Carnal Magic: The Wraith Accords, Book 1 (6 page)

Ch
apter Six

“D
id you rest well, Lady Isabel?” High Queen Albha smiled as she asked the question.

“Most well. I thank you again for your kind hospitality.”

“And Aed, how did you find him?”

Isabel examined the queen’s face, looking for the motive behind the question. It was highly unlikely Aed had simply decided to murder her—he was following orders, and that meant the orders came from somewhere. Did she detect a hidden meaning in the queen’s words? Was she testing Isabel to see if Aed had already made the attempt?

“He was a most gracious escort.”

“A quiet one, I’d assume.” Prince Fionn motioned, and a servant refilled Isabel’s glass with strong red wine.

“Quiet enough. He reminds me of warriors I knew long ago.”

“How old are you?” Niamh ignored her father’s frown. “When did you die?”

“I have yet to die. I was made vampire in 1340, by the human European calendar.” Isabel took a sip of wine. “And how old are you, Princess?”

Niamh looked shocked at the question, but caught herself before remarking how rude the inquiry was. To do so would highlight her own breach of manners.

“I was born a thousand years after the false God entered Ireland.”

“The false God? You mean Christianity.”

“The monks of that religion did great harm to our people.” Prince Oisin spoke softly. “They perverted our history into propaganda for their religion.”

“I had not thought of it quite like that,” Isabel said honestly. She looked at Niamh. “From what I know of Ireland’s history, I suspect you count 430 AD as the date the ‘false God’ entered. That means you were born around 1430 AD, meaning you’re a hundred years younger than I am.” Isabel smiled sweetly. In this company, being the youngest was no virtue.

Niamh stiffened. “How do you know that date?”

It was the High King who replied. “Isabel is the Sage of the most powerful of the Vampire Cabals. The Sage is—and correct me if I misspeak, Lady Isabel—a record keeper and holder of knowledge.”

“You are correct, Your Majesty, and you honor me with such a lofty description of my humble role.”

“May I ask an indelicate question?” Fionn broke into the conversation with a smile.

“Fionn.” The High Queen spoke sharply, sounding very much the exasperated parent.

“I will answer, if the High Queen does not object, and if my answer is appropriate for the company.” Isabel smiled at the quiet redheaded man.

“Is it true that you drink human blood?” Fionn seemed merely curious, though Isabel saw Niamh make a face.

“It is. That is hardly the Vampire’s greatest secret.” She smiled, opening her mouth slightly so he could see her fangs.

Oisin frowned and Niamh leaned forward to get a better look at her teeth.

“There are no humans in Tara,” Fionn pointed out. “Your visit is not a long one, but you will not have any way to eat.”

“The older a vampire gets, the longer they can go between feedings. My body does not need human blood to function the way it once did. I could, if I wanted, eat as you do. Sadly, food never tastes as good as I remember from when I was a human.”

“You…you can eat? So you don’t need the humans.” Niamh looked disappointed, which was strange.

“Each vampire is different.” Isabel spoke with care. There was something going on with the princess that she didn’t understand.

Before she could explore this any further, the High King rose. He’d eaten very little. “Lady Isabel. I hope you’ll join me tomorrow so we may speak on things. For now I must retire.”

The rest of the table rose as the High King departed. Around the hall, chairs scraped as the assembled Tuath scrambled to rise at the sudden departure of their king.

He walked toward the throne and, mid-stride, disappeared into thin air.

Isabel carefully examined the faces of the other members of the royal family. The High Queen’s face was pinched with sadness, as was Prince Cairbe’s. The expressions were fleeting, gone as soon as they resumed their seats. The other princes and princess showed no reaction to the High King’s departure.

Isabel’s thoughts raced as she contemplated the past six months and all that had led to her arrival here. The royal family continued to chat, occasionally including her in conversations that were entirely innocuous.

The pieces clicked together. Isabel brought her wine glass to her mouth to cover her reaction to the conclusion of her musings.

High King Cormac was dying, and only High Queen Albha and Prince Cairbe knew.

Well, that certainly changed things.

Th
e moon was at its highest point in the night sky when Aed heard the words he’d dreaded.

“Lady Isabel, might we interest you in a game?”

The formal dinner had finished hours ago. Servants had cleared the tables—disappearing them to the kitchens where the plates and goblets could be cleared without disturbing the revelers.

Most of the assemblage was gone, and the fifty or so people who remained had moved to one of the smaller receiving rooms off the great hall.

A fire cracked in a hearth large enough that Aed could have stood inside it. Fine, woven rugs covered the floors and the walls were painted with a living mural that depicted the midnight garden far below them. Three sets of double doors led out to a balcony that overlooked the sea. From the gate it was impossible to tell that the cliff Tara sat atop was bounded on one side by a rolling, violent sea. Two doors were thrown open, letting in the cold night air that tasted faintly of salt. The most highly ranked of those who remained—mostly friends of the princes and princess—were seated on long low couches and chairs near the fire.

Those not in favor with the royal house, and members of the lower houses, stood against the walls—hopeful spectators.

Isabel was lounging on a chaise, a glass of wine dangling from her fingers. Her body was lush and tempting in her fitted dress. Reclined as she was, her breasts were on magnificent display and Aed couldn’t stop himself from thinking what it had been like to touch her.

“A game? Is it one I would know?” Isabel spoke casually, gaze focused on the fire.

Deocha, the daughter of Fionnin, head of one of the most powerful high houses, slid to her feet. She was slim and elegant in a dress the color of irises.

Aed went on alert. Deocha was devious in the extreme. She’d given herself over to Cairbe dozens of times, seeming to revel in the most extreme debasement at his hands. More often than not, she turned around and tormented members of the lower houses or servants once Cairbe was done with her. But unlike the prince’s companions, not all of Deocha’s survived.

“What would be the fun of playing a game you already know? You’re here in Tara—let us teach you
our
game.”

Prince Oisin made a disgusted noise and got to his feet. The woman who’d been draped against him fell inelegantly against the couch cushions.

“I’ll have no part of this.” He ripped off the tawny cloak and tossed it into the air, where it disappeared. “Brothers, sister.” He nodded to Fionn, Cairbe and Niamh. “Psychotic leeches.” He bowed to the other Tuath seated by the fire.

Fionn snorted out a laugh as Oisin disappeared. The courtiers shifted uncomfortably, though some of them tried to laugh it off, pretending Oisin’s words had been a joke.

Deocha’s smile tightened in the silence following Oisin’s departure, but she would not be deterred. “A game, my friends?”

“I’d like to play.” Niamh was smiling.

Isabel sat up. “Perhaps I’ll watch you play, before I participate.”

“That wouldn’t be fun,” Niamh said.

“I would not want to ruin your game with my inexperience.”

“Oh, but I insist that you play,” Deocha said.

“You insist?” Isabel raised one eyebrow.

Deocha realized she’d overstepped and looked at Cairbe.

The prince shrugged. “What game are you thinking of, Deocha?” He looked bored.

“A show of strength and creativity. What better way for us to learn about the vampire, and for her to learn about us?”

“It sounds like a very fine game, but I quite like this dress and have no desire to ruin it.” Isabel sighed in mock sadness and several people laughed.

Niamh narrowed her eyes at Deocha, who nodded slightly before facing Isabel once more. “It’s not just physical strength that’s important in this game. You won’t ruin your dress.”

Isabel shrugged, seemingly immune to the pressure to play that Deocha and the princess were applying.

When Isabel remained silent, Deocha’s lips pinched together. “I’ll go first. I need a…partner.” Deocha scanned the walls where members of the lower houses were standing. “Evon, come here.”

A slim young man with silvery eyes stepped forward. Aed stiffened, forcing himself to hold still when every instinct told him to reach out and grab the boy.

“You’ll help me with the game, won’t you?” Deocha smiled sweetly. The boy nodded—like a damned fool.

Cairbe motioned and everyone rose. With a wave of his hand the couches scooted back, clearing a fifteen-square-foot area in front of the fire. The casual display of power was unlike the prince, and Aed suspected it was an attempt to impress Isabel, but she calmly resumed her seat once the furniture was moved.

“What next?” Isabel asked.

“Now I must decide how best to display my strengths.” Deocha shook her head, her long hair flowing down her back. “It’s no different than designing the perfect dress, one that both flatters me and expresses my unique skills.”

“An elegant analogy.” Isabel raised her glass in a toast.

Deocha smiled, baring all her teeth. Evon was watching the lovely female with wide eyes. The fool had to know what danger he was in, yet Aed had no doubt that he would permit Deocha to abuse him in hopes it would curry favor.

“Give me your hand, Evon.” Deocha took the young male’s right hand in her left, wrapping her fingers around his. With a jerk of her wrist, she tightened her grip, breaking every bone in Evon’s hand.

The crunch and crack of splitting bone was clearly audible in the quiet room. Evon dropped to his knees, pale skin now white, his mouth open as if he were screaming, though no sound emerged. Deocha did not release his hand—instead she twisted, forcing broken bones to cut through muscle and tendon as she manipulated the crushed appendage.

When Deocha finally released Evon’s hand, his index finger had been shifted sideways until it was between his ring and pinkie fingers. His middle finger was curled into his palm. Where there had once been a slim, elegant hand there was now a mangled claw.

Deocha stepped back, her face shining with savage satisfaction. The room was silent save for Evon’s ragged breathing. The people around the walls looked away. Aed willed them to leave before another victim was chosen, but no one moved.

“That’s it?” Isabel looked unimpressed. Attention shifted to her. Niamh and Fionn both looked angry, but while the princess’s anger was directed at Isabel, Fionn was staring at Deocha.

Isabel tipped her head to the side. “Are your bones particularly hard to break? Perhaps I’ve missed the point of your game. I thought you said it was about creativity?”

Deocha sucked in air so hard her nostrils flared, but when she replied she was smiling. “You’ve missed the subtly of what I did. Evon is one of our most skilled musicians.”

Isabel stiffened slightly. “And he does not heal?”

“Had I simply broken it, yes, but I did more than that.”

“You deprived yourself and the court—” Isabel waved her hand, indicating the rest of the room, “—of this boy’s music to prove that you have some brute strength?”

Deocha laughed lightly. “I proved that with one hand I am strong enough to change Evon’s life, and powerful enough that he will never complain about what I’ve done. Don’t you see the opportunity I’ve given him? Now that he cannot ever play music again, he will learn a second passion. That’s my gift to him. Isn’t it, Evon?” Deocha looked at the kneeling male.

“Ye-es, my lady.” Evon’s voice was thick with pain.

Isabel rose, sweeping her dark hair off her shoulder. “This is your game?”

Niamh leaned back in her seat. “If you don’t want to play, that’s fine. Deocha is known for her delicate touch.”

Aed willed Isabel to say no, to walk away from this macabre group and terrible “game.”

Isabel smiled. “Oh yes, I want to play. My turn?”

It had been decades since she’d been this angry. Isabel smiled, keeping her lips closed over her fangs. She wanted to jump across the room and rip through Deocha’s white throat. Pain and suffering were part of existence. As a vampire she’d caused pain to humans, pain to other vampires and felt pain herself, but there had always been a reason for it. She felt and caused pain in order to live.

She’d never seen something so pointless as what they’d just done to Evon. It wasn’t impressive enough to be considered a display of strength worthy of the boy’s sacrifice. If they meant to intimidate Isabel, they’d failed. Instead all she felt was rage at the pointlessness of it, contempt for Deocha and Princess Niamh and disgust at everyone else in the room.

Aed was standing to one side of the roaring fire. His face was impassive, the orange light of the flames painting the planes and hollows of his cheek and jaw. His gaze flicked to Evon, and for a moment his eyes tightened in a fleeting expression of sadness or pity.

“I’ll get you a partner.” Niamh stood.

“Thank you, Princess, but I will choose my own.”

Niamh sat, eyes narrowed. Isabel walked the perimeter of the room, examining the people who stood on the fringes, so desperate to be a part of the inner circle that they were willing to be used and broken. It was a mentality Isabel remembered well from the harem.

She already knew who she’d choose for this awful game, but needed time to calm herself.

Her circuit finished at Aed. He didn’t react when she stopped in front of him.

“You betrayed me,” Isabel breathed.

Aed dropped his gaze to hers. “Beware, Isabel. You have an enemy here. One who is stronger than I.”

Isabel searched his eyes for the truth in his words. Her anger at herself for having sex with him had clouded her analysis of Aed’s assassination attempt. The truth was that merely opening the door and window was no guarantee of her death. It was a clumsy method of execution. Aed was many things, but clumsy was not one of them.