"Because while I have merely undergone the blood ceremony and not the conversion, Robert’s death was almost my death. It took a toll on my strength and my will." She looked at me again, her face bitter and suddenly gaunt. "But I could have survived that. I could have survived his death and moved on with my life, had it not been for one discovery."
I raised an eyebrow, and she continued almost savagely. "By killing Robert and declaring that his entire nest be erased, they have sentenced me to madness when my death finally comes and the conversion takes place."
I frowned. "Why? I mean, it’s not like another vampire couldn’t help you."
"But they won’t. Robert’s line has been sentenced to death—each and every one of us. I am the last of his fledglings-in-waiting, and no vampire would dare take me into his care for fear that going against the council’s edict would doom their own nest."
My frown deepened. "Fair enough, but I still don’t see why you’d be sentenced to madness when you’re converted. I mean, you seem sane enough now." Or as sane as anyone hell-bent on revenge could get. "Why would that change when you die and become a vampire?"
"Because the step from life to unlife is a traumatic one—not just because you die and are reborn, but because every new vampire is hit with a veritable sensory overload. It takes years for any newborn to learn to eat, walk, and talk, and it is no different for a newly turned vampire. That is why a fledgling’s master is so important. They keep us safe, keep us in line, and—most important—teach us."
That being the case, I could understand her bitterness and need for revenge—and it didn’t make my task here today any easier. I might sympathize, but I still had a job to do. One I had to finish if I didn’t want to end up a victim of the high council.
"Look, the council’s full of bastards, we both know that, but murdering them isn’t going to solve your problem. You’ve killed two already. Why not call off the Maniae—or, at least, offer the council a trade?"
"And why would I do that?"
"Well, it’s not so much Whitfield’s death that has pissed you off, but the fact that you’ll be left in isolation thanks to their ban on helping his fledglings, right?"
She nodded, amusement bright in her blue eyes. I had a sudden suspicion she was only humoring me, that she was waiting for something—or someone—else.
I resisted the urge to look around, although every sense I had seemed to be on high alert, and the hairs on my arms were standing on end. But other than the increasing sense of wariness and the strange way the fire was moving, nothing appeared out of the ordinary.
I continued, "So with two councilors already dead, why not contract the council and offer a trade? Their lives for yours? It seems a sensible option to me—especially if all you really want is the opportunity to survive."
She considered me for a moment, then turned her gaze to the flames again. After a moment, she nodded. "It is, indeed, a sensible option."
"Meaning, I gather, that you’re not into sensible right now?"