Wicked Circle

“Is Menessos aware of her political intentions?”

“From what was in his mind, she appears to have no aspirations of power and authority.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” the advisor snapped. “The attempted murder of a Quarterlord to secure dominion over him is an act of war in and of itself.” Giovanni began pacing again. “She has used her sway over him to blind him from the truth.”

“That is not true,” Menessos said to Mero. “I placed a small binding upon her, disguised as a bond between her and her lover. It enabled me to see past any personal barriers. There was no trace of what Giovanni suggests.”

“Was,” Mero said to emphasize that was past tense. “When was that and what about now?”

“That small binding has been removed, but you would be wise to not doubt me when it comes to her merits.”

On-screen, Giovanni said, “The Domn Lup cannot be subjected to her magic, as wærewolves cannot abide those energies . . . and that explains why she is his lover. The seduction subdues and sways him.” He paced continually as he considered this news. The sisters sat in silence.

To Mero’s disappointment, Menessos was keeping his face carefully blank. But Mero knew his friend’s thoughts were racing. An enemy was tying together the threads that would enable him to make a case for the elimination of the court witch who had clearly won so much more than Menessos’s admiration.

“Do you want to know what we saw of you in his mind?” Ailo asked conspiratorially.

Shoulders squaring and jaw flexing, Giovanni snapped, “What did you see of me?”

Talto clasped Ailo’s hand. Ailo said, “You were a charismatic captain of men . . . and seven hundred professional soldiers followed you to Constantinople—a mission you undertook only after Menessos recommended it based on the glory you could attain there.” Her voice was enthralling, all dulcet tones and hypnotic inflections.

“She’s using the ley,” Menessos said.

“Bespelling him?” Mero stood. They were about to take action—

Menessos motioned him back into his seat. “I have seen them play this game with non-magic-using vampires before. They do not like him or his questions, so they toy with him.”

“You were defending the wall when a debilitating injury forced you to leave your post,” Ailo said. “Because of your departure, many gave up hope and fled. The enemy observed the panic that beset the guards in your absence. His redoubled efforts conquered the Byzantines. The Queen of Cities fell.”

Color drained from Giovanni until he was pale even for a vampire. He backed up until his spine was against the wall, as if memories were playing out before him—he stared in horror at nothing.

“But your injury was not a mortal wound,” Talto said. Ailo whispered a chant as Talto continued. “A single crossbow bolt and shrapnel from the Ottoman cannon . . . but not as life threatening as initially believed. And yet it was too late. Panic had swarmed the troops and the men had fled. Days later, finding the weakness you had displayed inexcusable when paired with the devastating cost, Menessos took your throat.”

Giovanni’s fingers skimmed over his neck. Talto rose from her seat and, with a gentle touch, caressed his cheek. She took up the whispered chant and let Ailo speak: “It was another vampire, Konstance, who saw in you a mighty captain worth saving. As Menessos protested her actions, she fed you her strong blood and worked the change upon you. Though your death was not averted, she welcomed you into undeath.”

Giovanni blinked and seemed to recover himself from far away. Seeing Talto, who was chanting still, he balled his fist and struck her. She was flung across the room. “Never touch me! Never!”

She screamed and leapt to her feet, crossing half the distance. “For this you hate Menessos?” Talto asked. “You hated yourself for the failure wrought in your absence. You wanted death. He gave it to you. Konstance is the one who brought you back.”

“She loved me!” Giovanni shouted. “And Menessos poisoned her mind against me.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Why does Deric keep him as Advisor?”

Mero shrugged at Menessos’s question. “He plays the devil’s advocate very well. It is better to keep someone who is that bitter and conniving nearby rather than monitor them from afar.” A long moment later, Mero asked, “Now that your people are searching, will you help me rebind the sisters so they pose no threat?”

“I’ll help you,” Menessos said, “but only if we bind them to me—not you.”

“Bound to you?” Mero was so surprised that he was out of his seat before he realized it. He paced away, then back. “Your haven is lost, the power of your people will be transferred to Goliath and you will not have the means to contain these sisters,” Mero argued.

“Liyliy outwitted you, Mero.”

“It was not as bloody as what she did to you, and still you insult me.”

“It is not my intent to insult you, my friend.”

“But you do, and after I have done all I can to minimize the tragedy here.”

“I am grateful for that,” Menessos said, “but I have spoken truly. She stole the necklace from you. I will bind her sisters more thoroughly. . . .” He sighed. “It is no less than I deserve.”

“Deserve? As a penance?”

Menessos said nothing.

“You can’t mean to make them your own? It would make them stronger!”

“Through the connection forged in the blood exchange, a deeper binding could be placed upon them. One that would ensure their loyalty.”

Mero was incredulous. “Their story is sad and you feature in it more than most know, but this . . . error . . . is not your doing. It is mine. If either of us must suffer that solution, it should be me.” A deep breath could not counter the fearful tightening of his chest that the mere idea inspired. “They would have to accept it, and as they loathe you already they would surely not accept such a binding. Their former master tried as much. You know how that ended.” They had read their former master into madness and death. “I stand a better chance of gaining their acceptance.”

“You cannot risk this, Mero. Your son needs you. If you succeeded, Ailo and Talto would require too much of your time, and I apparently will have plenty . . . without the duties of a Quarterlord to perform. Besides, with Liyliy absent, they cannot conduct the kind of reading that the three of them can do together. And . . .”

“And what?” he demanded. He knew Menessos’s expression indicated fast thinking and serious risks. “What are you thinking?”

“When Giovanni is through with them, they will be tired. If you bring them here, one at a time, I can seduce them into the blood exchange. Then . . . the rest is just binding their flesh.” He paused and lowered his voice. “They need not agree.”

Mero sank onto the edge of the bed. “A black binding? Are you mad? Performing it would corrode your soul —”

“Some souls aren’t affected by the black arts.”

“You’ve made mistakes, but you’re no demon.”

The corner of Menessos’s lips curled. “This will work best if done while the sun is risen.”

Connecting the clues, Mero whispered, “A black binding with the sun up means you and the sisters would be dead flesh, making this black necromancy . . . are you saying you have a demon?”

“I do.”

All magic had an element of danger to it. All bindings were to some extent evil. But this . . . magic used on the unwilling was vile and twisted. Moreover, Menessos was shackling them to him forever. As endless as vampires were, committing centuries to each other was not uncommon. Even millennia could be achieved when the bonds of friendship were strong—Seven and Mark were evidence of that. But Ailo and Talto were wicked, and they hated Menessos.

Mero couldn’t allow him to do this. “This is too dangerous.”

Menessos crossed his arms. “Then suggest something better. Something sure to work.”

Mero had nothing better. He stood and paced away.