Blood of the Rose (31 page)

“If he lives long enough,” Rosalind muttered. “And if I don’t kill him first myself.”

Elias departed, and Rhys looked as if he were trying to slip away unnoticed as well. Rosalind cleared her throat. “Rhys? Who exactly are you going to send to aid Elias?” He turned back, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Rhys . . .”

He sighed. “That girl we met on the rooftops that night.”

“You mean that
Vampire
we
fought
.”

“She is a Vampire, that is true, but she holds Christopher’s interests close to her heart.” Rhys paused. “She is Christopher’s half sister. She will want to help him, and I suspect she knows more of his doings than anyone.”

“Because she follows him about?”

“Aye. She is very interested in him.”

Rosalind studied Rhys’s familiar face for a long moment, but he gave nothing else away. Why did everyone keep secrets from her? It seemed that no one needed her help, and that suited her perfectly.

She nodded. “Then go and find her. I hope to God that none of you is killed trying to save that worthless Druid slayer.”

“Rosalind, Christopher isn’t . . .”

“We can’t choose whom we love, Rhys. I’ve found that out for myself, but I don’t have to stand by and watch him destroy himself.”

Rhys started to say something, and then kissed her hand and left. Rosalind stared down into the rushes that covered the floor until she could breathe more easily. Her life felt like a series of terrible knots in a skein of silk and she had no idea how to untangle even one of them.

Chapter 23

I
n the semidarkness of the hazy summer evening, Christopher walked slowly down to the stables and took the time to appreciate his surroundings, to smell the flowers and to be thankful he was still alive. Every sensation seemed clearer and more distinct, as if his mind was desperately trying to catalogue everything he would soon lose.

He mounted his horse and said good-bye to Roper, who muttered a begrudging reply. He hoped his manservant would be pleased with the bequest he had left him in his will. He doubted anything would really make Roper happy, but he had done his best to safeguard the man’s future.

It seemed to take no time at all to reach the crypt of St. Bethesda’s Church. He vaguely wondered how all the members of the Mithras Cult would fit in such a small space. But he didn’t have to worry about that. All he had to do was comport himself well enough to die with dignity. He took another deep breath and began to pray. He prayed for Rosalind and their child, for Rhys and Elias, for the king and for all those who had touched his complicated but mercifully short life.

The last of the sunlight disappeared behind the church and he was plunged into darkness. It seemed a fitting moment to open the door into the crypt and face his destiny. As Christopher stepped inside, the blaze of candlelight momentarily blinded him. Someone touched his arm and he turned to find Sir Marcus Flavian at his elbow.

“Good evening, Lord Christopher.”

“Good evening, Sir Marcus.” Marcus looked far too jovial for such a solemn occasion. But then he was probably busy anticipating his rise to power and the fall of Christopher’s uncle.

“Are you ready, my lord?”

Christopher shrugged. “I suppose there is no other answer but yes, is there?”

Marcus’s smile set all Christopher’s nerves bristling, but he didn’t let the other man see it. Marcus guided him through the twisting passages until they were deep inside the crypt. Christopher sensed the weight of the church pressing down on them like a living thing. Eventually, Marcus stopped and placed his hand on a stone tablet carved like a bull’s head set in the wall. With a grinding noise, the stonework slid to one side to reveal another darker passageway.

“After you, my lord.”

Christopher had little choice but to comply. For all he knew, Marcus might have decided to lead him to his death without a trial at all. As the tunnel narrowed even further, he put his hand out to help him feel the way forward and encountered rough-hewn stone. A light glimmered in the distance, and he made his uncertain way toward it.

He emerged into a small circular space lit by a single burning torch. Ahead of him was an arched door adorned with symbols of the Mithras Cult. He recognized the horns of the bull; Sol Invictus, the sun god; and Mithras rising from the rock. The door was edged with red to represent the spilled blood of sacrifice. Christopher swallowed hard.

Marcus slipped past and opened one of the double doors. He peered inside. “It seems they are ready for us.”

“Oh, good,” Christopher said.

Marcus only bowed and gestured for Christopher to come forward. It felt as though he had stepped into a vast open space, which was much bigger than he had anticipated. The room was circular and lined with tiers of stone seating rather like a Roman arena. Nearly every seat was occupied by a brown-robed, hooded figure. Christopher estimated there were at least two hundred men there, all ready to pass judgment on him.

At the opposite end of the room sat his uncle, dressed in his red ceremonial robes and bull headdress. He was surrounded by the twelve members of his council. Christopher walked down the steps into the center of the circle, Marcus at his side.

“I bring the accused, Lord Christopher Ellis, to you, Pater Heliodromus,” Marcus said, his voice echoing around the space.

Edward rose and spread his arms wide. “We ask you, Great God Mithras, Slayer of the Bull, lord of all the ages, to part the mists and let your glory shine through. In your wisdom, show us what fate you desire for this miscreant.”

Christopher wanted to smile at that. Mithras had better agree with his uncle, or there would surely be hell to pay. The other members of the cult stood too and echoed his uncle’s prayer. Marcus said nothing, but Christopher could feel the tension vibrating through him as they waited.

When the others sat down, Marcus stepped forward. “Pater Heliodromus, I wish to speak.”

Edward frowned. “You will have your turn, Marcus Flavian. That has already been agreed.”

Marcus took another deliberate step. “I want my turn now,
before
Lord Christopher’s trial.”

“What is this nonsense?”

“I am challenging your rule. I do not think you fit to preside over the trial of your own nephew.”

A buzz of excited whispering circled the room, and Christopher tensed. What game was Marcus playing? And if his uncle was deposed before his trial started, would he get a better hearing or a worse one?

Edward bent to speak to his council and then straightened. “There is no precedent for what you suggest. We will proceed as planned.”

“Mayhap we might vote on it first?” Marcus glanced at the packed crowds. “Surely there are enough members here to decide. Who here thinks it well to consider the leadership of the cult first?”

To Christopher’s unbelieving gaze, about half the hooded figures raised their right hands and their voices to agree with Marcus. Had his uncle really alienated so many of the cult with his authoritarian dictates about bowing down to Vampire law? It seemed as if he had.

The council conferred again, and Edward got back up. “Very well. We will vote on my leadership first.” He nodded at Christopher. “You may stand down until I call you again.”

Christopher was quite happy to back away from the center of the circle and sit. Marcus seemed unperturbed, his head held high, his gaze unwavering.

“In pursuit of my claim, I do not wish to put the full membership to a vote, Pater Heliodromus. I wish to challenge you to combat to the death.”

The murmurings in the hall grew louder, and Christopher frowned. Surely Marcus had enough support to carry the vote against Edward without invoking that clause? Did he truly believe the only good enemy was a dead enemy?

Edward made a calming gesture to the other members. “We must consult the records about such an audacious challenge.”

“There is precedent.” Marcus strolled close to the hooded monk who sat guarding the stack of leather-bound books on the low table. Christopher recognized the young but determined face of Brother Cedric. “Show them the documents Brother Samuel found.”

There was another lengthy silence while Brother Cedric showed the council the required passages, and they conferred again. Christopher found himself tapping his foot and almost groaned at his own stupidity. Was he so eager to die that he couldn’t wait to see what happened to his uncle first?

Finally Edward addressed the crowd once more. “There are indeed other instances of the leader being challenged to fight rather than be voted out. But when the leader is as old and frail as I am, he may choose a champion to represent him in this fight.”

Marcus bowed. “I understand.”

Christopher tensed as his uncle’s gaze traveled around the hall and finally settled on him. “I choose Lord Christopher Ellis as my champion.”

Marcus smiled and Christopher rose slowly to his feet. “If I am not considered worthy to be a cult member, how can I be worthy to fight for you?”

“Perhaps it is a way for you to redeem yourself in Mithras’s eyes and find your path to redemption.” Christopher couldn’t think of anything to say to that and Edward continued. “While the hall is prepared for combat, you may go and arm yourself and say your last prayers.”

At Marcus’s signal, two men came up behind Christopher and grabbed his arms. His question remained unanswered as he was led away to the back of the hall and thrown into a small room. The door was then locked behind him. A pile of weapons was neatly stacked on the table. It seemed one way or another, he was destined to die that night. Someone had made very sure of that indeed.

“I thought you didn’t care what happened to him?” Rhys said as he checked his weapons and peered through the darkness for a glimpse of Elias.

“I don’t,” Rosalind said. “I only came out to make sure that you are not going to take any foolish risks.”

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “I’m no fool, my lady. Walking into a meeting of the full Mithras Cult isn’t my idea of bravery at all. It reeks of stupidity. I’m quite happy to let Elias do it.”

“And that
other
Vampire.”

“That Vampire is called Olivia, and she is now your kin, seeing as you are married to her half brother.”

Rosalind huffed. “Some kin are better not acknowledged.”

“How so, my lady?”

Rosalind twirled around and saw the dark-haired Vampire sitting on the wall behind her. The Vampire jumped down to the ground and walked up to Rosalind. She smelled of orange blossom. Rosalind tried not to breathe in the familiar scent as a swarm of good and bad memories of Christopher assaulted her. The Vampire seemed to have no such qualms in daintily inhaling.

“You smell like my brother. Is it true that you are his wife?”

“It’s true.” Rosalind reckoned the Vampire was about her age of twenty or so, but it was hard to tell with Vampires sometimes. “Are you really his half sister?”

“I am.” The Vampire sank into a curtsy. “My name is Olivia Del Alonso.”

Reluctantly, Rosalind studied the other woman. She was the image of Christopher, her eyes that same startling blue, her long braided hair the black of a crow’s wing.

“I know that you cannot like me, but I promise I won’t hurt you. You are family now, like Christopher.”

“I suppose I should be grateful for that,” Rosalind said. “And in return, I will try not to kill you.”

Olivia smiled. “You are a very famous hunter, my lady. Rhys has told me tales of your exploits together.”

“Has he?” Rosalind glanced across at Rhys, but his attention was fixed on Olivia’s face. “Are you really going to help Christopher tonight?”

“Of course. He does not deserve to die.” Indignation flushed Olivia’s cheeks. “You must feel the same.”

Rosalind kept her lips pressed firmly together in the semblance of a smile. She didn’t know how she felt about Christopher at this moment. She was still far too angry to allow herself to be reasonable or forgiving.

Elias appeared and greeted Rhys and Rosalind; then his keen gaze shifted to the young Vampire in front of him. “Olivia, we haven’t met, but I understand you might be able to help us.”

“I shall do my best, Master Warner.” Olivia looked serious. “I believe I know where the Mithras Cult holds its meetings.”

“Then we had best go and do what we can to save Lord Christopher before it is too late.”

Elias turned to Rosalind and kissed her hand. “Don’t worry, my lady. I’m sure we will all survive this.”

“You can only do your best, Elias. I thank you for even trying.” It was hard to get the words out, but it was the best Rosalind could manage. She would never beg for anyone’s favor again.

To her surprise, Elias kept hold of her hand. “Despite his faults, your husband is a good man. A man I am proud to consider my friend. If he has hurt you in any way, I am sure there is an explanation for it.”

Rosalind stared at Elias, hardly able to believe that the Vampire was able to show far more compassion and understanding for her human husband than she was able to do.

Elias placed his hand on Olivia’s throat and they both disappeared, leaving Rosalind staring at Rhys. She rubbed hastily at her eyes. Rhys made a comforting sound and drew her into his arms.

“It’s all right,
cariad
. They’ll all be safe.”

“But I told you I didn’t care, and by all that is holy, I do!”

Rhys kissed the top of her head. “You didn’t need to tell me anything. I know you love Christopher. Why else would you feel such anger for him if you didn’t?”

Rosalind couldn’t answer him, but at least it gave her hope. She raised her head. “While they are busy trying to save Christopher, perhaps we should meet later and hunt down the Boleyns and their allies?”

Rhys frowned and let his gaze travel down to her stomach. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

Rosalind stamped her foot. “This is exactly why I didn’t want you and Christopher to know I was breeding. I
knew
you wouldn’t let me fight.” She raised her chin. “I want to fight. I need to do something. If you refuse to accompany me, I’ll just go out by myself.”