Midnight's Daughter

Chapter Fifteen

I knew Radu wouldn’t appreciate having Stinky at the dinner table, especially since he’d managed to coat himself in mud again, thanks to his frolic under the bushes. But I wasn’t leaving the little guy on his own. Letting him run loose, especially when the place was on high alert, was not smart. And ’Du had certainly had worse dinner guests. In fact, out of everyone at the table that night, Stinky was the least scary.

The dining hall turned out to be on the opposite side of the grand entryway from the living room, but we didn’t go there. I guess Radu thought the table, which looked like it could seat forty, was a bit much for an intimate party. Instead, I was led downstairs to a wine cellar, where a much smaller table had been set for five. I plopped Stinky down in the seat next to mine and nodded at Olga. She inclined her massive head back at me, and the fact she’d been able to see my greeting tells you how many lamps Radu had burning around the place. He was being the thoughtful host, making sure that, even without electricity, there was enough light for a troll’s weak eyes. Geoffrey silently set another place, not deigning to so much as look at either me or the hair ball next to me, then went back to pouring wine.

Louis-Cesare wasn’t eating—so much for the stereotype about the French and food—nor was he bothering to conceal his dislike for the Fey. It was a good thing he had the rep of someone who could handle himself in a fight. Not that Caedmon seemed worried.

The Fey had commandeered a place on my right and appeared intent on being the perfect dinner guest. He was voluble in praise for the onion soup and escargots that started us off, and for the wine, some of Radu’s best stock. I suppose for an immortal, anything new was good, and that dinner was certainly a new one. At least I doubted that he’d previously sat down at a vampire’s table with a dhampir, a Duergar and a large Bergtroll, but then, what did I know? And that was the problem. I didn’t like having an ally I knew so little about any more than Louis-Cesare did.

By the time the second course was served, I decided that enough pleasantries had been exchanged. “Okay, Caedmon. We’re here. Spill it.”

“Certainly.” Unlike the rest of us, he seemed to be enjoying the special version of steak tartare that Radu’s chef had worked up for the main course. He’d already finished the helping Geoffrey had served us, and now used the end of his knife to spear another of the tiny cows that were wandering around the central serving dish. The rest of the miniature herd scattered, lowing, to hide under the spinach leaves that rimmed the plate. “What would you like to know?”

Louis-Cesare broke in before I had a chance to decide which of the questions crowding my brain to let out first. “How do you know that Miss Lachesis carries the Fey heir?”

Caedmon swirled his desperately mooing captive around a dish of spicy mustard. Blood mixed with the sauce, creating a spiral effect. “Because she said so. I tend to take a lady at her word about such things.”

“To whom did she say it? To you?”

“No. She made the claim to one of the humans conducting the auction. He contacted our delegation at MAGIC, offering her to us—for a substantial price, of course.”

“Then how did Drac get to her first?” I was sitting on my hands to keep from wrapping them around that ivory throat, but that wasn’t going to work for long. I was bled almost dry and exhausted, enough that my temper should have been calmed at least a little. But no such luck.

Caedmon used his fork to cut off the escape of a couple of cows, which had been making a break for the shadows around the salt cellar. “He reached the auction ahead of me and took her from the auctioneers by force.” Caedmon didn’t sound particularly put out. He was relaxed, casual even. “Whether he can manage to control one so powerful, I do not know.” He shrugged. “Perhaps if he keeps her sedated…”

I was about to erupt, but Louis-Cesare beat me to it. “Stop teasing her. Tell us what you know.” His face matched the voice—cold, hard and not amused.

Caedmon’s friendly expression altered, his smile growing as brittle and brilliant as cut crystal. He didn’t seem to like orders. I don’t know what would have happened if Stinky hadn’t chosen that moment to choke on one of the larger cows—about the length of my index finger—which he’d been trying to shove down whole. Olga clapped him on the back with one enormous hand, causing the creature to fly out of his mouth like it had been shot from a gun. It landed in the tray of Amaretto pears Geoffrey had just brought in. A dozen butterflies, which had been decorating the dish, scattered in a mad fluttering of spun-sugar wings.

Radu looked tragic. Geoffrey didn’t look like much of anything, his face a careful blank as he regarded the ruined dish and his splattered shirt. Olga, on the other hand, seemed to find the whole thing extremely funny, judging by her guffaws of laughter. She’d been throwing the miniature herd back like popcorn, not even bothering to chew, and I guess Stinky had been trying to imitate her. I checked on him, but he didn’t appear to be suffering any ill effects.

I turned back to Caedmon. “Please—tell us what you know.”

He inclined his head in a naturally aristocratic gesture. “Of course.” The rich voice wrapped itself around my nerves, instantly soothing. Which was a good thing, considering what he had to say. “I am afraid I have more questions than answers, as does the Domi, our assembly of elders. A child is a great joy among us, not something to be hidden in the dark as if shameful. Yet no one knew until recently that the king was even acquainted with your friend, much less that he may have sired a child with her! And now you tell me you didn’t know it, either.” Caedmon flashed me a red-toothed smile. “The mystery deepens.”

He ripped a leg off one of the struggling creatures on his plate and swallowed it whole. He seemed to like only the haunches. Half a dozen tiny torsos floated on a river of blood in front of him, a few still weakly moving. “Maybe it isn’t true,” I offered.

“Why would she make up such a fantastic lie?” Louis-Cesare asked.

I shrugged. “Maybe hoping for help in getting away from her kidnappers? Anything would be better than being handed over to the harvesters.”

“But why contact the Fey?” he insisted. “They are not known for altruism toward outsiders. If they rescued her and discovered she was lying, she would likely be in even more peril than before.”

“But was she lying?” I turned to Caedmon. “What does your king say?”

“I would ask him had he not disappeared several weeks ago. There was an assassination attempt, or so it seems. He went on a hunting expedition with two trusted retainers one afternoon and never returned. We found his horse—riderless—and, after a search, the two retainers—dead. But of the king himself, there was no sign.”

I stared at my plate, my stomach flip-flopping like a landed fish. I herded my cows over to Stinky, who appeared to have the appetite of a couple of starving teenagers, and tried to order my thoughts. “So the Domi sent you to find out the truth,” I finally said. “Because if Claire’s claim wasn’t a desperate lie, she carries the heir to the throne.” Caedmon’s mouth was full, but he nodded. “And if the rumor is true?” He swallowed but still said nothing. “You’re planning to take her back with you,” I accused.

Caedmon sat back in the hard, uncomfortable dining chair as if on a throne, his legs stretched out in front of him in supine elegance. “The present situation proves that she is hardly safe here, does it not?”

“I believe I’m missing something,” Radu announced indistinctly, around the tiny brown leg that was sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He seemed to be having difficulty with his own chef’s cooking. A moment before, a bull had fallen over the edge of his plate, and when he’d tried to scoop it up surreptitiously, it gored his finger. “I thought the heir had to have a majority of Fey blood. Why would Claire’s child, assuming she is pregnant, be in the running?”

Caedmon shook his head, causing all that golden hair to shimmer like a silken banner caught in a breeze. “Forgive me, but you do not seem to know a great deal about the lady in question. The Domi has recently learned that her mother had a liaison with a powerful Dark Fey noble. If Claire was the result, a child born to her and our king would be three-quarters Fey. And a very strong contender indeed.”

I stared at Louis-Cesare, and could tell we were both thinking the same thing. “Half-breed.” He said it first.

I nodded. The Fey who attacked us hadn’t been after me at all—they’d mistaken me for Claire, the other half-breed who lived at that address. It looked like Kyle had gotten something right, after all. Claire was carrying a nonhuman child, but the father was Fey, not vampire. I felt a rush of relief so extreme that I laughed aloud. This garnered me a few worried glances, but I didn’t care. That was one huge weight off my mind. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the only one.

“I was under the impression that the Fey took human babies and left changelings in their place,” Radu was saying. “Why would a Fey leave a child behind?”

Caedmon made a graceful, indeterminate hand gesture. “Presumably because the lady did not tell him she was going to have one. Perhaps she feared that he would take the child if he knew.”

“Then how did the king find out?” I asked. “Claire’s mother died when she was a baby. And if her real father didn’t know…”

“That is one of many questions I, too, would like to ask, were there any who might answer them,” Caedmon said. “Perhaps her mother told her husband the truth before she died. Perhaps he arranged for a test. There are several that could have shown the truth, both magical and mundane. We can only speculate.”

Louis-Cesare’s blue eyes narrowed as if he didn’t like Caedmon’s answer. “The Senate believes that the succession struggle has been taken into our world recently. Both Prince Alarr and another contender, a Svarestri noble named Æsubrand, have been seen in New York within the last month.”

I stared at him. “Where did you hear that?”

“From Kit Marlowe.” I scowled. The beetle hadn’t bothered to mention that little tidbit.

Louis-Cesare had the look of someone who was thinking hard. I preferred it to the compassion on Caedmon’s face. I didn’t want Claire to need compassion. “If the king is dead,” Louis-Cesare said slowly, “the throne is in contention. Disposing of Claire, if she is carrying the king’s child, would also remove a rival.”

“She must be found and the succession issue resolved,” Caedmon agreed. “In the last civil war, more than ten thousand of us perished.” His gaze went distant, as if he was seeing another time. “Arrows shredded the sky. Blood fell like rain. Smoke from the funeral pyres filled the air until all that was visible was a dirty haze that stung the eyes and stopped the throat.” His voice thrummed in the air like a note from a plucked string, and suddenly, I could actually see the scene his words described.

Wind whipped my robes against my sweat-soaked body. Below me, a battlefield flowed away to the bloodred horizon. All around, columns of smoke clutched the sky like leprous fingers. Everywhere lay bodies in still-smoking armor, suffocating me with the smell of blood and fire and burnt flesh. My hands were raw from holding the spear I had used against my enemies, but I barely noticed. Ashes were in my eyes, ashes that had once been the body of a comrade, an ages-old life ended by a chance shot from a green recruit. They clung to my face, stealing the pride of victory, mixing with my tears, threatening to choke me—

“Caedmon!”

It felt like someone slammed a door in my face. I was back at the table, my heart thudding, my ears ringing, my vision swimming in pieces. I was light-headed and disconnected, as if my mind was trying to occupy two places at once and it wasn’t built for it. My mouth was sour with anguish over the death of someone I’d never met; my veins thrummed with adrenaline from a fight I’d never experienced.

Radu was on his feet, confusion on his face, and Louis-Cesare was looking daggers at the guest of honor. Caedmon ignored him, but his eyes were concerned as he gazed at me. “My apologies, child. I would not have had you see that.”

“What happened?” To my surprise, my voice was steady.

Caedmon appeared slightly embarrassed. “The Frumfórn, what you call the Fey, exist in both planes of being at once: the physical and the… I suppose you would call it the spiritual. I sit here, I eat, I talk, yet my awareness is not taken up entirely with such things. It exists—I exist—elsewhere, as well. And for a moment, so did you.”

“Why?”

He lifted his glass slightly. “I have had, perhaps, a bit too much of our host’s excellent wine.”

Louis-Cesare snatched up his own glass, sniffing it cautiously. He turned to Radu. “What are you serving?”

Caedmon smiled at his host. “I must congratulate you—smooth, velvety and with a subtle tang that lingers on the palate like perfume.”

Radu looked from him to Louis-Cesare, managing to appear proud, confused and contrite, all at the same time. “I thought it appropriate, considering our guest—”

“What is it?” Louis-Cesare demanded again.

Radu was beginning to look cross. Something told me his dinner party wasn’t working out quite as planned. “I had Geoffrey dilute it. Most of that is my personal label—”

Caedmon chuckled. “And the rest is some of the best Fey wine I have tasted in many a year.”

“So that is what did it!” Louis-Cesare’s expression could have cut diamond.

Caedmon’s eyes went dark, like underwater jade. “Do you wish to accuse me of something, vampire?”

“That… substance… tortured us with memories! Made us relive things from the past. Horrible things.”

Caedmon’s expression was eloquent. Without saying a word, he managed to give the impression that it was an incredible trial to be forced to share a table with one so ill-mannered. Then he sighed and looked at me. “Did you also experience these memories?”

I nodded. “We thought… we encountered a spell at the caves. We thought the mages had left it.”

“You were likely correct, although our wine would heighten the effects. Have you had any before tonight, say, within the last three days?”

“No. I—”

Louis-Cesare interrupted. “You drank some on the jet, from my glass. I had filled a flask in the cellar of your home.”

“Wait a minute. You’re telling me Claire’s cellar is full of Fey wine?”

“Yes. I was surprised to see it, for only the Fey can make it. I always wondered why it is so heavily regulated in our world.” He stared daggers at Caedmon. “It seems now I know.”

Caedmon looked affronted. “In a few days, three at the outside, the effects will dissipate. The strongest will be gone in a few hours.”

I sat up, feeling more myself. I sniffed my glass, but there was no sign that we’d been drinking anything dangerous. It had merely tasted like a decent red, fruity and earthy. “What does it do?”

“Nothing harmful,” Caedmon assured me. “Under the right conditions, it helps align two people’s thoughts or, in lesser quantities, their emotions.” Dark green eyes regarded me appraisingly. “Even with a great deal of wine, few would have been able to pull forth a memory so vivid. I could almost smell the smoke.”

I nodded, thinking of the molten armor, like a black puddle around one of the bodies, and of the scalding wind. By the time it blew across all the fires, it was like a breeze straight off of hell. It brought back memories of my own, of the trenches in France after a mortar attack, and I broke out in a sudden sweat. My heart leapt in my chest, adrenaline flooding me as my perception began to skew. My throat closed once more, full of pain, choked with ashes—

Caedmon stroked his hand up my arm, brushing power along my body like liquid, dissipating the sensation. “Yes,” he murmured, “unusually sensitive.” He smiled reassuringly. “Do not let it concern you. What you saw happened long ago, a memory of our last great war. Even then, it took centuries to replace the numbers lost. Now, I fear, it would be impossible. Yet a struggle over the succession could provoke just such a cataclysm. Your friend must be found.”

“You read my mind,” I said fervently, shivering slightly from the power in that brief touch.

“The Fey don’t read minds,” Louis-Cesare said harshly, his eyes on Caedmon’s hand.

Caedmon smiled, and it was not a particularly nice expression. His grip tightened. “Perhaps not. But we read other things. For example, vampire, I know you have a knife up your left sleeve, even though I cannot see it. The metal sings to me; it is a talent.” He glanced at me, and his smile was deliberately provocative. “One of many.”

Louis-Cesare’s anger suddenly filled the small room like water, and in a heartbeat his eyes went from silver-tinged to as solid as two antique coins. I sat frozen, awash in a sea of power. I was beginning to understand why Mircea had wanted him along, only Daddy had failed to mention anything about the hair-trigger temper. I guess he assumed the red hair would clue me in.

Caedmon sat very still, not offering challenge but not shrinking from it, either. I wasn’t sure what to do, with a suddenly homicidal vamp on one side and a less-than-pleased Fey on the other. Rock and a hard place didn’t begin to describe it. I glanced at Radu, but he was sitting like a deer caught in headlights, with those beautiful turquoise eyes almost completely round.

In the end, it was Olga who defused matters by letting out a belch that I swear was a full minute long. By the end of it, we were all staring at her in sheer amazement. It’s considered rude by troll standards to fail to show appreciation for a fine meal with an appropriate bodily function. It appeared Olga had liked the grub.

She patted her enormous middle and got out of her chair with all the grace of a pregnant hippo. “Good food,” she told Radu, who managed to nod his thanks. “I sleep now,” she announced, with an almost queenly dignity. Geoffrey scurried to lead the way back up the stairs, and Olga followed him out, her behind brushing the sides of the narrow stone stairwell as she went.

I decided she had a point. If Caedmon knew anything more, I’d squeeze it out of him tomorrow when I could think better. I pulled Stinky out of the cheese plate, where he’d decided to take a nap. “I think I’ll call it a night, too,” I said, hefting him onto one hip. I didn’t bother to say good night. Radu was too stunned to notice, and it wasn’t a Fey tradition. Besides, I had a feeling it wouldn’t be.