As Shadows Fade

Ten In Which Sebastian Acquires Reading Material

Sebastian knew the moment Victoria walked into the town house parlor that things had changed.

He’d been conversing with Wayren, sitting yet again in this little room that continued to tug at him whenever he came to Eustacia’s home. During the short time he’d been here, waiting for Victoria’s return, his attention had been drawn over and over to the cabinet that held the Gardella Bible.

More than once, he’d thought to ask Wayren if he could look through it-after all, he was a Gardella, somewhere centuries back in his mother ’s family tree.

But then Victoria breezed in, dressed in a simple gown of pale blue that didn’t begin to do her justice. For pity’s sake, he’d seen maids better dressed. She was gloveless, and her rich, inky hair sagged low at the base of her skull, curls flying in little springs from her temple. And she was followed by Max Pesaro.

“Sebastian,” she greeted him. “Have you been here long?” She took a seat at one side of the empty sofa, and Pesaro sat there as well, but at the other end, well away from her, as though afraid of catching something. Though from the look on his face, he’d already been close enough to do so.

Devil take it. How was he going to travel to Prague with the two of them?

He realized with a start that Victoria had asked him a polite question that required a suitable response. “I haven’t even been here long enough for Charley to have brought tea,” he replied. “Although I’m not entirely certain that the request was made, so perhaps that isn’t a good measure.” Taking care to keep his voice light and casual, he added, looking directly at Max, “I understand you went for a drive. How did you find the carriage’s accommodations?”

“Cramped,” he replied coolly, but with a measured look that confirmed everything Sebastian had suspected.

He transferred his attention to Victoria, whose cheeks had tinted a charming pink. Or it would be charming if it didn’t have to do with Max Pesaro. He gritted his teeth-for whom had he to blame for the topic but himself? But he’d had to know for certain, and now he did. Yet they both looked… well, certainly not as if the carriage ride had been as pleasant as it could have been.

Keeping his insouciant smile in place, he replied, “What a pity. I’ve never had a complaint about such-”

“I’ve received word from Brim and Michalas,” interrupted Wayren.

Sebastian allowed his smile to fade as all attention turned to her. He had information as well, but it would wait for a moment.

“They’ve arrived in Paris. Two more demons were dispatched, and all seems to be quiet for the moment. Yet we know it’s only a matter of time before more slip through the portal, and we haven’t any time to waste. They received my message about the Rings of Jubai-thanks to Sebastian for that bit of information-and have suggested that they go to retrieve the ring from the Consilium, then meet up with us in Prague.” Wayren looked at Victoria. “If you agree.”

“Yes, of course. They can be to Rome much sooner than we can, and it makes the most sense to split up. We have the pigeons to communicate.”

Sebastian noticed that she didn’t look at either Pesaro or himself to confirm her decision. How far she had come from the first time he’d met her, when she’d attempted in vain to hide her femininity by wearing men’s clothing to the Silver Chalice, then had nearly forgotten to offer a gentlemanly handshake.

Since then, she’d grown bold, beautiful, strong, and intelligent.

Worlds different from his gentle, serene Giulia, who nevertheless had had a fiery side when it came to her gardens.

He remembered the first time he’d met her, the sister of his acquaintance Max. The two boys had trampled two basil plants and a rosemary bush in an effort to peek through the window of a house sharing the same courtyard, where a beautiful young signora tended to stand whilst changing. Giulia had given them both the sharpest side of her tongue, a tartness he rarely remembered experiencing after that first time. Although, to be sure, it was those big, dark eyes that had captivated him-not the signora in her shift-so perhaps his memory was faulty.

Sebastian caught himself and looked back up to find Wayren gazing at him. He swallowed and fixed that charming smile on his lips, and realized with gratitude that no one else seemed to have noticed his lapse.

Max and Victoria had exchanged their own sharp words about whether horse or carriage would be the more efficient mode of transport, with both of them acknowledging that horseback would be the best choice. Which left Sebastian to wonder exactly what they’d disagreed about.

Then suddenly he was drawn back into the conversation by something Victoria said to Wayren. “A vampire? You’re in need of a vampire? What can an undead tell you that I cannot?” he added with an unabashed grin.

“It’s more what he can do,” Pesaro replied. “Unless you wish to oblige me by allowing me to drain your blood, then stake you.”

“It would certainly be interesting to participate in the attempt.”

“He needs a vampire’s blood for the Trial,” Victoria said sharply. “Max is going to take up the vis bulla again.”

Devil it, so he was. Sebastian pursed his lips, considering the implications of such an eventuality. Max with a vis would certainly be a welcome addition to their team when it came to closing the Midiverse Portal and retrieving the other Rings of Jubai. And Sebastian grudgingly admitted to himself that Victoria would be that much safer in the man’s company, if that was where she wished to be.

And there was always the tantalizing possibility that Pesaro wouldn’t live through the Trial.

“There are no vampires in London right now,” he said. “I’ll be most happy to assist you to find one in Prague. Ah… perhaps… perhaps you could use Katerina.” He smiled with genuine humor for the first time that day.

“A paramour of your grandfather’s, I presume,” Pesaro responded drily.

“Of course. In fact, there’s quite a story about how she came to be sired by Beauregard, if you will permit me to tell it, for it has bearing on our quest.”

“Sired by Beauregard,” mused Pesaro. “But with Beauregard dead, she is then locked in obeisance to his sire… which was Lilith, as I recall.”

Sebastian saw the flash of unease in Pesaro’s eyes, and much as he might abhor the man, he had some compassion for him in this case. The bond of Lilith’s thrall, and her obsession with Pesaro, had been a bane to the man’s life. And even Sebastian, who’d lived among the undead for a time, didn’t care to contemplate some of the things Max had had to endure when he was with her.

“Yes, Lilith was Beauregard’s sire, but the connection had become very weak. He was a Guardian vampire, but she did not trust him with one of the Rings of Jubai. He turned on her centuries ago, so I am not certain how strong Katerina’s bond would be with Lilith.”

“Ah yes… Beauregard was a power-hungry one, wasn’t he?” Pesaro replied.

Sebastian didn’t reply. Before Beauregard’s attempt to turn Victoria undead, against his grandson’s wishes, Sebastian had loved the vampire. Staking him to end his attack on Victoria had been almost as difficult as staking Giulia those years ago.

“Sebastian, you said that you had learned some other information,” Wayren said, once again interrupting his thoughts. He felt as though she not only broke into his musings, but knew exactly what they were… or at least, had a sense of them. The canny look in her eyes seemed to support that.

“As I was about to say, the story of how Katerina became sired is an interesting one and it is germane to the task at hand.”

“Then perhaps you could proceed with the story,” Wayren encouraged.

Sebastian leveled a look at Pesaro. “I think I shall keep you in suspense. The pertinent information is that she has one of the Rings of Jubai. It was given to her by Germintrude, one of Lilith’s other Guardian vampires, in an effort to sway her loyalty from Beauregard. Which didn’t work, but she did keep the ring. If you need the blood of an undead, and we need the ring, it would be expedient to combine the two tasks. And then you can have the pleasure of killing her, after… how many days of fasting will it be?” he added with relish.

“Three,” Pesaro replied. “We leave in the morning.” He stood and, with the briefest of bows to Wayren and Victoria, left the room.

Torn between the hope and dread that Wayren would also go, leaving him alone with Victoria, Sebastian remained in his chair. But Victoria rose first and turned to him as he, too, politely got to his feet. “You will go with us, then?”

Did she truly think he wouldn’t? That he’d leave her to Katerina and Lilith-for they’d have to face her, too, at some point in order to get the other two rings-and close the portal without his help?

Had he not proven himself yet?

But he held back these thoughts and nodded. “I’ll be here before daybreak.” He would have started for the door, but Wayren’s quiet voice stopped him.

“Sebastian, if I could have a word with you.”

The hair lifted at the back of his neck. Could she not have had that word with him earlier? He wanted to leave now. To get out of this house, where Victoria would go upstairs to her chamber and be joined by and with a man he loathed. How could she love him, the cold bastard?

“If you’ll excuse me,” Victoria said, hurrying from the room.

Sebastian preferred not to think about where she was going.

Instead, he turned to Wayren, not entirely sure that a conversation with her would be the lesser of two evils.

“If you want to see the Gardella Bible, there’s no reason to hesitate.”

“Is it blasphemous to say that I greatly dislike it when you do that?” he said wryly, turning toward the cabinet.

Wayren gave a soft laugh. He couldn’t ever remember having heard it before-quiet, gentle, spritely. “No indeed. I’ve heard much worse over the centuries. Sebastian, do you know what you’re looking for?”

He had to shake his head. “No.” Honesty compelled him to speak with forthrightness. “I feel as though I’m waiting to find out what will be asked of me next.”

The heavy handle twisted easily, levering downward and unlatching the door of the cabinet. Inside, the Bible sat, large and smelling of age. He pulled it out, sensitive to the crackling, browned pages and the faded ribbons that marked places in the great tome.

“The first pages of that Bible were scribed by the sisters who lived with Rosamunde in Lock Rose Abbey. Rosamunde, the mystic who wrote many pages of personal revelations before being called to the vis bulla.”

Sebastian nodded, carefully opening the heavy cover. His education of Venator history was sketchy and incomplete, due to his many years away from them. But he had heard of Rosamunde, and he had seen the painting of her in the Consilium. Serene and oval faced, Lady Rosamunde Gardella had seemed much less imposing than a Venator should be.

“In the front of the book are listed all of those called Illa Gardella,” Wayren continued. “And in the back are named all of the Venators. Your name is there, as well as Max’s.”

And in between, Sebastian found, were faded pages of cramped medieval text of the New and Old Testaments, many of which were decorated with large illustrations, their colors long since washed out. These pages had been bound and rebound, and bound again into this much newer leather cover.

Beyond those crackling medieval texts, he found, were more pages of cramped writing in a different hand. Each one signed with a large, ornate R.

Here Sebastian paused. His hands hovered over the page, and he felt compelled to stop and read.

Feeling Wayren’s interested gaze on him, he looked up and saw understanding there. “Rosamunde’s writings. Of course. Would you like a copy of your own?” she asked.

Sebastian watched as Wayren reached into her ever-present rugged leather satchel and shuffled around inside. At last, she withdrew a sheaf of papers. Not nearly as aged as those he held on his lap, but crinkling and loosely bound with a leather thong stitched up one side.

“Perhaps you will find what you are looking for in here,” she said, offering them to him.

Sebastian carefully closed the Bible and reached for the papers. When he touched Wayren’s hand, a peaceful warmth slipped along his arm and settled inside him.

“Perhaps I shall.”

Victoria slept alone the night before they left for Prague, and, of necessity, the nights following.

The journey left little time for sleep. Once they crossed the Channel, she, Max, and Sebastian sat a-saddle from sunrise until past sunset. Wayren did not ride, but she had her own methods of travel and would join Brim and Michalas in Rome and then the rest of them in Prague.

In fact, Victoria was relieved that Wayren would not be traveling with them. Knowing that she’d been a target of the demons once before left her uneasy, and she thought it would be best if Wayren were safely in the Consilium.

“But I will be there in Prague for Max’s Trial,” the blond woman told Victoria, after agreeing to go to Rome as quickly as possible. “I must be there to ensure that all goes well, and to make certain that he is well prepared.”

Victoria had no reason nor desire to argue. She felt confident that Wayren would be safe now that she was on her guard against the demons, and until they could meet again in Prague. She wanted Max to be ready for the life-or-death task ahead of him as well, and she vacillated between begging him not to take the chance and understanding why he must. He felt it would help to protect her-as well as himself. She couldn’t argue with that logic or sentiment.

In fact, after her conversation with Max in the carriage back in London, Victoria had little time to speak with him privately. His bleakness and underlying anger left her cold and uncertain… and frightened.

It wasn’t a matter of him not caring for her, loving her.

It was a matter of him caring for, and loving, her too much. So much that he could be tempted away from his duty if her life was at risk.

At last she understood why he resisted being with her. Making her a part of his life. He was afraid she would affect his decisions, his honor, his duty.

And perhaps… perhaps she should be as thoughtful and hesitant.

But she could not. She’d found what she wanted, and if she had to live the life of Illa Gardella-a life of sacrifice and danger, duty and necessity-she wanted Max to be part of it.

The night before they left for Prague, after she left Sebastian in the small sitting room with Wayren, she’d had one last private moment with Max in the kalari room.

The broad, mat-carpeted chamber housed a variety of weaponry as well as piles of cushions and pillows. Kritanu used them for protection when he worked with Victoria, training her in the martial art of kalaripayattu and on the Chinese fighting method of qinggong, the half-flying, half-gliding ability that Max had mastered.

Victoria and Max had used the generous cushions for a wholly different purpose only a few weeks ago.

When she opened the door, Victoria found Max standing at the slender weapons cabinet that held Kritanu’s extensive collection of blades.

Despite the fact that she moved silently, he turned when she came into the room. He held an odd-looking sword that curved from blade through hilt, and with his bare feet, thick dark hair, and swarthy skin, he reminded her of a fearsome pirate. His expression supported the comparison.

“Three days of fasting?” she asked, imitating his habit of getting immediately to the point as she walked across the room to him. “And then what?”

“Three days of fasting and prayer, while you and Vioget obtain the Ring of Jubai,” he corrected her. “I know time is of the essence, but the process is not unlike that of the knights of old when they were ready to take their vows. Three days on my knees, and then locked in a room with an undead. Only one of us will survive that meeting.”

Victoria felt the ground shift beneath her feet and the walls tip.

She’d heard about the Trial before, but never having had occasion to witness it, she hadn’t known the details other than that it was a life-or-death proposition. Max would never have spoken of it, and no one had attempted the Trial since she became a Venator. It was an exercise that Wayren, not Illa Gardella, managed-and now that Victoria understood who Wayren really was, it made even more sense.

“You have to fight a vampire after no food or sleep for three days? In a closed room?” Even she, with her two vis bullae, would be hard-pressed to succeed in that.

And even though they were in a hurry to close the portal, a one- or two-day delay in Prague wouldn’t make much of a difference if they had Max back with them in full strength. Especially when it came to facing Lilith and finding her lair.

But what if he didn’t succeed? Oh God. Then they would be without him… She would be without him. After all of this. Victoria swallowed and looked up at him. “Max,” she began, trying to find a way to speak her worries that he would understand… and not find insulting, but he interrupted.

“Did you think it would be a simple task?” he asked derisively. He replaced the khukuri knife and latched the cabinet. “Only four others have ever succeeded.”

“But, Max…”

“Stop with the histrionics, Victoria. It’s not becoming to Illa Gardella. Do you think your aunt Eustacia begged Daclid not to take the Trial?”

“Who?”

“Before she loved Kritanu, when he was merely a young man sent to train her, Eustacia loved a man named Daclid who believed he could wear the vis bulla. He attempted the Trial and did not succeed, as have many others over the centuries.”

He didn’t give her any relief; his face remained closed and hard. “There is no guarantee of my success, even this second time.”

Victoria struggled to gather her thoughts, which seemed to have splintered into uncollectible shards with these revelations. The last time she’d felt so taken off guard, so out of her realm, was when she witnessed Eustacia’s beheading by the man who stood before her. “How do you get the blood if you stake the vampire? What is that for?”

“We get the blood prior to the battle-I’m allowed assistance with that because that isn’t part of the Trial,” he added with self-deprecation. “Just enough blood to soak the vis bulla in it.”

He stood in front of her, so close her skirt brushed the tops of his narrow feet. “But that doesn’t come into play unless I succeed in leaving the room alive. That part of the Trial, incidentally, comes from the battles in the Colosseum. You know of the men thrown to the lions for sport… but after dark, they might be thrown to vampires instead. A crowd of Tutela and vampires would watch for their enjoyment.”

Victoria didn’t want to think about what Max would have to face. Not with him standing there, close enough that she could see the individual whiskers starting to emerge from his chin, and the steady pump of heartbeat in the side of his throat. But nor could she be ignorant of it. She had to know. She was Illa Gardella. “And if you leave that room alive?” she prompted.

“The blood-soaked vis bulla is pierced through my skin-just as it was yours. The difference is that I, not of the Gardellas, take it drenched with undead blood as well as holy water. That’s the final test. I either live, and have the power of the vis, or I die from the combination of evil and holiness piercing my flesh.”

And then Victoria understood it all. “If you succeed in any of it-all of it-it’s by… by divine will.”

“Of course. Just as your calling is.”

“Max, you-”

“Don’t.” He spoke through teeth clamped tightly.

So she didn’t. She surged into him instead.

His arms came around her with a fierceness she hadn’t expected, a strength that told her he wasn’t as dispassionate as he pretended.

She felt, for the first time, an edge of desperation in his touch, and knew that the same fear echoed in her own actions. The faint tremble in her fingers as she dragged him as close as she could, the way he pressed his temple against hers in a singular, frozen moment as their hearts beat together, their breaths mingled. The way they dragged the other to the floor seconds later, pulling haphazardly at clothes, lifting, shifting, yanking them away so that they could be flesh to flesh again.

They came together with ferocity, without finesse or hesitation. And when they finished and found themselves in a sweaty heap, limbs and fabric tangled and twisted, Max opened his eyes and looked down at Victoria.

Her heart seized up, began to flutter and swell, and she opened her mouth to tell him how much she loved him, how she couldn’t bear it if something happened… perhaps even to beg him not to attempt it.

But he spoke first, sending all of her flowery thoughts scattering. “Stay away from me until after, Victoria. I need no distractions. Do you understand?”

She nodded, her head cradled in his large, warm hands, the weight of his body gentle against hers. She moistened her lips, drew in her breath to argue… then nodded again.

The corners of his eyes crinkled the slightest bit, just enough for her to know that he recognized her struggle to acquiesce.

They rose, righted their clothing, left the room, and went separately to their chambers.

And the next morning, they left for Prague.