Sweep of the Blade (Innkeeper Chronicles #4) - Ilona Andrews Page 0,44
read people and an innate understanding of violence and its degrees and uses. Within seconds of meeting an opponent, she knew exactly how to provoke or calm them and how much force she would have to use to stop, cripple, or kill them. Person or animal, Maud could take its measure and push them to the desired result. That’s what made her so good at navigating vampire politics.
She always thought that Klaus would inherit the inn, and Dina, who always wanted to live a normal life, would end up as a gardener or botanist somewhere, while Maud became an ad-hal. Motherhood and marriage hadn’t been on her radar.
Now her parents were missing, Klaus was lost, Dina was an innkeeper, and Maud lay in a vampire hospital bed after getting the living daylights beat out of her by a prospective mother-in-law.
The door chimed.
Now what?
The medic glanced at the screen to his left. “The Scribe is outside the door,” the medic said. “Do you want to receive him?”
Scribes kept vampire histories. Every genealogical quirk, every victory and defeat, every scheme gone wrong or right, they recorded it all. But she wasn’t a part of House Krahr. There was no reason why he would want to see her.
Delaying wouldn’t accomplish anything and refusing the meeting would be unwise. The Scribe held enough power to force a meeting if he wanted and she had precious few allies as it was. No reason to alienate him.
Maud fought through the relaxant’s fog. “Yes.”
The door hissed open, and the Scribe walked in. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a mane of chestnut brown hair, he was older than Arland, but not by much. He had a long intelligent face and his eyes, pale green under a sweep of thick eyebrows, were sharp.
“Lady Maud,” he said. “My name is Lord Erast.”
“To what do we owe the honor?” Karat asked.
“It seems Lady Maud and I have gotten off on the wrong foot,” the Scribe said.
“That’s impossible, my lord,” Maud said. “We haven’t met.”
“Precisely. I labored under the assumption that as a human, you would be exempt from our traditions.” Erast nodded at the recording playing on the screen. “I was in error. We know exactly nothing about you, which makes it awkward at formal functions.”
He flicked his fingers at his crest. “This session is now being recorded. What is your lifetime kill count?”
“I don’t know.”
Erast’s eyes bulged. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I haven’t kept track.”
“You were the wife of a Marshal’s son. Was the importance of keeping a personal record not impressed upon you?”
Maud sighed. “In the three years I was with House Ervan, they had no major conflicts. I had several personal bouts, but none of them were to the death. Afterward, on Karhari, it didn’t seem important.”
“Did you have any titles?” Karat asked.
“Maud the Eloquent.”
Karat and Erast looked at each other.
“House Ervan put great emphasis on the knowledge of ancient sagas,” Maud explained.
“Can she use that?” Karat asked.
Erast pinched the bridge of his nose. “Technically, no. They struck her from their records, so any titles or honors earned while with House Ervan are forfeit. They are subjective, bestowed upon an individual by others to highlight certain deeds. The kill count is different because taking a life is an irrefutable fact.”
“What about Maud the Exile?” Karat asked. “Could we do something with that?”
Erast frowned. “My lady, answer honestly. What was the most important duty in your life before your exile?”
“Taking care of Helen.”
“What about on Karhari?”
“Taking care of Helen.”
“And now?”
“Helen.”
“Do you desire revenge on House Ervan?”
“I wouldn’t mind punching a couple of them, but no. I was mad at my husband, and I buried him long ago.”
Erast sighed. “The Exile won’t work. A title like that implies an element of rebirth. Lady Maud hasn’t permitted the act of being exiled to affect her worldview. There was no seismic shift in her personality as the result of being sent to Karhari.”
The two vampires stared at her. The frustration on Erast’s face was almost comical.
“They did call me something on Karhari.”
“What was it?”
“Maud the Sariv.”
“What does that mean?” Karat asked.
“On Karhari there is a summer wind that comes from the wastes. Nobody knows how it forms, but it comes out of nowhere and it picks up thorny spores from local weeds. When you inhale sariv’s breath, the spores enter your lungs and cut you from the inside. There is no escape from this storm. If you are caught in it without protective gear, it will kill you. They called me that