As Shadows Fade

to tell it, for it has bearing on our quest.”

“Sired by Beauregard,” mused Pesaro. “But with Beauregard dead, she is then locked in obeisance to his sire… which was Lilith, as I recall.”

Sebastian saw the flash of unease in Pesaro’s eyes, and much as he might abhor the man, he had some compassion for him in this case. The bond of Lilith’s thrall, and her obsession with Pesaro, had been a bane to the man’s life. And even Sebastian, who’d lived among the undead for a time, didn’t care to contemplate some of the things Max had had to endure when he was with her.

“Yes, Lilith was Beauregard’s sire, but the connection had become very weak. He was a Guardian vampire, but she did not trust him with one of the Rings of Jubai. He turned on her centuries ago, so I am not certain how strong Katerina’s bond would be with Lilith.”

“Ah yes… Beauregard was a power-hungry one, wasn’t he?” Pesaro replied.

Sebastian didn’t reply. Before Beauregard’s attempt to turn Victoria undead, against his grandson’s wishes, Sebastian had loved the vampire. Staking him to end his attack on Victoria had been almost as difficult as staking Giulia those years ago.

“Sebastian, you said that you had learned some other information,” Wayren said, once again interrupting his thoughts. He felt as though she not only broke into his musings, but knew exactly what they were… or at least, had a sense of them. The canny look in her eyes seemed to support that.

“As I was about to say, the story of how Katerina became sired is an interesting one and it is germane to the task at hand.”

“Then perhaps you could proceed with the story,” Wayren encouraged.

Sebastian leveled a look at Pesaro. “I think I shall keep you in suspense. The pertinent information is that she has one of the Rings of Jubai. It was given to her by Germintrude, one of Lilith’s other Guardian vampires, in an effort to sway her loyalty from Beauregard. Which didn’t work, but she did keep the ring. If you need the blood of an undead, and we need the ring, it would be expedient to combine the two tasks. And then you can have the pleasure of killing her, after… how many days of fasting will it be?” he added with relish.

“Three,” Pesaro replied. “We leave in the morning.” He stood and, with the briefest of bows to Wayren and Victoria, left the room.

Torn between the hope and dread that Wayren would also go, leaving him alone with Victoria, Sebastian remained in his chair. But Victoria rose first and turned to him as he, too, politely got to his feet. “You will go with us, then?”

Did she truly think he wouldn’t? That he’d leave her to Katerina and Lilith-for they’d have to face her, too, at some point in order to get the other two rings-and close the portal without his help?

Had he not proven himself yet?

But he held back these thoughts and nodded. “I’ll be here before daybreak.” He would have started for the door, but Wayren’s quiet voice stopped him.

“Sebastian, if I could have a word with you.”

The hair lifted at the back of his neck. Could she not have had that word with him earlier? He wanted to leave now. To get out of this house, where Victoria would go upstairs to her chamber and be joined by and with a man he loathed. How could she love him, the cold bastard?

“If you’ll excuse me,” Victoria said, hurrying from the room.

Sebastian preferred not to think about where she was going.

Instead, he turned to Wayren, not entirely sure that a conversation with her would be the lesser of two evils.

“If you want to see the Gardella Bible, there’s no reason to hesitate.”

“Is it blasphemous to say that I greatly dislike it when you do that?” he said wryly, turning toward the cabinet.

Wayren gave a soft laugh. He couldn’t ever remember having heard it before-quiet, gentle, spritely. “No indeed. I’ve heard much worse over the centuries. Sebastian, do you know what you’re looking for?”

He had to shake his head. “No.” Honesty compelled him to speak with forthrightness. “I feel as though I’m waiting to find out what will be asked of me next.”

The heavy handle twisted easily, levering downward and unlatching the door of the cabinet. Inside, the Bible sat, large and smelling of age. He pulled it out, sensitive to the crackling, browned pages and the faded ribbons that marked places in the great tome.

“The first pages of that Bible were scribed by the sisters who lived with Rosamunde in Lock Rose Abbey. Rosamunde, the mystic who wrote many pages of personal revelations before being called to the vis bulla.”

Sebastian nodded, carefully opening the heavy cover. His education of Venator history was sketchy and incomplete, due to his many years away from them. But he had heard of Rosamunde, and he had seen the painting of her in the Consilium. Serene and oval faced, Lady Rosamunde Gardella had seemed much less imposing than a Venator should be.

“In the front of the book are listed all of those called Illa Gardella,” Wayren continued. “And in the back are named all of the Venators. Your name is there, as well as Max’s.”

And in between, Sebastian found, were faded pages of cramped medieval text of the New and Old Testaments, many of which were decorated with large illustrations, their colors long since washed out. These pages had been bound and rebound, and bound again into this much newer leather cover.

Beyond those crackling medieval texts, he found, were more pages of cramped writing in a different hand. Each one signed with a large, ornate R.

Here Sebastian paused. His hands hovered over the page, and he felt compelled to stop and read.

Feeling Wayren’s interested gaze on him, he looked up and saw understanding there. “Rosamunde’s writings. Of course. Would you like a copy of your own?” she asked.

Sebastian watched as Wayren reached into her ever-present rugged leather satchel and shuffled around inside. At last, she withdrew a sheaf of papers. Not nearly as aged as those he held on his lap, but crinkling and loosely bound with a leather thong stitched up one side.

“Perhaps you will find what you are looking for in here,” she said, offering them to him.

Sebastian carefully closed the Bible and reached for the papers. When he touched Wayren’s hand, a peaceful warmth slipped along his arm and settled inside him.

“Perhaps I shall.”

Victoria slept alone the night before they left for Prague, and, of necessity, the nights following.

The journey left little time for sleep. Once they crossed the Channel, she, Max, and Sebastian sat a-saddle from sunrise until past sunset. Wayren did not ride, but she had her own methods of travel and would join Brim and Michalas in Rome and then the rest of them in Prague.

In fact, Victoria was relieved that Wayren would not be traveling with them. Knowing that she’d been a target of the demons once before left her uneasy, and she thought it would be best if Wayren were safely in the Consilium.

“But I will be there in Prague for Max’s Trial,” the blond woman told Victoria, after agreeing to go to Rome as quickly as possible. “I must be there to ensure that all goes well, and to make certain that he is well prepared.”

Victoria had no reason nor desire to argue. She felt confident that Wayren would be safe now that she was on her guard against the demons, and until they could meet again in Prague. She wanted Max to be ready for the life-or-death task ahead of him as well, and she vacillated between begging him not to take the chance and understanding why he must. He felt it would help to protect her-as well as himself. She couldn’t argue with that logic or sentiment.

In fact, after her conversation with Max in the carriage back in London, Victoria had little time to speak with him privately. His bleakness and underlying anger left her cold and uncertain… and frightened.

It wasn’t a matter of him not caring for her, loving her.

It was a matter of him caring for, and loving, her too much. So much that he could be tempted away from his duty if her life was at risk.

At last she understood why he resisted being with her. Making her a part of his life. He was afraid she would affect his decisions, his honor, his duty.