free to roam. The king must stay apart forever and always, body and soulless husk. He has only his DaySitters, from what I understand. Other than a few demons, he’s kicking it solo. Maybe the Overlord swings by to play shuffleboard on alternate Thursdays.”
“Perhaps we
do
want one of them segregated like that,” Declan said. “Rather than putting the most benevolent on the throne, perhaps we can angle for the one that causes the most trouble for mankind to ascend. He’d be trapped there. Maybe…”
Jeremiah Prost
, I thought. I could tell Declan was reconsidering making Malas a prisoner, though it would require of him the sacrifice of never leaving the Arctic. Prost couldn’t do any more harm to children if he were locked on an island in the Arctic. But… my mind strayed back to the orc mystic’s warning. Would Prost be the best choice to thwart the coming troll invasion? Would he even bother trying? (
The sun sentries
, my brain teased.
Worm forge
.) Declan was watching my face carefully, and I wanted to confide in him about the orc prophecy, but something made me hold my tongue.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, sighing. “And I don’t suppose I can ask Harry; I know what he’ll say. He absolutely has to remain true to House Dreppenstedt in this matter, and he'd expect me to do the same. There would be no choice, there.”
Declan looked like something had occurred to him, and he said slowly, “Yes. You would have to remain committed to House Dreppenstedt.” Then he gave me a pointed look. “I must remain a faithful servant of those above me.
I
cannot do anything unexpected. Can I?”
I shook my head, but I wasn’t so sure.