She lifted her eyes up to the smiling portrait of Queen Bess. “I miss Kat,” she said softly to the painting. “Her daughter is two now, did you know? She’s adorable.”
No reply, of course, and for all that Miranda longed for someone to talk to, she was grateful that at least the paintings weren’t talking back. She’d had enough of being crazy for one lifetime.
“Maybe I should tell Jonathan,” Miranda went on. “He knows Faith … he could tell me I’m being ridiculous, or … not. But if he said I’m not, if someone else confirmed it and I knew it wasn’t just me picking it up … I don’t know what I’d do …”
The sad fact was that Faith would die before she’d admit the truth if Miranda were to confront her directly, and she knew—as did Faith—that David didn’t have romantic feelings for the Second, so it wasn’t as if they were destined for
a repeat of the Deven incident. Faith’s behavior was professional as always, and the only reason Miranda had to suspect anything was her gift, so really, there was nothing to be done about it but keep it to herself and hope nothing went wrong.
It wasn’t herself or David that Miranda was worried about; it was Faith. Unrequited love was awful enough without the subject of that love being married in soul to someone else who was also your friend. Faith wasn’t an emotional person, at least not where anyone could see. She and David were a lot alike in that regard, and Miranda had seen how hard it was for David to cope with powerful feelings for someone he didn’t want to love.
Even now, and even with Miranda, David almost never brought up what had happened with Deven; he was still deeply ashamed of the loss of control that had nearly driven him and his Queen apart. They had talked about it but not because he wanted to; Miranda refused to let things fester as they had before. They had to be as honest with each other as possible—they had eternity to contend with, and that was a long damn time to harbor resentment.
For months, she had dealt with moments of rage toward her husband and the man that she knew he still loved … but in the end she had to make a choice, and living with that kind of anger was poisonous. She couldn’t afford to lose her grip on her emotions, and David had realized that to be her Prime, he had to stay as strong as possible so she would always have an anchor.
She had to forgive, for her own sake, and they had to move on. David, she knew, was having a harder time with it than she was; even with all the lives he’d taken over the centuries, nothing had come closer to breaking him down with self-loathing than hurting her. He wanted to hate Deven, and couldn’t; he wanted to change what had happened, and couldn’t. Part of him wanted Miranda to hate him. Nothing Miranda could have done to punish him would ever be worse than what he did to himself.
If the departed Queen in the painting had an opinion on
the matter, she kept it to herself. It stood to reason she’d keep her own counsel; by all accounts Bess had been very wise.
Miranda stared at the portrait for another moment, wishing for any kind of reassurance before shaking her head and muttering to herself, “Your cheese done slid off your cracker, baby girl. Stop talking to dead people and get back to work.”
She suspected Bess would agree.
She turned back to the piano and began running through one of her favorite covers, Concrete Blonde’s “Bloodletting.” She’d taken to playing it onstage after the vampire rumors started flying, at first just for the laugh; but after a few shows she had pared the song down to its bones and sang it in a half whisper with a soft accompaniment, and it took on a haunting sort of irony that she and the audience both appreciated for their own reasons.
As many times as she’d performed, she didn’t really need practice, especially since she didn’t have a band or backup singers to coordinate with as she had when recording the album, but she was working on a new song she wanted to debut at ALMF and it had consumed most of her rehearsal time this past week. She still wasn’t happy with the last chorus. Songwriting had never been easy for her, and she’d done a number of collaborations to get around it, but the lyrics she wrote herself were always the biggest hits because they were the most personal. Crazy or not, human or not, people liked what they heard when it came from beneath her skin.
She finished the Concrete Blonde and transitioned seamlessly into the new song, tentatively titled “Landing.”
The angel fell with tattered wings
She flew too close to the sun again
The sky is full of broken things
Wishing for a softer place to land
It’s not the fall that kills you, darlin’
It’s not the fall that kills you …
* * *
Custom dictated that there was no formal declaration of a Pair’s arrival at Council until the ball; the Primes and Consorts would arrive at the Haven throughout Thursday night and early Friday morning before sunrise, then a few stragglers Friday evening before things got underway. At that point each Pair would be announced as they entered the ballroom, and from that moment the Council was considered officially convened.
Still, the Haven’s staff made sure that each Pair was made to feel honored and welcome as they settled into their rooms, and David’s closest allies would of course get there first and have a chance to meet privately. Other gatherings would doubtless occur among other Primes. Aside from the Magnificent Bastard parades, there were few chances for allies to meet face-to-face, so it was tradition to allow even one’s enemies to get together … even if it meant they were conspiring against their host.
Whoever was hosting the Council was expected to remain as neutral as possible as far as etiquette went. It was considered a major coup to host, a vote of confidence in one’s power rather like landing the Olympic Games. David had lobbied long and hard for this, and he was determined things would go as smoothly as possible. As old as he was, his tenure had not been long, and he was still looked at as an upstart newcomer in the Council. He was the first Prime to have won a Council convention with less than fifty years’ rule under his belt. He knew that several of the Primes who had voted for him had done so more to see if he’d screw it up than because they liked him.
That was fine. He had built a career out of making other vampires eat crow. By Monday they would all have feathers in their teeth.
“Tanaka-san,” David said, bowing. “Welcome. It’s good to see you again.”
The Prime of Japan returned the gesture and smiled. “Likewise, my old friend.”
Tanaka was older than Deven, and given his age and status he could have easily been some sort of wise-old-Asian stereotype, but he coupled the bearing of an emperor with the wardrobe of a business executive. As parliamentary leader of the Council, he ran the meetings and had therefore given up his vote in most matters to maintain neutrality, but his influence among the Signets was formidable, and where his favor went, most of the Council tended to follow. He rarely spoke ill of—or heaped praise upon—anyone. His friendship, however, was coveted.
Each Signet territory’s culture reflected its human culture, of course, and despite Japan’s dense vampire population, it had been calm as long as Tanaka held it. Japan was known for its fierce warrior class and its elegant, highly ritualized Court. Tanaka dealt with his enemies quietly and swiftly, and though David knew there was gang activity there, no one would ever see it from outside. David had learned a lot observing Tanaka’s leadership.
“I trust your accommodations are acceptable,” David added.
Tanaka smiled. “Of course. I am honored that you remembered this was our favorite room. Not surprised, but honored.”
“For you, anything.” David turned to the woman who was directing the Japanese Elite on where to leave the Pair’s luggage. “Is there anything you require, Lady Queen?” he asked.
Mameha didn’t often speak English—in fact she rarely spoke at all—but it would be a mistake to dismiss her as servile or unintelligent, as some Primes tried to when they met her. She missed nothing, and David had heard that she carried several weapons concealed in her traditional kimono. David thought back to the last time the Pair had visited; Mameha was to date the only woman he’d ever seen visibly intimidate Miranda, and with good reason. It would never occur to anyone to treat Mameha with anything but utmost respect; her sheer presence demanded it.
She merely bowed, said that no, she required nothing, thank you, and went back to her business.
“I wanted to invite you to a private reception in my study,” David said, returning his attention to Tanaka. “The West, the Plains, India, and Eastern Europe will be there.”
“I shall be happy to attend,” Tanaka replied. “I need to speak to Varati anyway to finalize a business transaction. And I am anxious to hear the latest news on your network progress—as are the others, I imagine. I know that as soon as you have the system ready for distribution, we will want to purchase a license.”
“Absolutely. Of course I’d give it to you for free, but I’m sure we can strike a deal that will satisfy Council propriety.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Two
A.M.
, then. I’ll have Faith come to escort you to the study.”
They bowed to each other again, and David left the suite with a nod to the Japanese Elite who stood guard.
Once in the hallway again, he paused.
The next suite to visit was California’s.
David steeled himself. There was no reason to be nervous. They had talked frequently over the last three years, and as far as anyone was concerned, the whole horrible incident was behind them … but he knew, as did they all, that in reality it would never be done.
Just get it over with.
The door opened before he could even knock. “There you are,” Jonathan said with a grin. “Come on in.”
They shook hands, and the Consort ushered him into the room. He gave David a sidelong glance. “Relax,” Jonathan said. “I’m here to chaperone.”
Normally David would have been embarrassed to be so transparent, but really, it was something of a relief not to dance around the subject. He’d had no idea how this was going to go; phone calls were one thing, but face-to-face … but Jonathan’s expression held only acceptance.
It had been three years since he’d seen Deven in person. Three years—and the last time they’d been in the same city, they’d surrendered to the demons that still bound them
together. David wouldn’t allow it to happen again … but he would never have believed it would happen in the first place. Nothing he had ever been sure of about himself held true anymore, and that was the most terrifying thing he’d ever had to face in his life.
The Prime stood at the window, watching the splendid view of the night; as David approached, he turned toward him, unsmiling.
They stared at each other.
“My Lord Prime,” Deven finally said, bowing. “It’s good to see you again.”
David took a deep breath and held out his hand. “You, too. Welcome back.”
Deven looked down at David’s hand, then back up at his face; slowly, he offered his own, and they shook, neither one willing to draw any closer. David realized that Deven was as afraid of this as he was.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Jonathan said. “You two are ridiculous. Just kiss already and let’s move on.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Deven said quietly.
The Consort made an irritated noise. “If you start humping each other, I’ll turn the hose on you. Cross my heart. Now stop acting like you can ignore all of this and it’ll go away—we all know what happens when you do that.”
David couldn’t help but laugh a little. “All right, all right.” Carefully, he moved closer and leaned down to bestow a kiss on Deven’s forehead.
Dev raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?” He put a hand around the back of David’s neck and pulled David’s lips to his.
The contact was electric … but David found it easy enough to keep the kiss brief and light, and when he drew back, they both breathed a little easier. He did, however, notice that Deven’s ears were a little pink.
“There,” Jonathan said. “See? We’re all adults here. You were perfectly able to be friends before and nothing went wrong. You’ve got to trust yourselves.”
Deven smiled. “All the same … thank you for putting us in a different room this time.”
David gave him a slightly wicked grin. “Actually Hart’s in that one. I thought that was appropriate.”
“You are as delightfully evil as always,” Deven replied. “Now, to the matter at hand.”
David frowned. “What’s the matter?”
Deven sat down. “A few days ago I lost contact with the operative I had in Hart’s Elite.”
David bit off a curse. “So we have to assume the worst—he knows you were spying on him.”
“No, he knows the Red Shadow was spying on him. Even then, he’d have no idea why; the Shadow doesn’t normally work for vampires, so he’d most likely believe a human hired us.”
“Doesn’t normally? Does that mean you’ve changed your policy?”
“Irrelevant, David. The point is that even though Hart has no reason to suspect my involvement, nor any way to know on whose behalf Claret was working, he knows someone was watching him … and more important, I no longer have eyes on Hart. Whatever his plan is, we’re flying blind now.”
David nodded slowly, straightening, determination stepping up to stomp out the stirrings of fear. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We proceed as planned. Whatever he’s up to, we’re ready for it. Let him try something. If he makes a move on us, he’ll regret it.”
Three
“There … all done.”
Miranda took a deep breath. “How’s it look?”
Faith raised an eyebrow. “As usual, I recommend you wear a bag over your head.”
“Be serious, Faith! I can’t see it!”
“I can help you with that.”
Miranda looked up from the vanity—which wasn’t much of one, considering it had no mirror—to see David in the bathroom doorway, mostly dressed, with his laptop and some sort of odd contraption that looked a lot like a video camera. “What’s that?”
He gave her his “geek triumphant” smile and set the computer down on the counter, opened it, and plugged the camera into the USB port. “One moment, my Lady.”