Gail Martin - The Sworn

“Leave the Durim to Jonmarc and King Staden’s men,” Gabriel countered. “Our own kind needs our help. Riqua and I have been funneling supplies and funds to help the Ghost Carriage.” He met Uri’s dark eyes. “Kolin has led dozens of vayash moru and vyrkin out of Nargi and Trevath to safety in Dark Haven. As plague spreads, the need becomes more desperate. Even in those areas where the Durim have not yet gained power, as the mortals die with the plague, they fear and hate us because we’re untouched. And the burnings begin.”

A shadow seemed to pass over Uri’s face. For once, all bluster was gone. “Unlike Jonmarc, I did not get out of Nargi alive. I swore I would never return.”

“You’ve done business there, through intermediaries,” Gabriel replied. “Kolin needs money, horses, safe houses. He needs connections who have no love for either the Crone priests or the Durim.”

Uri gave a short, sharp laugh. “Honor among thieves, is that what you’re expecting?” His eyes darkened. “There are a few of my associates who have their own reasons to wish to see the Durim become nothing but a bad memory. The Crone priests are bad enough.

“To a point, fear is profitable. It keeps order. But when people are terrified, they stop spending money, stop hiring whores, stop betting their gold. Bad for business.” Uri touched the heavy gold bracelets that hung from his wrist. “I have names I can give Kolin, and I can change his skrivven to Nargi coin. But he should remember that my contacts have no love for me-or him-because he is vayash moru . They tolerate me because I make them a profit. They will help Kolin only so long as it protects their interests.”

“Thank you,” Gabriel said. “It’s gotten bad enough that even a dimonn ’s bargain looks good.”

Uri clapped his hands and gave a deep belly laugh. “Is that what you think of me? A dimonn ’s bargain. That’s rich. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I see no benefit in bringing more vayash moru into our territory,” Astasia said. She could be beautiful when she wished. Her looks and body had brought her wealth and position as a consort to rich old men, until one of her suitors brought her across to make her a more permanent possession. Like Uri, it was rumored that she had eventually destroyed her maker. Jonmarc looked at her pale blue eyes, and he did not doubt that she was capable of doing anything to preserve her interests.

“Will these newcomers respect the Council? Must we take them into our broods, knowing nothing about their makers? Will Old Ones arise to challenge us?” She crossed her arms across her bosom. “What’s in it for us? The mortals in Dark Haven tolerated us-before Malesh’s war-better than in many places. They put up with us because they know they still outnumber us. If they fear that we’re growing in strength, will they still observe the Truce? Maybe not-and maybe they’re right to doubt. There is, after all, only so much blood to go around.”

“Astasia is correct that as new vayash moru come to Dark Haven, the Council must be the ultimate law,” Gabriel said. Jonmarc noticed that Gabriel avoided looking at Astasia directly.

“It would be best if we could replenish our broods by accepting refugee vayash moru instead of turning mortals,” Riqua said. From her expression, Jonmarc guessed that it galled Riqua to agree with Astasia in any way. “Both methods have risks. Without broods of sufficient strength, we lack the strength to hold our seats on the Council. Turning mortals-given the situation-could lead to reprisals. But accepting strangers into our broods can be dangerous, even if we know their makers. Our power over our broods must be ruthless and absolute. Otherwise, some of these newcomers will see an opportunity to better their station at our expense.”

“Then you see my point.” Astasia’s voice was a cool purr.

“Much as it pains me, on this, we agree in principle even if our means may differ,” Riqua replied.

“With the Durim’s power growing, you’ll also need to keep a close eye on your broods,” Jonmarc said. “The Durim are opportunists. They’ll go after lone vayash moru who make an easy target. They’ve also been going after the mortal families of the vayash moru.”

“What do you propose?” Rafe asked. There was an edge to his voice.

Jonmarc kept his expression neutral. “Secure your day crypts. Alert your mortal family members and arm them so they can protect themselves. Your people are in danger if their families can be used against them. Don’t take unnecessary risks.”

Rafe leaned forward. “We’re predators. We don’t hide.” His eyeteeth showed plainly, something Jonmarc knew was intentional.

He met Rafe’s eyes. Jonmarc knew it disquieted Rafe that the vayash moru could not use his glamour or compulsion against Jonmarc’s natural resistance. “Until we defeat the Durim, you can hide or you can burn. It’s your choice.”

“That went well.” Jonmarc and Gabriel rode away from the meeting at Rafe’s villa toward Wolvenskorn, Gabriel’s manor.

Gabriel gave him a bemused look. “Oh?”

Jonmarc shrugged. “Any time I leave the Blood Council alive, it’s a good day.”

Gabriel chuckled. “You have an interesting way of looking at things.”

“Riqua is solidly on our side. We knew that going in. Rafe doesn’t like it, but he sees the logic. Uri’s actually scared. For once, I think he might do what he’s supposed to do. That leaves Astasia.”

“She’s a formidable enemy. And she hates you.”

“Coming from Astasia, that almost counts as a character reference.”

Gabriel gave him a wary smile. “Don’t underestimate her. She earned everything in life-and after death-by being ruthless. If she sees an opportunity in the current situation to advance her position, she’ll take it.”

Jonmarc glanced sideways at him. “Astasia is the Council’s problem. I’ve got my hands full with the Durim and the refugees.”

“I’ll make sure Kolin learns of the Council’s support when he gets back from Nargi,” Gabriel replied. He fell silent. Jonmarc glanced in his direction.

“What’s bothering you?”

Gabriel frowned. “I share Riqua’s sentiments about the point Astasia made. Gathering the vayash moru in Dark Haven may enable us to save our kind. In plagues past, retaliation from the mortals nearly wiped out the vayash moru in Trevath and Nargi. All of the kingdoms have had their day hunting us, some more recently than others.”

“On the other hand, gathering everyone in one place not only makes for more family squabbles, it gives your enemies a central place to strike, and a reason to rally the locals.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t see many alternatives.” The night was cool and Jonmarc shivered despite his traveling cloak.

“Neither do I. But I’ve always believed there was a reason why the vayash moru are spread out across the kingdoms. Death changes everything and nothing. The Dark Gift gives us speed and strength and immunity to the things that killed us as mortals. Immortality provides perspective and time to reflect. On the other hand, greed, lust, and vengeance don’t require a heartbeat. Grievances nursed over centuries have a way of flaring into conflict. Dark Haven will be a tinderbox full of frightened mortals and threatened immortals. All it will take is a spark to set it ablaze.”

They reached Wolvenskorn, Gabriel’s manor, just before midnight. Wolvenskorn’s oldest sections were built back when the Winter Kingdoms were ruled by independent warlords, before the monarchies were established. Three levels of tall, sharply sloping peaks made of wood and stone thrust skyward. The oldest section was daub and wattle with a sod roof that sloped down to meet the forest soil. A tall, slim cupola ringed by carved monsters crowned the manor.