Dark Haven (3 page)

Inside Wolvenskorn, a huge open room greeted guests. Three massive fireplaces, carved from the same dark rock, stood along the far side of the room. Only one of the hearths boasted a fire; the others lay dark. Jonmarc guessed that the fire was a concession to him as the evening’s only mortal guest. The vayash moru would not mind the chill.

Overhead, arched wooden beams soared to the rooftop. The beams were painted with intricate geometric designs that matched the runes on the outside of the building, From the steepest of the three roofs hung a chandelier the like of which Jonmarc had never seen. The massive iron chandelier hung in twelve circular tiers, one atop the other. Each tier was made of panels cut with intricate patterns and more candles burned within, so that the entire structure glowed.

Figures were cut into the patterns, each tier telling its own story. “Good to see you again, Jonmarc.” Jonmarc looked up to see Riqua standing in front of him. With her was Kolin, her second. Jonmarc remembered both from the night they had taken refuge in Riqua’s crypt. Kolin gave a nod of recognition, which Jonmarc returned. Turning to Riqua, Jonmarc made a perfunctory bow and took Riqua’s hand, pressing the back against his lips in greeting. Her flesh was icy. “Greetings, Lady Riqua.” “Better accommodations than my tomb tonight?”

“I’m grateful for shelter, whatever its form.”

Riqua took his meaning clearly. “A tomb can be a haven, and a haven can be a tomb. Fate has as much as the Lady to do with it.”

Jonmarc sensed no threat from Riqua, but he struggled to keep his expression impassive at her 22

words. A warning?

Just then, a man and a woman joined them, and Gabriel made room for them within the circle of conversation. Both were dressed in black without ornamentation. The man looked to be near Jonmarc’s age. He had dark, shoulder‐length hair and a neatly cropped beard. The woman was of similar age, but her dark hair was flecked with gray. Both the man and the woman were trim and lean‐muscled. When Jonmarc looked up, he met the woman’s violet eyes.

“May I present Yestin and Eiria,” Gabriel said, and the man and woman nodded in turn. “Not members of the Blood Council, but, shall we say, visiting nobles who have an interest in seeing Dark Haven restored.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Jonmarc said. Eiria smiled, and Jonmarc noticed that she lacked the long eye teeth of the vayash moru. Her violet eyes seemed to see right through him, and he shuddered, remembering the wolf.

“Our families have watched over the Lords of Dark Haven for generations,” Yestin said, taking Eiria’s arm. “Many of our kin died in the service of Dark Haven. We offer our welcome, and our deepest wishes for a long and prosperous tenure.”

Jonmarc did not mention the fact that the last lords of Dark Haven had not lived long enough to enjoy their holding. But before he could think of a reply, Yestin and Eiria slipped away in the crowd, moving with dancers’ grace.

“And this is Lord Rafe, with his second, Tamaq,” Gabriel said, shifting Jonmarc’s attention. Rafe carried himself with military bearing. He had short‐cropped, sandy‐colored hair and a perfectly trimmed beard. With him was a pale young man with the look of a scholar or a priest. “Your reputation precedes you, Lord Vahanian.”

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“Which reputation is that?”

Rafe smiled, showing the tips of his eye teeth above his lips. “Many. I have kin in Eastmark. They were witness to Chauvrenne. And the ways of the Nargi are well known to our kind. You’ve survived the kind of trials many vayash moru have not. Perhaps the Lady’s hand is on you.” “If so, She has an odd way of showing it.” Rafe’s expression was unreadable. “Always.” “I understand you were in the presence of the Obsidian King himself,” Tamaq said.

Jonmarc nodded. “I saw the battle when Tris destroyed him.”

Tamaq’s eyes glittered with a thirst for information. “Then at some other time, we must talk. In my mortal life, I fought against the Obsidian King at his last rising. But I never personally saw him.”

“Count yourself lucky.”

Rafe made a parting bow. “We have much to talk about, Lord Vahanian. Be well.” At that, Rafe and Tamaq moved back into the press of the crowd. Jonmarc felt more than heard a presence behind him.

“You must be Jonmarc Vahanian.”

Jonmarc turned to face the speaker. She was a beautiful woman with chestnut‐colored hair. Her face and form looked to be that of a girl in her twenties, but the woman’s eyes spoke of centuries. She was on the arm of a young vayash moru who looked to be barely out of his teens, pale even by vayasb moru standards, his pallor heightened by his curly red hair. “I’m Astasia, and 24

this is Cailan.”

Jonmarc bowed and kissed Astasia’s hand. Cailan watched with a look of distaste bordering on jealousy. Astasia giggled, seeming to enjoy Cailan’s discomfort, and let her fingers tighten around Jonmarc’s hand. Her thumb stroked his palm provocatively.

“So you’re the new Lord of Dark Haven.” She made no secret of looking him up and down.

Cailan’s eyes darkened, but he said nothing. “You must visit my home. I give the best parties,”

she said with a glance toward Gabriel and Riqua which clearly said they were not among her guests. “You’re more than

welcome to spend the night.” Both Astasia’s manner and her eyes made the double meaning of her words expressly clear.

“Your invitation is gracious,” Jonmarc replied, hoping he could be half as diplomatic as he’d seen Tris be in similar situations. He guessed that spurning Astasia’s proposition outright might not bode well, although her offer did not appeal to him in the least. “There’s a great deal of work to be done at Dark Haven before winter. It doesn’t leave much time for parties.”

Astasia’s eyes narrowed. “I heard you’ll be bringing a guest back from the royal wedding in Margolan. Even among our kind, Lady Carina’s reputation is well known. Will she be staying long?”

Jonmarc disliked the undercurrent to her voice. He kept the same neutral expression that had let him win many a hand of cards. “That’s up to Lady Carina.”

Astasia smiled and laid a hand on his arm. “My offer still stands. Bring her, too, if you like. I’m flexible.” She let her hand slip over his in parting. Cailan’s eyes made it clear that he did not second Astasia’s welcome. Jonmarc’s throat was dry as Astasia moved away through the crowd, and he was grateful for the glass of brandy that Gabriel offered.

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“That’s all of the Blood Council except one,” Gabriel said. Jonmarc made a mental note to ask him later what the role was of the Council’s seconds. Bodyguards? Consorts? A little of both?

In one corner of the huge room, a string quartet played courtly music. In addition to the Blood Council and their seconds, many other vayasb moru mingled, carrying goblets of what looked to be red wine. Jonmarc was quite sure it was not. Although the candles sparkled and the fire danced in the fireplace, the reception was notable for its lack of food. Except for me, Jonmarc thought darkly. Maybe I’m the guest of honor and the main course. Cailan looked like he’d have happily gone for my throat.

All of the Blood Council had seconds, except for Gabriel. Jonmarc knew that Mikhail, Gabriel’s second, was in Margolan, helping Tris rebuild his army. Tonight, Yestin functioned as Gabriel’s attache. Eiria was never far away. Jonmarc watched the pair with interest. The vayash moru treated the young couple with deference. If I’m right, and those violet eyes are the same as the she‐wolf.

“Yestin and Eiria are shapeshifters,” Riqua said. She had come up beside him so quietly that he startled. “There are small clans of them in the Black Mountains, not far from here.”

“Then the wolves—”

“Yes. They’re vyrkin. The wolf‐clan’s alliance with the Lord of Dark Haven goes back many generations. That’s not true of all the clans.”

“There are more?”

“Each clan has a totem animal whose spirit they honor and from whom they seek wisdom. Most shifters can only take one shape. Some, the unlucky ones, can shift into many shapes.”

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“Unlucky?”

Riqua watched Yestin and Eiria. “Over time, the shifting becomes involuntary. Eventually, the shift becomes permanent. Most shifters die young or go mad. It’s worst for those who can take many shapes.”

“I thought that sort of thing only happened on a full moon.” ‘ .

Riqua’s eyes darkened. “For many generations, shifters were hunted by superstitious fools who believed so. Those who were hunted and tormented by the light of the full moon— if they survived—found the sight of that moon triggered their pain, forcing them to shift. When that happens, they lose their memory of time and know only that they must defend themselves, even when no threat is near. They become a danger to all. Eventually, their pack has no choice but to destroy them.”

“Being mortal doesn’t seem so bad, compared to the alternatives.”

“While it lasts.”

Behind them, the doors to Wolvenskorn slammed open. “Where is he? Where’s the Lord of Dark Haven?”

The questioner was a dark‐haired man with the coloring of a Nargi native. His voice was rough and his features lacked the same fine breeding of the rest of the Blood Council. The man’s clothing made an extravagant show of wealth compared to the relatively subdued elegance of the other guests. Gold necklaces adorned his throat, and heavy rings covered his fingers. With him were a half dozen young men who moved with predatory grace. The crowd made room for the group to enter, parting with a palpable distaste.

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Jonmarc did not doubt that this was Uri, the last of the Blood Council. Although Gabriel’s description beforehand had been carefully neutral, Jonmarc had no difficulty detecting Gabriel’s dislike for the fifth member of the Council.

Jonmarc stepped forward. Gabriel moved closer, as did Riqua. “I’m Jonmarc Vahanian.”

“Mighty fine company for a fight slave.”

“I’ve heard you know something of betting yourself.” It took a moment for Jonmarc to realize that Uri’s taunt had been spoken in Nargi, and that he had reflexively answered in the same language.

Uri’s black eyes glinted. His young men moved around him like feral dogs, and Jonmarc drew on his battle skills to avoid showing the fear he felt. These vayash moru were unrepentant predators, and it was clear Uri was in the mood for a fight. One of Uri’s brood looked intently at Jonmarc. The young man hair that fell to his shoulders. He was dressed completely in black with the exception of a foppishly frilled white shirt; the sleeves flounced beneath his cuffs, nearly obscuring his hands. The young man’s smile was cold, and Jonmarc was sure it was no coincidence that the man’s eye teeth showed plainly.

“So you were General Kathrian’s champion.” , Uri shook his head. “Guess you’re not so tough any more. I heard Darrath nearly sent you to the Lady.”

It took all of Jonmarc’s control not to let his hand fall to the pommel of his sword. “State your business,” he said in the Common tongue.

Uri stepped closer. Had the man been mortal, Jonmarc would have sworn him drunk, or besotted on dreamweed. His face was flushed, evidence that he had recently fed well. Jonmarc guessed that Uri had once been in fighting shape, although his love of fine living rounded his 28

jowls and softened his profile. “My business? I have no business with a mortal Lord of Dark Haven. And you have no business here at all!”

“That’s enough, Uri.” Gabriel moved forward, but Uri brushed past him.

“Let the pup speak for himself, Gabriel.If he’s going to be Lord of Dark Haven, then he needs to be worthy of the title.” Uri turned his attention back to Jonmarc, who stood his ground although Uri was now nearly toe to toe. “What gives you the right to rule over your betters?” Uri’s breath smelled of stale blood.

Jonmarc consciously willed himself not to clench his fists. This is a fight you can’t win. Surprise Carina and show that you can think your way out of a brawl. “The title was a gift from King Staden. The lands were his to bestow. Maybe you’re better off asking him.”

Uri snorted. “What do I care for mortal kings? They come and go like dust. We are the rightful lords—of Dark Haven and the Winter Kingdoms. That day is coming, sooner than you think.” He gave an ugly smile that made his yellowed teeth plain. “Now if you’d like to be brought across, that changes things.”

“No, thank you.”

“I offer you immortality, and you decline!” Uri roared.

By now, the guests around them were plainly uncomfortable. Most of the partygoers had stepped back to give Uri plenty of room. Although Jonmarc kept his gaze focused on Uri, out of the corner of his eye he saw motion. Riqua’s brood moved toward the front of the spectators. So did others, whom he knew to be among Gabriel’s family.

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“Answer me, Lord of Dark Haven. Who are you to decline the power of the Dark Gift?”

Jonmarc knew he was on very dangerous ground. While many of the vayash moru around him might have long ago been brought

across against their will, those who had survived for lifetimes had made their peace with it, and came to see their deathless state as both gift and curse. “Death and I are old friends,” Jonmarc answered carefully. “We’ve shaken hands many times. I don’t covet eternal life. Once around is enough for me.”

“You presume to rule over us as an inferior being. How dare you! Perhaps you need to learn who your real masters are!”

There was a rush of air, a blur of motion, and Jonmarc felt strong hands pull him backward just as a flash of teeth grazed his throat. Instinctively, he reached for his sword. He twisted and realized Kolin had a casually unbreakable hold on his right arm. He was too far back from the action to use either his sword or his arrow, even if he could have broken free. Riqua was now between him and Uri, although Jonmarc had not seen her move. Yestin was nowhere to be seen, but with a growl, a large male wolf barreled toward Uri, even as Gabriel caught the vayash moru‐by the wrists and flung him backward.

All but one of Uri’s guards circled Gabriel. The beautiful dark‐haired young man in black stayed back, studying the fight. Two of Riqua’s brood, a man and a young woman, blocked the advance on the left, while three of Gabriel’s vayash moru engaged the assault on the right. Although Jonmarc had gained a healthy respect for the fighting skills of the vayash moru from his sparring partners, he had never seen the undead go against each other.