“Sorry to spoil your fun,” Lucidia said with a triumphant smile. On the outside, she appeared confident. But on the inside, she knew exactly the kind of sacrifice she was about to make.
Reykon
It had been a couple of hours since he’d broken Robin out of the prison, and she’d cleaned up, gotten changed, and fallen asleep again shortly after they’d eaten dinner. His gaze lingered on her, now seeing her once alert eyes closed, her once vibrant skin pale. The red birthmarks racing up her arms seemed darker than normal.
He didn’t like seeing her like this. It was a glimpse of the future.
This was what blood slaves looked like on a constant basis, until they were either drained or offered a position of servitude. Either way, the profession had a short half-life.
A knock on the door woke Robin up, and she inhaled sharply, glancing around.
“Enter,” Reykon said.
A human servant, about thirty years old, walked in. “Your presence is requested in the Grand Hall.”
“Alright,” Reykon said. “I’ll need a guard for the room, to watch-”
“Her presence is requested, too.”
Reykon scowled. It wasn’t standard procedure to let Robin have any communication before she was delivered to her soon-to-be master. Until then, she was generally supposed to be locked up.
“Has Master Magnus permitted that?” Reykon demanded.
The human servant gave him a blank look. “I just deliver the orders.”
“Fine,” Reykon grumbled. The servant closed the door and Reykon turned to Robin, who was watching him cautiously.
“What’s happening?” she asked, eyes narrowed.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “This is strange. Just stay close, and don’t talk unless someone explicitly asks you to.”
She nodded tensely.
Reykon took her by the hand, and they walked out of the room.
Lucidia
They’d taken her to a conference room, now, much like the one in House Xander.
Nice to see they’re keeping up with technology, she thought. It was a pain in the ass to have to do things through snail mail. Some of the less prominent houses were still in the stone age.
She’d been given a change of clothes, and cleaned up a little, so it didn’t look like they were mistreating Darian Xander’s strongblood slave. That was probably the only perk of being a subordinate: if you were the slave of the right person, you were considered an extension of them. It worked to her advantage in this situation.
They’d set up a conference call between Houses, which only happened when the law of correspondence was invoked. The law states that any time a slave is taken into custody of another house or entity, by invoking correspondence, the imprisoning party couldn’t touch a hair on her head until she’d been given an audience with her Master.
It was her only saving grace, and, in this instance, her killing blow.
Fortunately, according to the law, the prisoner was in charge of calling the terms of the conversation. For this one, she’d requested that Reykon and Robin were both present. They’d need to be, for her plan to work.
It was a crappy plan, she admitted, full of many potential dangers, but it was the only plan she had.
A moment later, Reykon and Robin arrived, taking their places across the large table from her. Robin looked better than she had in the prison cell. Her head injury seemed to have calmed a bit too; that was good.
All the players were in place. Master Cain sat at the head of the table, with his court fanning out around him. The end of the table was reserved for the most insignificant players; in this instance, herself, Robin, Reykon, and Cain’s three strongbloods. She hadn’t gotten their names when they’d ganged up on her.
On the screen, Magnus and his court were seen to the right, with their red and black banners hanging everywhere. To the left, was Darian and his court, adorned in rich purple. Seeing Darian’s silver hair and burning eyes only reminded her what fate loomed in the near future. Now, his eyes were intent on her, and they were not happy.
Unfortunately, it would only get worse from here.
Magnus was the first to speak. “Two calls in one day. I’m starting to get irritated.”
Darian smiled like a snake. “Then I suggest we clear this matter up quickly.”
“Yes,” Magnus agreed. “You’re looking well, Darian.”
“As do you,” the Head of Xander replied.
It fascinated her to listen to vampires of similar ages speak. They were like lawyers, fighting tooth and nail one moment, and then going out for coffee in the next.
“Your strongblood, Lucidia Draxos, has invoked the law of correspondence.”
“I see that,” Darian said with a furrowed brow. “I have to say, I am a curious as to how she landed in your custody in the first place.”
Cain snapped his hand at her, still grouchy from her intentional timing.
She stood, hands bound in front of her with shock cuffs, and turned to the camera. “Master Darian.”
“Lucidia...” he said. “How did this happen?”
No use in lying now. That ship had sailed, crashed, and been eaten by a kraken. “I sabotaged a clandestine effort launched by House Demonte.”
Darian’s expression hardened. “I didn’t authorize any such mission.”
“I am aware of that. I acted in my own interests, independently of my House or Master.”
A murmur ran through Darian’s ranks. He quieted them with a hand. “What compelled you to break such a sacred law?”
Here goes nothing, she thought dismally. “Treason.”
The vampires from each house seemed to freeze and zero in on her. Admitting treason to a vampire was like saying you didn’t believe in the second amendment to a Texan.
“Explain,” he said in an agitated hiss.
“Twenty-five years ago, I committed treason by disobeying one of the most sacred laws pertaining to strongbloods.” She glanced at Reykon, who’d stiffened, eyes wide in a warning to her. Robin was watching her curiously with a look of concern. Lucidia swallowed and continued with a stony-blank expression. “I was charged to apprehend my father, Kenzo Draxos, and bring his illegitimate child to you for execution.”
“Yes,” Darian said
