Андреа Хёст - The Pyramids of London

Her own words kept coming back to haunt her. When you meet someone who fills you up until there’s no room for anything else, trying to put all those feelings away is harder than even the most hopeless pursuit . Rian’s level-headed dismissal of the idea of a romance with Aerinndís Gwyn Lynn had not held up well against a moonlit flight with her, let alone that conversation in the attic.

She had sat in the dark and exposed her throat: opened up her cupboard of vulnerabilities, and invited comprehension. She had wanted a response that had nothing to do with duty, or protecting Prytennia. She had, she could not deny, wanted the Crown Princess to truly see her.

The question was what to do now, when every spare thought drifted to analysis of the Crown Princess’ response, to trying to discover a hidden reason for those questions. Had Princess Aerinndís, very serious about her duty to the country, truly detected some great fault in the latest tool given to her service? Or had her interest been for Rian herself? Or was it both?

It did not seem possible to think in terms of light flirtation. Everything felt desperate and world-shaking, as if Rian had been catapulted back to her earliest fumbling romances, where to be the first to admit to longing was an act of boundless courage—or weakness, a baring of the stomach to the wolves of mockery and scorn.

Uncertainty and second-guessing were not good for maintaining the calm centre Rian relied upon. But that brought her back to the ‘Why not?’. If she was going to suffer either way, why not take the more active path? Unlike her last attempt at something serious, there was little chance she would have to hastily leave the country so that the ‘accidents’ would stop.

Stupid thought. She was not fool enough to try to pursue Aerinndís Gwyn Lynn. There would be a great deal of fantasising, a period of interminable aching, but it would pass, and the calm centre that kept her going would return.

Still, when Rian left her bath she dressed herself with care. Practical clothing, a touch of colour to the lips, and a lot of time brushing and arranging her hair. She doubted she looked any different from usual, but she was acknowledging a change to her frame of mind.

Since past evidence suggested that Makepeace did not have to wait for sunset so long as the grove was in shadow, Rian could not be certain when she would be ‘collected’. She busied herself checking on the children—Griff’s light fever at least did not seem to be climbing—and then reviewing the neat household account Dama Seleny had prepared. And then she contemplated, once again, the mysterious hand Griff had brought out of Ficus Lapis’ workshop.

The craftsmanship was very good. The fine-gauge mesh had been precisely cut, and then each severed link neatly joined so that the seams were barely visible. Rian had done her best to return it to its pre-crushed state, and thought it was intended to be a woman’s hand. When Makepeace finally made his entrance, as the last hints of sunset were fading from the windows, she held it out to him and said:

“I cannot think of a single reasonable explanation for this.”

A small victory to confuse such an ancient monster. He took the hand, started to say something, then frowned and looked at it more closely. “Chicken wire.”

“I have no idea whether they knew Griff picked it up. He says it was on the floor inside the door.”

“Your brats need to learn to draw a line between precocity and stupidity.”

“I hope to keep them alive long enough to teach them that distinction. Have the authors of today’s lesson been found?”

“In part. We’ll save the dissection for the meeting.”

He strode off, then waited impatiently on the stair when Rian detoured to let Eluned and Eleri know she was leaving. She was finding it easier to manage his presence, though that perhaps was due to the distractions involved in trailing him through a close night in the Great Forest. Amasen were not the only things coiling among the branches.

Rian paid attention to the path, wondering if she could make the trip alone. This part of the Great Forest was Cernunnos‘ domain, and in theory she would have his protection, but she suspected it was not so simple, especially since she had seen no path at all when she passed in this direction earlier in the day, and certainly no gate less than five minutes’ walk away. It was made of iron, and far less ornate than the grand work at Forest House, but presented the same basic image: two amasen holding a lock in their mouths. It opened into a tight cluster of trees wedged between a wrought iron fence and a faded green door.

The gate into the Great Forest vanished altogether when Makepeace closed it. He fished a more ordinary key out of a pocket and unlocked the door, leading her into a long corridor distinguished by several tea trolleys, a broom, and a reel of cable.

“Where is this?” she asked, peering through the trunks of the forest always with her.

“The MoP.”

The Museum of Prytennia. Not where Rian had expected. “How far can you go, doing that?”

He ignored her. But perhaps after a thousand years she too would take some time to warm to the ‘beginning of her end’. Rian had certainly not yet accustomed herself to the idea of a life measured in centuries.

It mattered a great deal how long she had before Makepeace went to stone. There had been so few Amon-Re vampires that she had little basis for comparison. Makepeace—Heriath—was said to pre-date the Trifold Age, which meant he had lived at least eleven centuries. But Hatshepsu had ruled for seventeen before she entered rept, and her daughter had vanished almost immediately after.

He led her to a lift, barely giving her time to enter before tugging the grill shut and hauling on the control lever to send them downward. Sub-basement Two, kept warm and dry, and filled with racks and drawers, and one useful cupboard that swung like a door. Rian would be amused to discover that the sprawling museum in the heart of the oldest part of London functioned as a secret base, but she was caught up in anticipation.

Makepeace glanced back at her, no doubt in response to the sudden leaping of her pulse, but forbore to comment. After a millennia, she supposed he found the distractions of attraction exceptionally boring. Vampirism removed the drive for sex, and the stoneblood tended to avoid romance with mayfly mortals.

Despite herself, Rian was enjoying newfound passion. That she could cross the Great Forest, and follow a vampire through a locked museum into a hidden room, brought expressly to discuss the conspiracy she had spent months attempting to unravel, and yet see one and only one occupant: back ramrod straight, mouth in its habitual downturn, heavy hair braided into a coronet. And for that mere sight to set her blood singing, as if the moon and all the stars had been given to her as a gift.

Foolishness of the grandest order, but Rian allowed herself a moment to savour it, then put away longing, as much as was possible, and looked past transparent ropey roots to inspect the rest of the scene. A very secure second door, some incidental cabinets, and a long, scarred table with two princesses and three strangers sitting around it.

“Chicken wire,” Makepeace said, tossing the sculptured hand on top of the neat pile of papers in the table’s centre.

Princess Leodhild laughed. “Very dramatic, Comfrey. So the young lad found a little more than he admitted, Dama Seaforth?”

“Picked up within the door of the sealed room, Your Highness,” Rian said, following Makepeace’s lead in taking a seat. “He thinks he was unseen.”

The Sulevia Leoth leaned forward to collect the hand, held it up so Princess Aerinndís could glance it over, and then passed it to the woman at her right.