played in Syler’s eyes, a mark of emotion. Whether from anger or elation remained unclear.
She held out her upturned palms, a recognized sign of submission among the nobility, knowing she must tread carefully so as not to upset the plans she’d been crafting for so many years. Slowly, she spun the words out. “Lord Ivan’s passing makes this necessary transition uncomfortable, I understand. It pains me to move forward with such haste, but Dominus is a position I am well suited for and a title I would be honored to wear.” She dropped her hands back to her sides. “I would take every necessary precaution to prevent Lord Ivan’s death from throwing the House of Tepes into disarray. Without reservation, I know that is what Lord Ivan would want.”
Lord Zephrim jumped to his feet. “This is outrageous.” He glared at the other lords. “She’s been Elder little more than a month and now she wants to ascend to Dominus? Forget that she’s a woman. She has no place asking such a thing.”
Lord Syler set his glass down. “If something happened to Grigor, would you balk at setting Svetla in his place?”
Lord Grigor nodded in approval. “It is the natural order of our system, Zephrim.”
“The natural order?” Lord Zephrim bridged his fingers on the tabletop and leaned in toward Grigor. “No one achieves Dominus without the say of the ancient ones. That is the natural order of our system. Unless you wish to go against them as well?”
Lord Grigor sat back, the nerves around his right eye twitching. “I would never go against the ancient ones. I live to serve them. For you to suggest otherwise, in my home, at my table…” He shook his head slowly. “Do not press my hospitality, comrade.”
Lord Zephrim took his seat. “I am only saying things must be done properly.” He turned to look at Tatiana. “Unless you have something to say about that?”
This time her smile was genuine. After all, the Castus Sanguis had chosen her as their instrument to break the covenant between humans and othernaturals, and their leader, Samael, had given her some of his power. She had nothing to fear. “No, please, the ancient ones must be consulted. And, of course, I am willing to abide by whatever they decide. May the ancient ones be served.”
The others recited the words in unison. “May the ancient ones be served.”
Lord Timotheius nodded toward Grigor. “As we have gathered in your house, it is your right to call upon them.”
Yes, Tatiana thought, because the rest of you are like frightened little rabbits running from the hawk. And well they should be. The Castus did as they pleased. Even if that meant turning on their children.
Lord Grigor whispered something to Svetla. She nodded, then got up and left. The other lords took notice and sent their Elders out also. Cowards. If the Castus wanted a sacrifice, a few walls would not prevent them from taking what they desired.
She moved one of the vacated chairs to the foot of the table opposite Grigor and sat, folding her hands in her lap as one might when awaiting the arrival of a friend for tea. Grigor ignored her. Fool.
He pushed back his chair, the felted feet making little sound on the cold marble tiles, and stood. His fur-trimmed robe fell open, revealing a charming pair of mother-of-pearl daggers on his belt. She would appropriate those as spoils of war when the time came. “It is my honor to call the ancient ones.”
Tatiana smiled at his bravado and settled back to await Samael. She’d not seen him in some time. Her smile faded, and she closed her eyes to send a silent plea that he was not displeased with her efforts.
When she reopened them, Grigor’s arms were outstretched, his palms up. An almost-imperceptible quiver shook his body. “Castus Sanguis, hear your children, come to us and grace us with thy presence.”
The lords around her stiffened. Seconds ticked by. She inhaled, seeking the scents of brimstone and rotting flesh. Nothing but blood and the reek of ancient vampires. Grigor dropped his arms.
“Perhaps call one by name,” Lord Syler offered.
“Yes.” Lord Zephrim nodded.
Lord Grigor frowned. Tatiana bent her head to hide her pleasure. Calling one of the Castus by name would be no one’s first choice. He shook his hands and stretched out his arms again. “Hear us, ancient ones, the purest of blood, the Castus Sanguis, those who made us. We bid you come into our midst.” He stepped back.