Sweep of the Blade (Innkeeper Chronicles #4) - Ilona Andrews Page 0,86

reviewed the day’s agenda late last night, after giving up on getting any sleep. At their core, vampires were mostly carnivorous predators, and hunting was in their blood. They liked to kill, cook their catch, and eat it.

Humans had retained some of those primitive memories, too. No matter how civilized they became or how evolved the art of cooking became, nothing beat a piece of meat roasted over a fire.

The Holy Anocracy was not that civilized. They didn’t bother to make any excuses or to distance themselves from their predatory past. As soon as a vampire House claimed territory, they did two things. They planted a vala tree and they designated hunting grounds.

House Krahr maintained a huge hunting preserve. Today, at noon, they would be riding through it. Missing the hunt was unthinkable. She could get away with missing games, skipping a formal dinner, even being late to the wedding ceremony, although that last one would require reparations for the offense to the newlyweds. If she missed the hunt, however, the insult to the hosts would be monumental. Even children were brought to the hunt as soon as they were old enough not to fall off the mounts.

“What kind of hunt?” Helen asked.

“Do you remember when Daddy and I took you to House Kirtin and we rode out to hunt bazophs?”

It had been one of the rare bright moments in their exile. Melizard had landed a position with a stable House and for two months they had a brief taste of normal Anocracy life. And then he had punched the Kirtin Marshal and it all ended.

Helen’s eyes lit up. “Can I come on the hunt?”

“Yes.”

Maud realized that if she had told an average Earth woman that she would be taking her five-year-old daughter onto a temperamental alien mount and allowing her to ride in a large pack of homicidal vampires to hunt an unknown but surely dangerous beast, the woman would have tried to take Helen away from her on the spot. Some people had PTA meetings, she had hunts.

Helen would enjoy it and Maud wanted her to be happy. Plus, after the poisoning, letting her daughter out of her sight without an army of bodyguards ready to tear any attacker to pieces was out of the question.

Whatever Ilemina wanted would likely take place before the hunt.

They reached the Preceptor’s study. The door was retracted, the doorway framing Ilemina bent over her desk. The older vampire woman seemed deep in thought, her expression focused and harsh.

A feeling of dread mugged Maud. Now what?

She halted in the doorway. “My lady?”

Ilemina raised her head. “Come inside.”

Maud walked into the room, bringing Helen with her. The door slid shut behind them. Trapped.

Ilemina fixed her with a heavy gaze. “Lady Onda and Lady Seveline have invited you to the bride’s wassail.”

The wassail was a long-standing vampire tradition. Despite the grand name, it was basically a brunch, light on food, but heavy on drinks, which, for vampires, meant caffeine. An average vampire could drain a bottle of whiskey and remain perfectly sober, but Maud had seen them down an expresso and dissolve into a soggy mess of slurred words and draping arms, declaring their undying love and devotion to a stranger they met ten minutes ago.

The wassail involved a large punch bowl filled with a caffeinated beverage and each guest would be served from it, toasting the host. It was common before a wedding; in fact, the tradition prescribed having several wassails for both the bride and groom. Maud had attended a few of these before and every time proved to be a hilarious experience. Inevitably someone challenged her to a drink off, which ended with them under the table and her, completely sober, urgently looking for a bathroom.

Ilemina’s face held very little humor. It promised doom. Definitely doom.

“Is the invitation cause for alarm?” Maud asked.

“No female members of House Krahr received an invitation. It is a family wassail. You are the only outsider.”

She would be isolated and surrounded by knights of House Kozor. House Krahr was honor bound to respect their guests’ privacy. If something happened, there was no guarantee back-up would arrive in time or at all. To decline the invitation would be both rude and cowardly, and Onda and Seveline were counting on that.

“It’s a trap.” The words came out flat.

Ilemina nodded. “They’ll provoke you. They’ll try to test you to see what you know. Failing that, they’ll seek to humiliate you.”

“They’re counting on Arland. If they insult me enough, and I