The priestess didn’t respond right away, and they continued westward across open grassland, the night sky above them clear and full of ice-bright stars. Qarakh rode the same dusky gray mare that had been so close to collapse only a night ago. Now, thanks to some rest and a few swallows of her master’s vitae, she was ready and eager to travel once more.
He would’ve made better time traveling alone in wolf form, but Deverra did not possess the ability to alter her shape as he did, so he was forced to go on horseback. In the end, it would probably prove the best choice, anyway. These Christian Cainites rode among mortal knights and thought of themselves as noble-blooded, supposedly above low and animalistic creatures like Qarakh. Arriving as a wolf would have only reinforced this attitude in Alexander, and perhaps lessened Qarakh in his eyes. The Mongol cared not at all what the former Prince of Paris thought of him, but he was too shrewd to allow the man’s prejudice to lessen his own bargaining power.
After a time, Deverra said, “I thought perhaps that your silence grew out of your displeasure.”
Qarakh groaned inwardly. He wished for once that the woman would say exactly what she meant. “Of what displeasure do you speak?”
“You were not happy that I insisted on accompanying you.”
“At first,” he admitted. “But I have thought over your reasons.” Deverra had argued that as the Telyavs’ high priestess, not only was it her duty to represent her clan when Qarakh parlayed with Alexander, but that her presence would be a symbol of the strong alliance between Qarakh’s tribe and the Telyavs.
Deverra smiled. “Are you saying I was right?”
A night breeze whispered through the grass around them. Maintaining a straight face, Qarakh said, “My apologies. I was unable to hear you because of the wind.”
Deverra’s laugh was loud, full of life and joy. The sound stirred echoes of feeling that Qarakh thought had died with him the night Aajav had visited his ger. Qarakh realized that the priestess’s laugh reminded him of what it had been like—no, what it had felt like—to be truly alive.
“You still call the Mongols your people,” Deverra said. “But you are far away from those lands. Are we not your people now?”
Qarakh said nothing.
Holding onto the bridle of Aajav’s horse, his blood brother slumped in the saddle beside him, an arrow in his neck and one between his shoulder blades, wounds swollen black with poison. Steppe ponies running hard, hooves striking the ground like rolling thunder, arrows whistling through the air around them, and riding in pursuit much closer than Qarakh would like, a half dozen Anda vampires, bows drawn, faces twisted into masks of hatred and death.
Qarakh scowled and forced the unbidden memory away. “Being a Mongol is more than riding on the steppe. It is… a way of thinking, of knowing one’s place in the world at all times. Of—”
“Living in yostoi,” Deverra finished.
Qarakh nodded. “Or at least attempting to do so. Yostoi is even more important for our kind. The Beast that dwells within us all can never completely be caged or controlled, but it can be kept in its place, if one knows how to give it what it needs instead of what it wants. By remaining true to the Mongol way, I find the clarity of mind and strength of spirit to live with my Beast instead of despite it.”
“I see why Grandfather respects you so, Qarakh. There are many Cainites far older than you who do not know their Beasts half so well.” Deverra smiled. “If you were a mortal youth, I might be tempted to say you were precocious.”
“I am merely Mongolian. There is nothing special about me.”
Deverra looked at him with a penetrating gaze that Qarakh couldn’t quite read. “Oh, I think there is, Qarakh the Untamed, though you aren’t aware of it. I believe that if the need for battle arises, you will not only be able to stand against Alexander, but also defeat him.”
Qarakh chuckled. “I appreciate your confidence in me, priestess, but while I fear no man alive or undead, I would just as soon avoid having to fight a two-thousand-year-old warrior.”
“Do you think—” Deverra broke off before she could finish her question. Her head whipped to the right and then she leaped from her horse. Lifting the hem of her robe so she might run more easily, she dashed off into the darkness.
Startled by her actions, Qarakh leaned over, grabbed the reins of her horse and brought both mounts to a halt. He quickly tied the piebald’s reins to those of his gray, for though both horses were ghouls, he knew for certain that his horse would not budge from this spot unless he commanded it. He then dismounted, drew his saber and ran off after Deverra. He heard the sounds of a struggle followed by a high-pitched animal cry of pain, and then all was silent.
When he caught up to Deverra, he found the priestess crouched over the body of a stag, her face buried in the ragged wet ruin of its neck. Realizing what had occurred and that there was no danger, he sheathed his sword and watched her feed. He knew that he should turn and walk away so that Deverra could have privacy, but he was too fascinated. She gnawed the deer’s flesh as she drank, shaking her head back and forth in the manner of a wolf. It was so unlike the priestess’s usual calm and serene manner that he knew he was seeing her Beast at work.
After a time she looked up, saw him and frowned, as if she didn’t quite recall who he was. Then recognition filled her gaze, and she lowered her eyes in shame.
“I wish you hadn’t seen me like this.” She drew the back of her hand across her mouth to wipe away the stag’s blood, but
