The look of suppressed fury on Matthew’s face suggested that peace was the last thing Gallowglass was going to enjoy once his uncle found him.
“I remembered reading something about scions back when Grandfather hoped I would turn to law and take on Godfrey’s old duties,” Marcus said.
“Found it,” Hamish said, his finger tapping against the page.
‘Any male with full-blooded children of his own can establish a scion, provided he has the approval of his sire or the head of his clan. The new scion will be considered a branch of the original family, but in all other ways the new scion’s sire shall exercise his will and power freely.’
“That sounds straightforward enough, but since Godfrey was involved, there must be more to it.”
“Forming a scion—a distinct branch of the de Clermont family under your authority—will solve all of our problems!” Marcus said.
“Not all clan leaders welcome scions, Marcus,” Matthew warned.
“Once a rebel, always a rebel,” Marcus said with a shrug. “You knew that when you made me.”
“And Phoebe?” Matthew’s brows lifted. “Does your fiancée share your revolutionary sentiments?
She might not like the idea of being cast out of Sept-Tours without a penny after all of your assets are seized by your uncle.”
“What do you mean?” Marcus said, uneasy.
“Hamish can correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe the next section of Godfrey’s book lays out the penalties associated with establishing a scion without your sire’s permission,” Matthew replied.
“You’re my sire,” Marcus said, his chin set in stubborn lines.
“Only in the biological sense: I provided you with my blood so you could be reborn a vampire.”
Matthew rammed his hands through his hair, a sign that his own frustration was mounting. “And you know how I detest the term ‘sire’ used in that context. I consider myself your father—not your blood donor.”
“I’m asking you to be more than that,” Marcus said. “Baldwin is wrong about the covenant and wrong about the Congregation. If you establish a scion, we could chart our own path, make our own decisions.”
“Is there some problem with you establishing your own scion, Matt?” Hamish asked. “Now that Diana’s pregnant, I would think you’d be eager to get out from under Baldwin’s thumb.”
“It’s not as simple as you think,” Matthew told him. “And Baldwin may have reservations.”
“What’s this, Phoebe?” Sarah’s finger pointed to a rough patch in the parchment under Matthew’s name. She was more interested in the genealogy than the legal complexities.
Phoebe took a closer look. “It’s an erasure of some sort. There used to be another roundel there. I can almost make out the name. Beia—oh, it must be Benjamin. They’ve used common medieval abbreviations and substituted an i for a j.”
“They scratched out the circle but forgot to get rid of the little red line that connects him to Matthew. Based on that, this Benjamin is one of Matthew’s children,” Sarah said.
The mention of Benjamin’s name made my blood run cold. Matthew did have a son of that name.
He was a terrifying creature, one whose madness was of unfathomable depth.
Phoebe unrolled another scroll. This genealogy looked ancient, too, though not quite as old as the one we’d all been studying. She frowned.
“This looks to be from a century later.” Phoebe put the parchment on the table. “There’s no erasure on this one and no mention of a Benjamin either. He just disappears without a trace.”
“Who’s Benjamin?” asked Marcus, though I couldn’t imagine why. Surely he must know the identities of Matthew’s other children.
“Benjamin does not exist.” Ysabeau’s expression was guarded, and she had chosen her words carefully. My brain tried to process the implications of Marcus’s question and Ysabeau’s odd response. If Matthew’s son didn’t know about Benjamin . . .
“Is that why his name is erased?” Phoebe asked. “Did someone make a mistake?”
“Yes, he was a mistake,” Matthew said, his voice hollow.
“And Benjamin does exist,” I said, meeting Matthew’s gray-green eyes. They were shuttered and remote. “I met him in sixteenth-century Prague.”
“Is he alive now?” Hamish asked.
“I don’t know. I thought he was dead shortly after I made him in the twelfth century,” Matthew replied. “Hundreds of years later, Philippe heard of someone who fit Benjamin’s description, but he dropped out of sight again before we could be sure. There were rumors of Benjamin in the nineteenth century, but I never saw any proof.”
“I don’t understand,” Marcus said. “Even if he’s dead, Benjamin should still appear in the genealogy.”
“I disavowed him. So did Philippe.” Matthew closed his eyes