Blood Lies (Dark Brothers of the Light #9) (11 page)

Chinisi ran to them and pulled at Stygean,
trying to get him off Jingen.

Then adult voices were heard, and white hot
power tore through him. He released Jingen with a sob and rolled to
the side, clutching his stomach. Someone had just hit him with a
surge of powerful magic.

"What is going on here?" Isranon demanded.
He and the three master mages stood gazing down at the boys.

Edvarde stood to the side of them with a
rapt expression. "So that's what it looks like! He certainly had
his fangs in nicely. Would you have him do it again so I can get a
better look at it?"

Nans Gryphonheart appeared behind Edvarde
and shoved him. He gave her a reproachful look and went silent.

Stygean felt distinctly uncomfortable with
all of them staring at him. He realized that he had a smear of
blood around his mouth and hurriedly wiped it off on his sleeve.
Isranon's expression held a cold fury that made Stygean wince to
see. His eyes teared up, but he said nothing, for nothing could
excuse the fact that he had been feeding upon Jingen.

Perceiving an opening, Jingen charged in.
"Stygean had the girl in the bushes. I objected. That's what
happened."

"That is not what happened." Chinisi stamped
her foot indignantly. "Well, it is and it isn't."

"Were you in the bushes with Stygean?"
Chinisi's uncle, Master Geoffry Cordwainer, asked.

"Yes. But it isn't what it looks like,"
Chinisi protested. "All he was going to do was bite me."

Stygean groaned.

Isranon's face tightened into a mask of
disapproval. "Stygean, go to your room and stay there."

Stygean trudged off, vowing silently never
to speak to Chinisi again. Things were going rapidly from bad to
worse. That girl was trouble waiting to happen.

* * * *

The mages had gone silent as they followed
Isranon toward the front doors of the manor. The sight of seeing
one sa'necari feeding upon the other had cast a pall over the
excitement of Isranon's display.

Isranon could taste the disturbance in the
air, too strong to ignore. His sense of victory vanished, replaced
by distress and worry. "I apologize for the actions of my
apprentices. Particularly Stygean, I assure you he'll be
punished."

"No need to apologize," Teague smirked. "So
long as they feed on each other, there's less for us to worry
about."

Isranon's stomach clenched. "Stygean's
behavior is not acceptable. I won't tolerate it."

Cordwainer nodded. "Except for the
apprentices, all of us can count our kills of your kind."

"I can count my own kills..." Isranon's
mouth tightened.

"How old were they when you acquired them?"
Merick shared a skeptical glance with Koejelus.

"Twelve."

"That's rather old. They would have been
indoctrinated into the rites as soon as they could consummate."

"They have not committed the rites."
Isranon's voice rose sharply in denial.

"We can all see that. Their eyes have not
changed. I sensed no glamour on them to hide it."

"Stygean will be punished."

"That's not the point." Merick halted on the
path and turned to face Isranon. "They have been taught how to do
it. They might be hungry for that rite of adulthood that comes with
mortgiefan. In your shoes, I would have killed them both and chosen
younger boys."

Koejelus nodded. "It would have been
safer."

"My apprentices are not a danger. They have
embraced my teachings."

"I, for one, will be keeping my eyes on
them," said Merick.

A chorus of agreement went up among the
mages and their entourages.

Nevin's rough voice cut through the noise.
"In a down in the dirt fight, all boys will bite – even humans.

"Not mine." Isranon ended the discussion by
striding to the door and entering the manor.

* * * *

"I want my mother," Jingen whimpered, laying
in his bed. He had never been so weakened in his life. His neck
hurt and Jingen felt as if he were dying.

Randilyn looked him over, her expression
wary. She neither liked nor trusted Jingen, and made no secret of
it. They had given him a nibari, but restricted the feeding.
Afterward she had dosed him with willow bark extract. Yet he still
appeared to be suffering. "All right, I'll fetch her."

They had locked the blood-slaves into one of
the barracks rooms and sealed the windows so that none of them
could get out. They would be moved into the dungeons, once Edvarde
got them ready – he wanted the cells to be as comfortable as
possible for his unusual guests – and Isranon would then assign
guards. Some of them had beds and cots, but most were sleeping on
the floors with blankets.

Randilyn returned with Disharyl and left
them in alone together.

Disharyl looked down at her son in concern.
"What happened to you?"

Jingen squirmed into her arms, pressing his
face into her breasts. "Stygean. I want to kill him. He bit
me."

"Where?" Disharyl started opening Jingen's
tunic to find the wound.

"My shoulder. He was trying for my neck. He
fed
on me."
Filthy fucking traitor. That's what you are,
Stygean. I hate you.

Disharyl snarled. "Those Loosestrifes always
thought too much of themselves."

Jingen moaned again. "He's dead flesh, I
tell you. Dead flesh. I hurt." He drew her wrist up to feed from it
and ease his own suffering. Disharyl stopped him. Instead she
opened her blouse and lifted her breasts out, wrapping them both in
her bodice and sitting with her back to the door so her actions
could not be seen. She manipulated her nipple as she had when she
nursed him as an infant. Jingen's mouth closed over her nipple and
suckled in an infantile manner, supported by her arm around his
shoulders. She shuddered in pleasure, pressing his face more
strongly into her body. "Bite into the vein and drink. My blood is
strong."

Jingen's fangs came down, sliding into the
soft, firm flesh so that he could continue to mouth all of it. He
dragged long swallows from his mother's breast. The pain eased. He
laid back, satisfied. "I want him dead."

She tucked him in before closing her blouse.
Disharyl nodded. "So do I. I thought for certain we would gain both
the renunciate's death and the end of Liuthan's lineage."

"They're both still alive."

"That can be corrected. We will keep our
eyes open and an opportunity will present itself." Disharyl kissed
his forehead. "For now, Jingen, you must act the lamb until you can
be the lion."

* * * *

Stygean curled up with his pillow, weeping.
How could something that had been so right have gone so wrong? He
was minding his own business until Chinisi and then Jingen charged
in. And Jingen had been rude. Stygean felt mortified by what Jingen
had said in front of Chinisi. Now she would think he was just
another predator trying to get inside her and he hadn't been. He
hadn't. He had even warned her off. He just wanted to try and fast
until he couldn't manage it. He was doing what Isranon wanted him
to do. Isranon would never understand. No one would. They would
just think he was back up to his old tricks again: abusing
people.

And the hunger. They still had not sent him
a nibari, and now his guts felt all jumbled with need. They
probably didn't trust him not to abuse them if they sent him one.
He hadn't given them any reason to trust him.

The door opened without a knock and Isranon
came in.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do it. I lost
control."

Isranon said nothing at all, merely
continued to the bed and sat down on it. His silence made Stygean
uneasy. Where was the lecture? What was he going to do? Then
Isranon opened his mouth and Stygean saw that his fangs were fully
down. Stygean's eyes saucered and, panicking, he tried to slide off
the bed on the other side. Isranon was faster. His large body
pinned the slender youth; he twisted Stygean's head around by his
hair and sank his fangs into Stygean's neck. Isranon did not even
bother to take the worst of it from him by entering his mind.
Stygean screamed in pain and terror, thrashing wildly, which caused
Isranon to tear him unintentionally.

Stygean had a brief suspicion that Isranon
intended to kill him, that it had finally been decided he wasn't
worth keeping alive. His voice grew hoarse with screaming. His
thrashings stilled as dizziness and lassitude crept over him and
the world grayed.

Isranon lifted his blood-stained mouth from
Stygean's neck and licked the wound to close it. "Forgive me."

Stygean clutched at Isranon desperately,
frightened as much by the rejection it implied as by the violence
of the act itself. "Am I dying?" His words emerged as a hoarse
whisper.

Isranon turned his face away, firmly putting
Stygean's hands off him. "No."

"I hurt…." His voice and Isranon's sounded
as if they had been wrapped in a smothering blanket. A strange
clarity gripped him.

"I know." Isranon left him without another
word.

Stygean fought to remain conscious, slowly
realizing that Isranon had taken him to 'the edge', and it would be
days before he felt completely well again. He had never expected to
be bitten, much less 'taken to the edge' by someone as kind as
Isranon. It was what Stygean had tried to do to Jingen and had
nearly done to Nainee. His neck hurt and the rest of him felt
wrapped in cotton. Had he not defied them and rebelled in the
beginning by hurting people, he would not have been judged by those
deeds now. He ached with disappointment, his mentor's
disappointment. He felt shabby and dirty.

The world grayed still more. He wanted to
close his eyes and drift away, yet he fought it a little longer,
his sorrow growing like a clenched fist in his chest.
Please
don't turn away from me, Isranon. Please.

Then Stygean's awareness slid into the
darkness and did not return until the next morning.

* * * *

The intensity of Stygean's blood had
sharpened Isranon's appetites, so he had ordered Nainee to fetch
him four meals. He returned to his suite to await them and found
Nevin waiting for him.

The grizzled wolf sat staring into a tankard
of mead, and did not raise his head to look at his spiritbrother.
"You punished him?"

Isranon nodded, rubbing his hands across his
face. "I made him feel what he made Jingen feel."

"Then that's his blood in the corner of your
mouth?" Nevin brushed his finger across the edge of Isranon's lips,
turned it to show the blood.

"Yes."

"It was not his fault."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it wasn't. You have not had any
time for him, so he has been going to Father Telamon. The priest
suggested he fast, so he did – no food or blood for twenty-four
hours. You know very well what adolescent appetites are like. You
ought to listen to Father Telamon as I have."

"I would never have done what he did."

"Never?"

Isranon flinched from his tone. "Sa'necari
do not learn from kindness."

"Don't they? The boy is desperate for your
approval. He wants to be loved. I see that when I am training him.
He's alone in the world and you are the anchor for his ship – as I
was for yours."

"He has never been taught to control his
urges."

"Then teach him."

"I do not have time." Isranon's voice became
more strident.

Nevin growled and rose from the table.
"We'll continue to have these conversations until you are willing
to do what needs to be done."

The lycan abandoned his drink and the
room.

Isranon buried his face in his hands. "Not
you too, Nevin. Everyone is pulling at me with their demands and
you're adding to it. I can't take much more."

Veranoctem 10. 1077

Clovis sat in a comfortable chair by the
largest of the three windows with a book in his hands. He had
persuaded Maruska's aide, Fausto, to allow them books and games. He
was promised that the excursions to the library would be twice
weekly. Clovis had prayed that Fausto would keep his word. Two days
ago, three of the believers in the old god had stopped eating.
Depression was as deadly as their destiny; therefore, distractions
were a must. Each day that those myn lived held the potential of
conversion. Each day that the faithful lived was another day to
pray and praise the Lady. Clovis had been escorted to the library
by Godofredo and returned with his arms full.

He lowered the book to his lap to observe
Konrad sitting on Thorben's bed, trying to persuade the mind-torn
duke to talk to his doll. Now that he had a playmate, Konrad's eyes
were brighter than Clovis had seen them in months. Thorben accepted
the doll from Konrad, kissed and hugged it before returning the
doll.

"If you're a good boy, they won't hurt you,"
Konrad insisted with childlike exaggeration.

Thorben nodded solemnly. "I be good."

Clovis heaved a sigh, returning his gaze to
the book with melancholy whispering through him.
Aww, Konrad,
how little that will avail you come spring. The Lady willing,
you'll die first and with the least suffering.

Bonifaz drew closer to Clovis, striving to
conceal the deliberateness of his approach. "What happened to
Reynhard Dreslin?"

"You've waited a long time to start asking
questions." Clovis rose, placed his book in the chair and moved to
the dining table where he poured a glass of wine.

"I'm asking now."

"So be it. Reynhard's dead. I watched him
die when Maruska's larva ate its way out." Clovis' gaze went
distant, he took a sip of wine and then downed the entire
glass.

Bonifaz thumbed at the lip of the bottle.
"If you broke the end off, it would be a weapon."