2. Truth

2

TRUTH

M y speech is a resounding success as the Meeting of the Havens closes for yet another year. As the official pomp and circumstance finally ends, Devi invites everyone to egress from the Florence Hotel’s formal Hall of History to a more comfortable space. As we adjourn to the Garden Atrium in the deep midnight hour, only about twenty Masters linger. The last stragglers of the week, they chitchat and enjoy the remainder of the night before they depart back to their own Dark Havens.

And I get to have mine back—and finally take a moment to relax.

But we’re not there yet. As I escort Ariana into the outdoor hall, she in her 1930s blue pearl gown and me in my sleek cobalt satin tux, all heads turn. Only my closest allies from around the world mingle in the lush gardens now. Their pale skin glowing beneath the stars and moon, the last Masters are illuminated by wrought-iron torches of blue-gold fire set up throughout the space.

Arranged in sprawling tiers, the Garden Atrium is serene as I escort Ariana down the stairs into the afterparty. A cathedral-like space similar to my own Master’s rooms here at the Hotel, the atrium’s vaulted roof of crystal and stained glass is pulled back to enjoy the balmy August night.

As I enter, I drink in the moon’s intoxicating glow, breathing deep of Florence’s warm night filtering in all around. The garden holds a wealth of potted greenery, clustered around groups of chaises and wrought-iron furniture. As I lead Ariana over to a wrought-iron bar to get two glasses of the Hotel’s finest Chianti, my gaze wanders over the vines and trees, and exotic flowers that grow around the stone walls, reveling in their nighttime splendor.

Lion’s head fountains and gryphons spout jets of water into Florentine basins beside stone benches where Masters sit. Despite the attention Ariana and I receive as we arrive, this last afterparty of the Meeting is calm; everyone’s spirits are elevated since all the heady to-dos are finished.

The remaining Masters enjoying a peaceful gathering, as very old friends.

“Quindici! Finally!” A woman’s alto voice slices the air, making me turn from the drinks table. As I sip my wine, the fiercely compelling Mistress of Britain approaches, my close ally, the Lady Eiseth Pendragon.

The Mistress of Britain wears one of her draping dark blue Arthurian gowns tonight with an etched silver breastplate, arresting in her classic elegance. Silver gauntlets grace her wrists, a silver and gold circlet upon her cascades of ornately braided white hair. Ageless, she’s beautiful as her mist-grey eyes twinkle and we exchange kisses on the cheek, though I’ve never thought of her romantically. Smiling at me, she’s perfectly intense with her pleased alertness.

Everything I could ask for in an ally, and a good friend.

“Eiseth. Glad you could make it to this last party tonight.” I’m pleasant as I bring Ariana’s hand back to my arm, then retrieve my wine from the bar.

“Of course,” Eiseth says with genuine pleasure to see me, familiar but also kind. “Many of the Masters had to jet out already, but I don’t mind lingering for a few days to enjoy your hospitality, Quinn. Such a fine Hotel you have, and it is nice to relinquish my duties up in Britain to my Second for a while. Brigitte is enormously competent, and really should run her own Dark Haven by now, though she remains at mine.”

The Mistress of Britain is not displeased, however, about the exceptional leadership her Second provides as she chuckles, glancing around the party. I look around also now, seeing a few faces who are close allies of mine in the last lingering Masters tonight.

Nearby our little group, the Masters Eduardo and Calla Romero from Valencia laugh at something my Third in the Dark Haven of Florence, Curio Silverfrost, has said. Statuesque like Mediterranean supermodels in their matching ultra-modern black couture, the Spanish Masters are amused as they grin rapaciously, flashing fang.

The brother-sister duo is intense in their dark allure and haughty beauty. As they laugh, incredible pleasure whirls through me. I feel like laughing also as I hear their sudden elation; as Ariana guffaws beside me, I realize my Master’s protection inside her is working hard to foist that joy off from the twins. Exceptionally dangerous to anyone who encounters it, the duo has killed from making people laugh too hard.

I won’t let that happen to Ariana as I firm my protective wall inside her against the Valencian twin’s power.

“Sorry. I don’t know why I laughed just now.” Ariana looks apologetically at me and Eiseth as she blushes.

“Don’t be. It’s the Romero’s power affecting you,” I say back as I stroke her hand. “I’ve firmed my Master’s protection inside you now, so it does not touch you again.”

“You’ve never told me. What kind of magic do they have?” Ariana asks, having not heard the Spanish duo’s tale yet, though they are close allies of mine. Through our bond, I sense how deeply wary she is of them as their twin dark eyes glance over at us.

Both smiling wickedly to find I’m watching them.

“Ah, yes. The twins.” I say. Though I’m still cautious as I hold their power back from touching Ariana, I give a small smile. I know my allies well—and part of knowing them is knowing when to protect those I love from their power.

“The Romeros come from an ancient family of Tempests in Valencia, who donate a son or daughter every generation to the Valencian Vampires. The Romeros dominate Valencia through both their daytime family, the Tempesti, and their nighttime family, the Vampires. We do quite a lot of trade with them, for they love our Florentine wines, chocolates, coffees, and cordials. Which enhance their own natural Vampire-Tempest power with the charms we place on them.”

“I feel like they could make me laugh, dance, or cry myself to death.” Ariana watches as the pair kiss each other with heady delight now, their dark Vampire aura tinged a bright canary yellow and hot sunburnt orange as it surges around them. Tempests are volatile in the reactions they can provoke, pushing a person’s any emotion higher than it might normally go.

Vampire-Tempests even more so—nothing to be messed with, even for a Master such as myself.

“They’re inbred, to be sure, but powerful, and control an enormous chunk of Spain,” My Second in the Dark Haven of Florence, Devina Scarlotti, cuts in now as she gives an admonishing eyebrow lift, having joined our little group. “Tempest magic ignites the passions, and combined with a Vampire’s natural mind-mesmerization abilities, the Romeros can literally look at a person and give them a frenzy that kills. Have you heard of the Dancing Plague of 1518 in Alsace, France? That was the Romero twins. They were displeased with a vacation there, so they made several villagers in the human world dance themselves to death in a mass mania. They can be tremendous at parties, but are not to be crossed. Neither the twins, nor any of their family.”

“Noted.” Ariana blinks, and I feel her understand why I protect her so strongly from the Romeros, even though I’ve aligned with them for decades.

My gaze travels over their group now, and I see another close ally of mine next to them, the massively robust blond-haired German Master of Bavaria, Gunter Spielmann. Dressed in a classy tux with a dark maroon jacket and rounded lapels, Gunther is almost as fellow-well-met as I am. Comfortable wherever he goes because of his massive power and how few Masters challenge it, he exchanges smiles with the Spaniards, then glances to me as he feels me watching.

I give him a nod, and he raises his glass back.

Beside Gunther, however, is a tall Nordic Vampire with pale white-blue eyes. Chilly, far more even than other Vampires of his vastly advanced age, Master Vasily Ilyov of Siberia is lean and gaunt, almost willowy in his modern yet ancient ice-blue couture. With Curio’s Winter Fae look, Master Ilyov has straight white-silver eyebrows and long white-silver hair combed over one shoulder, typical of the ancient Winter Fae he was born among, long ago.

Vasily Ilyov is not an ally of mine, however; a distinct aura of disdain suffuses him as his gaze meets mine. As his chill ice-blue eyes peruse me, ancientness breathes through my very soul. Master Ilyov is dangerous, and old; he might even be one of the oldest Vampires I’ve ever met as he watches me with his blasé disdain, then re-enters conversation with the Romeros. I do not know why he’s come to the Meeting of the Havens this year, when he’s only come once before.

The very first year I started it.

I have no more time to ponder Ilyov and his motives, though, as I notice curls of power from all four of the Masters in the Romeros’ groups ease toward me and Ariana.

Seeking to figure us out—and why I keep my Dark Fae so much in my favor.

“They are curious about you, Quinn, and why you keep Ariana so close,” Eiseth says as she feels their seeking magics as well. Her gaze is darkly evaluating, yet sparkling with pleasure as she regards us and sips her wine. “I feel their mind-chatter like voices on the wind; they all want to know about you, Ariana, after you and Quinn saved us from that horde of Vampire Revenants that attacked us a week ago at the opening gala of the Meeting, by using the Music of the Spheres and returning them to their sanity and earthly bodies. They wish to know how strong you are, how new, how closely bonded to Quinn you are, or not. Questions pour through them, but Vampires are patient creatures. Until it is time to strike.”

“Strike?” Ariana lifts her eyebrows at Eiseth, and I feel shock cascade through her that one of our allies might harm us.

“Of course, darling. Vampires are all about the strike.” With an amused chuckle, Lady Eiseth hands her wineglass off to be refilled by one of my Vampire Hotel servers. Nodding in thanks, she receives it back before gesturing with it around the nighttime party, the blue-white nimbus of the sun still lingering upon the Twilight horizon all around.

“See them, Ariana. Memorize their faces and attributes with your growing power. For many in this atrium tonight will be friends, and many more will be enemies as your power opens. And some, you can never tell whether they are enemies or friends. Until the day someone strikes you in the back with a Devilswood stake and that’s that.”

Her lips curl into a little smile as Lady Eiseth gives me an amused, pointed look.

“It was in the chest, angled up between the fourth and fifth left ribs, as is one of the best places for a strike to the heart,” I respond with gallows humor now—though my Vampiric aura darkens as I recall the conversation Ariana had earlier with Curio and Arturos about my former Sire, Emiliana DiClario.

Which I overheard through our bond, though I didn’t mean to.

“Emiliana should have been armored.” Eiseth chuckles, her grey eyes shining with wit as she gestures to her breastplate.

“Is that why you wear armor?” Ariana asks the Mistress of Britain now, curious.

“But of course, Dark Fae!” Eiseth looks pleased and gives a laugh at our dangerously frank talk. “I have not gone without my armor in over a thousand years. Even when I was still human, it was a part of me, waking or sleeping. For a queen-heir has many enemies. And I have even more now, as a Vampire Master with a territory of my own.”

“Everyone here does.” I survey the outdoor hall as I watch Masters come and go. “Not one of us can say our lives are entirely safe, Ariana. Power is a game all Vampires play, and Masters play that game harder than most, because their lives and the lives of everyone in their Dark Havens depend on it.”

“What power games did Emiliana play among the Masters?” Ariana asks now, and I feel how she can’t help but pry into the past I never talk about, for very good reason.

Lady Eiseth’s gaze is like grey fire as it pins me again, piercing.

“You would not ask such questions, Dark Fae, if you knew the suffering Quinn and his kin endured under his previous Mistress.” An edge of Eiseth’s mist-grey power swirls around her now like a blade, though it’s not for either me or Ariana.

It’s for the late Emiliana DiClario—whom Eiseth hated nearly as much as I did, though for different reasons.

“Eiseth. It’s fine,” I say with quiet sobriety now as I set my wine aside on the bar.

“No, Quinn, it’s not.” Eiseth is fierce as she glances at me, astonished. “Have you told the young woman nothing yet about Emiliana?”

“Those aren’t stories anyone needs to hear.” I am quiet, but firm now as I stare the Mistress of Britain down. “Ariana is part of my Dark Haven, not Emiliana’s.”

“It is history. History that affects us all.” Lady Eiseth lifts an eyebrow at me before she looks at Ariana, gesturing around the party. “Listen well, Dark Fae. Those gathered here tonight have come to the Meeting of the Havens because we all wish to see Vampire society rise from the pit of decrepitude our legacy has left us in over the years. For generations, Vampires have been led by those who were most brutal, like Quinn’s old Sire, whom I had a very prolonged feud with, because of how she treated people. Though we Vampires love deeply, we still suffer a terrible reputation because of Masters like Emiliana. Emiliana and her ilk play games with us all. And take all power for themselves, only.”

“Goodness! How emotional. You really should learn to relax a little, Eiseth. It might be good for you.” A bubbling female voice interrupts us now as the Spanish Masters Eduardo and Calla Romero approach. Enjoying champagne instead of wine or blood, their dark, chocolate-brown eyes are cunning with laughter as they nod to me, joining the conversation.

“Yes, always wearing armor like you’re still in battle. It’s gauche, my dear,” Eduardo Romero says, and chuckles to Eiseth, sipping his champagne as he winks at me. Turning to Ariana, he gives a low, sweeping bow. “Lady Dark Fae. A pleasure. My sister and I have wished to talk with you this entire week, though the occasion unfortunately did not arise. You look lovely in pearls! Like a Siren, with your gorgeous long waves of hair. Though that impossibly red color and those piercing jade eyes are all Summer Fae. Unless you have Desert Dragon in your veins?”

“I think I have enough burn in my veins without being a dragon, thanks.” Ariana states smartly back.

I can’t help the pleased smirk that lifts my lips as I sip my wine to cover it.

I love Ariana’s smart mouth towards those who try to curry favor.

“To be sure,” Calla Romero says now as she reaches out, petting one of Ariana’s long, red locks back from her face. Admiration is in her dark chocolate eyes as she smiles—and cunning. “She is relentlessly beautiful, Quinn. Quite a triumph to sequester to your side—the first of her kind seen in generations.”

“I didn’t find her. Ariana found me.” I am sharp now, putting iron in my tone as I address Calla Romero. My dark Vampire aura swirls around me in a protective warning that she does not have permission to touch what is mine.

As Calla gets my point and removes her hand from Ariana, my warning surges into immense protectiveness. Because I feel within Ariana a deep desire now to laugh like a maniac, or sob uncontrollably as she tears her hair out. It’s her first experience of touch from a former Tempest. Even though they’re my allies, I’m glad I protect her from the twins, as I feel a deep desire in Ariana to let her emotions run riot.

“Now, now, Quinn,” Eduardo says, his gaze flashing with a canary yellow hue as he looks at me. “We are all friends here. Calla and I are simply curious about your Dark Fae. No need to be defensive.”

“Quinn merely protects what is his, in his Dark Haven. All of us would do the same, Eduardo.”

Another voice joins our conversation as Gunter Spielmann approaches. The blond Master of Bavaria nods as he receives a glass of beer from the bartender to replace his empty one. He sips and makes a pleased sound like a rumbling bear at the quality of the drink, saluting me.

Master Spielmann’s earth brown eyes are calm, though they have a dark ring of crimson in their center. Built like a linebacker, his blocky shoulders tower over the slender Romeros and even over me and Lady Eiseth, though I’m reasonably tall. Fit and trim in his elegant tux with its charcoal jacket and rounded lapels, he was once a German Rock Giant before he was turned Vampire. He smiles and extends a powerful hand, calm and pleasant, though his massive hand and his entire body were built to crush rocks.

“Quinn. Wunderbar Meeting this week. The parties were superb.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed them, Gunther. Do come back next year.” I joke with him now as we shake, the German Master appreciative of a little humor.

“Dark Fae, good to see you.” Sticking his hand out towards Ariana next, Gunther waits for my approval. As I nod, letting her know it’s alright—Gunther knows better than to roll anyone under my care with his power—she extends a hand as well.

“Master Spielmann. Likewise.” Ariana takes Gunther’s hand, shaking. It’s the most normal interaction she’s had with any Master so far as he smiles at her amiably—projecting not a single drop of power, though I know he’s full of it, a deep energy like cannons in battle.

But we have no more time for niceties as a cold sensation like winter winds pours through me. An icy, caustic presence cuts into our conversation, halting our talk. I glance over to see the tall, gaunt Master Ilyov arrive, his chilly demeanor curtailing all conversation instantly.

As he comes into our circle, though, his pale winter-blue eyes boring into mine, I have a deep intuition that he doesn’t mean to be caustic. It’s simply his nature. The intuition came from Ariana; her truth-reading Dark Fae ability is incredible, as she stands before Ilyov now without a single tremor or flicker of her eyelashes. As Ilyov’s brisk winter wind swirls around us, I nod to the vastly aged Master of Siberia.

“Master Vasily Ilyov of Siberia. Be welcome. I am honored you have come to our Meeting, and stayed to its end this week.”

“Your honor is not what I seek here,” Ilyov says, his gaze drilling into me as his ancient, icy winds swirl with a sound like wolves howling in a frozen tundra. “I find your gathering an important movement in Vampiredom, however, which is the only reason I have come this week. Until I saw your Dark Summer Fae, I thought you had little power with which to wage war on the Council of Rome. Now, I wonder.”

“I do not wage war on the Council, Master Ilyov—” I say at once, though I’m cut off by a brisk snort from the tall, cold Master of Siberia.

“Never lie to a Winter Fae, boy. Even one who has not been a Winter Fae for ten thousand years,” Master Ilyov says, as his frigid gaze bores into me. His icy tundra gaze flicks to Ariana next. “You. Dark Fae. What are your opinions on the current Summer Fae King?”

As the Siberian Master stares Ariana down, I feel a lancing thrust of his winter-cold magic flash inside my mind. It’s not my mind, rather Ariana’s he’s invaded, as that terrible, ice-cold magic inundates us both through our connection. As if an icicle of pure truth serum speared her, Ariana’s Dark Fae power blossoms wide at that strike. Brutal honesty is just suddenly tumbling from her mouth in a tirade .

Something that even with all my power and protection, I cannot stop.

“I think King Archivolio Bellari is abominable,” she says, as the Master of Siberia’s chill lance of power spears her. “I think he’s a tyrant, who’s had too much control for too long. His one redeeming quality is that he thinks he’s doing right by his people. But his methods are hulkish and isolationist. Now he cuts off the Summer Fae from the world and makes enemies rather than friends in the Twilight Realm. So I think he should be replaced.”

Silence fills our group as the Romeros, Gunter, and Lady Eiseth stare at Ariana. My lips have fallen open as my power churns, seething inside me now as Ariana bares her truth to the Master of Siberia. My protection can’t prevent this, though; as Vasily Ilyov stares at Ariana like he just might spear her with a thousand icicles for her impertinent answer, a terrible, chill silence takes our group.

A horrible foreboding filling me as my magic seethes.

Then the slightest, most vicious smile cracks the ex-Winter Fae’s pale lips, as his cold eyes sparkle like an ice storm. “Well spoken. Congratulations, Dark Summer Fae; your honest truth has put you in my good graces—you and your Master.” His gaze flicking to me, Master Vasily Ilyov gives a smile that shows the last points of needle-sharp Vampire-Fae fangs. “Master DaPonti. Set up a private chat for the three of us this week. I believe I shall stay until we can all talk. Until then.”

With that, the mysterious Master of Siberia turns, moving up the steps of the atrium with his long stride and exiting the hall. Silence follows as everyone stares.

Whispers moving in the night as my power swirls with shocked intrigue at what just happened.