A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

In the Accords chamber below Boston’s fortress, Constantine’s arcane display moves more than all the participants put together. The Wardens stand like statues, each influential and powerful enough to devastate an army — or buy it — each holding back by tradition and the knowledge that there are other monsters around. Despite our restraints, we still play our games, starting with our appearance.

Every lock of hair, every understated jewel and custom-made ribbon of fabric speaks of wealth beyond wealth, a display of taste that only those who never consider the price can fully appreciate. Even Ako is no exception despite his recent induction. The Comanche chief still wears leather, forrester clothes, but now the fabric is calfskin and linen. Unfortunately for him, his distaste of our assembly is plain as day. The rest of us have had decades to learn how to hide behind a smile.

I was a poor contender for the formation of dear young Ako. As a young woman from another tribe, I bear the resemblance of a victim, which suits me fine when hunting but does not translate to respect during training. As much as it would have amused me to destroy Ako’s expectations, Jarek has much more experience making young upstarts fall in line. It also helps that he is possibly the third highest elevation in Texas and that he can outpunch a freight train traveling at full speed. I have first hand experience in the matter, so to speak.

In any case, his tutoring has borne fruit. Ako has taken to combat training like a fish to water and he also agreed to stop making fledgelings for now. I believe that the blood strain on his tribe has already shown him the errors of his way. A nation of cattle is a dead one.

Unfortunately, Ako does not trust us at all. Fresh supply, including food, has helped us, but he finds himself in a peculiar situation. All of the emergent bloodlines either found themselves in a power vacuum, or in contact with older clans that shared cultural elements with them. Ako is unique in the way that he has to integrate with a community representing cultural groups with whom he was previously at war. It takes time for us to grow old enough to identify ourselves with other vampires, not the population that gave birth to our mortal self. Ako does not just find himself having to work with strangers, but he has to do so at a time when his original kin find themselves on the business end of progress.

I feel a bit of sympathy for him, not in truth, of course, but on an intellectual level. I believe that a mild appreciation for Progenitors is part of our instincts. After all, I have considered deposing Constantine and even torturing him a little bit, but I never seriously planned on killing him. The same goes for Ako. He will be protected, but that should not stop a smidgen of friendly ribbing so when his eyes meet mine, I smile and show him all of my fangs, which makes him flinch. The delicious youngling.

His essence is peculiar and when I focus on it, I merely feel a sense of great distance, which indicates that all my kin currently walk another continent. Or at least, I hope so. Soon enough, the introduction stops and Constantine has a new seat added to the ever-expanding table. Ako looks impressed, for once. The flowing stone of the thrones and central table are certainly one of Constantine’s best works. After the remote-controlled battle golem, I should say.

I rise and feel the full attention of the others on me. Lady Nirari was used before, as a courtesy. Now, it is owed.

I wave my gauntlet and the table between us shifts like sand under a strong wind. A map of North America emerges, with numbers written next to several major cities of the United States.

A warden lifts a hand in a sign that he wishes to ask a question. He is a Canadian Roland, one who is mostly unaligned but often votes alongside my faction. Canada appears to be following a much harder line right now, so he may be looking into ways to improve the situation for his followers.

I nod.

The lord nods. Others ask more questions, mostly legal details and local specificities. I expect a lot of letters and correspondence in the near future. It is fortunate that I was granted a staff to handle most of the information exchange, or the workload would have been simply too much. The same goes for finance. The burden on covens has increased exponentially, to the point that the Accords have become pretty much a shadow government. Now I need to sacrifice a portion of my income just for taxes! Ugh. Thank the Watcher for Rosenthal ‘creative’ accounting. Because of them, I have added ‘tax evasion’ to my long litany of misdeeds. Our aggressive grab on all sorts of frontier and post-war assets really came as a windfall.

After me, Lord Ceron of the Cadiz advocates more funding for the various safe havens we are building in the wilderness for our followers and us, should the worst come to pass. I reluctantly vote in favor and soon the council ends. We line out, coming to the surface shortly after.

The air of early summer night greets me in all its complexity. Our fortress hugs the Charles river to the north and its muddy smell mingles with that of flowers Steward Wilhelm affectionately cultivates. Beyond that comes the vast swell of humanity and more distant, the Atlantic ocean. It almost tastes like home now after all those years despite my painful first memories. I walk out onto the inner courtyard with John joining me. Our Masters and Courtiers lounge on benches and balustrades with the grace and affectation of a well-rehearsed choreography. Everyone pretends, although we are all aware of it, for to stop is to remove oneself from the only true community left to us. I smile at calculated curtseys, nod at measured greetings. This waltz is much preferable to the alternative when so many touchy predators gather in the same spot. I convince myself of this while exchanging names with a young fledgeling. By the Watcher, was I so bleary-eyed at her age? She looks like someone woke her up with a bucket of cold water to the face.

I finally make my way to the main path in the hope of visiting Wilhelm’s flower garden of rare and mysterious essences, when I feel Jarek’s domineering aura approaching me. Courtiers part before the human-shaped icebreaker while I turn with a polite smile. Jarek’s aura projection was a courteous request to stop and, for him, I shall always oblige. The Natalis greets me with a rumble and a grin.

His grin only widens.

As if summoned, Wilhelm of the Erenwald practically runs to us with all the gravitas he can summon, which is not much with the way he worries his blond beard.

I shrug and move while Jarek assures our host that, no, we will not use his beloved trees as blunt instruments and that is a promise. The news of our spar bounces from group to group. We soon acquire a tail.

The dueling grounds themselves result from a truce between Jarek and Wilhelm. The Natalis powerhouse has an unfortunate tendency to destroy trees during practice fights and there is no telling which specific one Wilhelm considers as his. As a result, a thicket was cut down on the south-west side of the manor to accommodate an arena of sorts with the understanding that combat would be confined to its limits. Casual combat, that is. We conduct ritual duels in an enchanted underground arena.

I barely have time to assent that Jarek rushes forward, fists materializing on his massive hands.

He is nothing if not consistent.

Since I fully expected it, I take a step back and to the side while whipping Rose out. The unexpected movement sends the tip exactly where the massive lord’s throat is. He tilts his head and the blade merely slices his cheek. Another sidestep takes me away from his downward followup jab and the dance is on. I attack mercilessly to prevent myself from being overwhelmed. Jarek’s style is heavy and powerful — not as precise as Octave but designed to work with his Magn Arqa. He merely needs a glancing blow. A small opening is enough. As long as Jared connects, the next hook will connect harder, then the next, until his opponent is paste on the ground. I move by half-steps to keep ahead when I realize that he is more defensive than usual, much more, and I realize why.

He does not wear armor. Neither do I. We would probably both prefer to keep our clothes intact.

So I aim exclusively for his head. He mimics me and it turns into a game. Even his fists are not enough to protect all of it while I have no shield. We exchange long sequences during which we try to outmaneuver or overwhelm each other. It does not help that we are very familiar with each other’s style.

Jarek accelerates. I expected it. I already saw him move at his full speed, after all, and find that I can match it. He is strong, so strong, but at the moment he thinks he has me, I cast my first mirage.

The fugacious spell leaves an illusory version of me going to the left while I dive right. To his credit, Jarek does not hesitate. He attempts to strike both at once and I use his weaker position to launch a counter, which he blocks at the very last moment. He is now on the backfoot, dodging high and low a series of powerful strikes. I soon corner him on a side of the arena and we exchange flurries of blows with neither combatant crushing the other. Beautiful and exciting. I lose myself in the deadliest dance, no longer trying to kill him but just trying to win our little contest without breaking the rules. It does not work. Jarek is much more nimble than I ever realized simply because he never had to display much agility before. There was no need. The spar turns frantic and I realize that I will not win the normal way, so I do not try.

A last vicious exchange reaches its paroxysm and I am at my limit. At the last possible moment, I turn aside and lunge under a jab, scoring a second gash on his face. He adjusts his punch, of course, and my head whips back under the power of the blow. I recover just in time to see a devastating uppercut coming. Twisting, I grab Rose with two hands and cleave down.

The impact of the two soul weapons sends a shockwave rippling through the dust we raised. I find my own smile mirrored in the old monster’s grin. He does love a good match and there are few who can push him like I can, now that I have ascended. I cannot wait to face him at full strength.

We pull back by common agreement and wipe our faces of the blood we shed. Polite applause welcomes our impromptu performance. Some of the mortals are particularly enthusiastic, even though the fight cannot have lasted more than two minutes and they probably missed most of the action.

The Natalis lord and I salute before he clasps his heavy bear mitt on my shoulder which I allow despite the cavalier nature of the gesture. He means well.

Suspicion immediately fills my heart, but Wilhelm must have anticipated it because he opens a palm in a gesture of appeasement.

I nod and shrug. I find myself in a lull between crises right now and needed to get to town to order new dresses anyway.

The plush toy shop is still open by some miracle, or rather it is not, but a light burns behind the drawn curtains. The toys themselves show an expert hand with puppy-eyed designs and exquisitely made articulations, and yet some details bother me. I detect a hint of alienness in them. A pointy ear, a fluffy piece of white fabric cut into a slightly too sharp fang. The effect only appears under certain angles and to those who pay attention. A daring artistic choice, and perhaps nothing more. Nevertheless, my mood goes from relaxed to alert.

I knock on the door and receive a hesitant ‘come in’. Behind the curtain, the modest shop extends under the yellow radiance of a gas lamp. Shelves line half of the room before a door that leads deeper inside. An ancient clock ticks the seconds away, in tune with the soft whisper of fabric. I look and see an old man with a shock of white hair hard at work behind the counter. He appears to be sewing together a knight in shining red armor, his heart beating peacefully away. The mortal looks up and shows two tired brown eyes, widened by apprehension when he recognizes me. He is clean-shaven, which is an unusual choice around here, and his clothes and apron are well-ironed. I approach and sniff the air. What curious aromas! I have to control myself so I do not show any reaction.

The man puts the toy down with long, delicate fingers and the care of a father. He sighs his nervousness away and finally faces me.

As he is about to talk, a door farther in opens with a creak. I heard a tiny heartbeat and so I am not surprised when a young boy shuffles in timidly under the disapproving glare of the old man.

“Michael, I told you to go to sleep.”

“But grandpa, I want to know as well.”

The old man’s expression softens. He hesitates and casts a glance in my direction. I would indulge them but my time is rather short and, besides, I would rather get to the point.

I slowly clap. And I speak in Likaean.

“Yes yes, a very touching performance, you scandalous scoundrel. I am awed as always.”

The old man pales.

“Miss?”

“You always did smell like a field under the July sun, but even then, how could I believe the family charade when you have a corpse in the wardrobe? I can taste the rot and preservatives from here.”

The old man’s expression turns into a scowl.

“I told you to seal it,” he accuses his ‘grandson’ in Likaean as well.

“Ah, oops?” the ‘boy’ says, revealing needle-like teeth. The childish demeanor and size stay but his eyes turn the black of a bottomless pit. He saunters to the wardrobe and opens it, revealing an exact copy of the old man in front of me, only clearly dead for a while and… stuffed? The cadaver’s eyeballs have been replaced by crimson rose blooms.

“Charming,” I announce.

“I thought you might like it!” Makyas of the Court of Keyholes exults.

“Tacky,” the ‘old man’ complains. He exhales and his hair turns a golden blond while his eyes take the hue of amber. The older traits melt into a devastating, angular face with the smile of an angel hiding the mind of a demon.

“Hello there, poppet. It has been far too long.”

“Yes yes, Sinead, I am sure that you are positively delighted. Is it you who summoned me here or the dearly departed?”

“Why me, naturally. Old Man Smith has been dead for, what, a month?”

“And you stuffed and mounted him as a prank?”

“I blame Makyas and his strange hobbies.”

“Old Man Smith was really affectionate,” the fake boy explains with the candor of a child sharing his day.

“A bit too affectionate with other children, you see? So I lured him into an alley and shoved my thumbs into his sockets. Gross! But fun.”

“Ugh. Why would you ever do that? Best way to get vitreous all over your face.”

“I have a lot of experience! And vitreous is really tasty.”

“His court regularly asks payment in eyeballs,” Sinead adds helpfully.

“They’re squishy and delicious!”

“To each their own I suppose,” I grumble. Icky.

“Now, why did you two troublemakers come to my little corner of the world?” I ask with a voice that drips with disgust.

“Look at her,” Sinead complains, “too young to have lived through ten fae seasons and already jaded. Ah, the debutantes these days.”

“You complain a lot for someone who is practically cradle-robbing,” Makyas objects.

“I certainly hope that this comment did not refer to me…”

“It did!”

“... and I would like to know the reason for your presence here, if you do not mind.”

Sinead struts from behind the counter with the grace of a ballet dancer. He stops in front of me and curtseys like a European court animal. An old one. When they still had more kings with their heads intact.

“I need a little assistance,” the rogue admits.

“Of course you do,” I scoff, “you only ever show up when you need my help. What is it this time? Piracy? Arson? Are we killing the president?”

“None of that, just a little bit of larceny in preparation for the real deal.”

“The real deal, is it? And you expect me to help you out of the kindness of my black heart?”

“I thought you might because you find me irresistible.”

I huff and cross my arms, thoroughly unimpressed.

“I will have you know that someone else already stole my affection.”

“And I am very good at stealing things back. And besides, poppet, have you forgotten? We Likaeans are…”

His eyes blaze dangerously and, under the weakened shell, I see a glimpse of the fire giant with the hair of gold I once beheld in dreams. The scion of the Court of Summer is still there, buried, chained, and waiting.

“...very seldom possessive.”

“Ooooh bedroom eyes. Is this how you plan on seducing me?”

He considers me with amused pity.

“Oh poppet, you know I seduced you a long time ago.”

I throw a plush at him, which he deftly dodges.

“I am merely waiting for you to grow plump and juicy,” I inform him. “Then I will enjoy your essence with a cup of arabica.”

“Are you two going to fuck?” Makyas asks innocently.

“Language!”

“Come on, poppet. Ask me what I plan to do. You know you cannot resist.”

Well, I should figure it out, if only to protect myself. I sigh.

“I knew you would see reason,” the insufferable man declares. “We will have to proceed carefully for some time. Thirty years at most, a blink of an eye really. And then… we shall commit the greatest, most ambitious heist in the history of this planet. The bards shall sing our praises for eons! All the courts will know our names. Why, we could even be depicted in living statues while we pass into eternity as the greatest liberators who ever lived.”

I lean forward, intrigued despite myself. Sinead spreads his arms like a charlatan at the end of his sales pitch.

“We are going to steal… the fae.”

“You are going to steal the fae,” I numbly repeat. “Which ones?”

“Why, all of them at once, of course!”

***

It takes me a full minute to recover from that outrageous claim, during which Sinead parades around the shop selling his ‘master plan’.

“It would be absolutely impossible to free the captive fae by force on a planet where vampires are so powerful, therefore we had two choices. Either we returned alone and notified one of the forces of the fae planes, leading to an unfortunate invasion of your world and the subsequent extermination of hundreds of thousands of mortals… Worse! We would not be able to take credit. Or we could find an unconventional way to free our people and, thanks to Sivaya, we did! She is not called a genius of the Blue Court for nothing, poppet. She found a way. I cannot go into too much detail as of now, but we will require several items of extreme rarity.”

“So you do not want me for just one thing, you want to retain my help for the next three decades, is that it?”

“Precisely. Ah, it hurts my poor heart to see you less enthused at the prospect than I hoped!”

He performs an annoyingly convincing display of sadness.

“But of course, I would be a fool to demand altruism from someone as influential and busy as you are, poppet. You have grown so much! It is only fair that I would provide a service. Nay, two services!”

“It better be as valuable as you claim.”

“Of course! The first service we shall provide relates to your autonomy. Do you know that… Mask was it? The canny clowns have the New World in their sights?”

“Is Bertrand really this stubborn?” I hiss, but of course he is. He is a Roland.

“Bertrand? Poppet, how many powerful and influential men have you met since we last saw each other?”

“Are you trying to be my lover or my dad?”

“Ouch,” Makyas whispers from the door.

“I beg you, Ariane, never use that comparison again,” Sinead asks more seriously. He shivers. “I am no Prince of Winter.”

“Wait, they favor incest?”

“Could we kindly return to the matter at hand please? I know that you have a daddy complex…”

“HEY!”

“... so I will let it go. To crime! Yes. In order to help you and buy you time, we shall perform a good service. We will trigger a large-scale war between Mask and Eneru.”

I gasp audibly, which shows just how much the preposterous claim shocks me. He has to be lying.

“You cannot be serious.”

“I have absolute confidence that we will succeed. As for the second service, it relates to the liberation itself. The specific method we shall use will rob vampires of their blood canisters, which means that the Europeans will no longer have an edge. In fact, no one will.”

Again, I spot a flash of anger under his calm demeanor. It fades just as quickly.

“Swear to me that this is the truth.”

The Likaean does not hesitate. He places a hand on his heart and stares me right in the eye.

“I, Sinead, prince of Summer, swear on my honor and everything I hold dear that this deal will benefit you in all the ways I mentioned and others I have not. I will add that your safety and happiness are a great concern to me, and that I will never sacrifice you for my goals. In the end, you will not regret this.”

“And in the middle?”

“There might be some mildly unpleasant moments. Nothing that you cannot handle, I am sure. In case this was not clear, I will be closely involved in the whole process. If we fall, we fall together, so you can trust that I will make sure that the odds are stacked in our favor, because I could get captured and I would rather die than go through what my kin are enduring.”

The serious tone tells me that Sinead will go to any length to prevent that from happening. The truth is that I like him. I could claim that accepting the agreement would favor me and that is why I do it, but I would be lying to myself. I am doing it because Sinead asked me to. I do not understand why I appreciate this obvious manipulator, though he certainly taught me much. Ah well.

“Fine. Tell me more about that larceny…”

Sinead’s grin radiates pure joy. I hope I will not regret my decision too much.