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Gios of the Nightingale, a choir of perfect voices to soothe the wounds of everlasting war. The most perfect, unearthly voices raised in angelic harmony at the breaking hour between nighttide and morning—that hour which is darkest before the dawn, when hope feels farthest from earth. Eternally protected by the Viadine.
—Rahuael, First Chronicler, Viadine Secretorum
* * *
ANNATOLY KNEW THAT Carne would have questions. Most of which he wasn’t ready to answer; most of them Carne wasn’t ready to hear answers to. And then there was still Dandrae to be dealt with. Last night a bond had been created—one that would allow Annatoly to keep a much closer eye on him in case he tried anything foolish. Unlike Carne, Dandrae didn’t have a strong moral conscience and he was easily led astray. It hadn’t taken much to seduce him last night.
He drank his coffee, leaned back in the chair and waited. It was mid-afternoon before Carne made an appearance. His hair was combed neatly, not so beautifully disheveled as the night before. He was wearing a suit that enhanced his handsome build. He stood in the doorway of the library, his mutinous expression telling Annatoly it would not be sweet good afternoon.
“Come in,” Annatoly said. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Carne strode into the room. He stood in a rebellious attitude staring down at Annatoly. “Why did you do it? Why did you fuck him?”
“I didn’t fuck him. And I don’t need to explain to you whom I invite to my bed.”
Carne paled and then his cheeks flooded with color. “You bastard! You know—you knew—I told you. Goddamn you!” He swung away from Annatoly.
It would be better if he just walked out that door—if he learned to hate Annatoly.
It would be easier. So much cleaner. His heart ached as he watched Carne. For six days he had loved this man with a depth of passion he’d never shared with another man. So gifted, so beautiful, and right now so defiant. It wasn’t virtuoso defiance—it was something deeper, finer—more righteous.
And then Carne surprised him yet again when he swung around, dropped forward and claimed Annatoly lips with a deeply sensual kiss. He planted his hands on the chair arms, locking Annatoly in place.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I know what we shared in Venice. I know you’re keeping something from me, more than one something.” He straightened away, a small smile playing at the corners of his beautiful lips. “I’m a patient man. But that only goes so far. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Get used to it because I’m staying.”
“You’re a fool if you think this...lust...between us can go any further than it has. I have nothing to give you.” And that was so much the truth. He was not a whole man, not even as much a man as Fabienne was. And that was something he’d tried to keep from Carne thus far. He couldn’t bring himself to tell him the truth—of the kind of monster he truly was. How he’d been broken and gelded, transformed into a eunuch, forced into the mold of a perfumed plaything to entertain a brutal, depraved general, but never ever to experience a man’s pleasure.
Before him stood a man, fully intact, honorable and talented, deserving of far better than what Annatoly could ever give him. Venice had been all smoke and mirrors. Yes, he knew how to please, and he was quite skillful at it. But Carne deserved a man who was far less mutilated by the cruel barbarities of his life.
He’d been given a purpose in serving the phratry and the gios. He didn’t expect more. Wanting what he could not have would, in the end, destroy any peace he’d managed to find for himself.
“Leave,” he said. “Just get out. Go back to Dandrae. Or someone...anyone else...who has a—who can give you what you want. It’s not me.”
“You’re a coward, Annatoly. And let me assure you, I won’t let you keep hiding. I will know the truth.”
Annatoly eased a sigh of relief when Carne finally strode out of the salon. Unfortunately, he had a feeling Carne would be true to his word. He would be back. And Annatoly had to be prepared to steel himself against that moment no matter how much he wished it could be different.
* * *
DANDRAE ACCOMPANIED Carne on a walk at the outer perimeter of the gardens, beyond the confines of the castle. They passed a statue of Apollo and then one of a centaur. A little fresh air would hopefully help to clear Dandrae’s muddled thoughts.
“I want the truth, Dandrae. What do you have to do with all of this?” Carne said.
The hours spent with Annatoly and Fabienne the night before had left Dandrae weakened as they asserted their sensual prowess over him. Inside him a war took place, a fight for control and Dandrae fought the compulsion to tell them everything. His first allegiance belonged to Smopheus, and he felt that dark draw upon his soul. It took every ounce of focus to maintain free will against the darkness that would claim him even as he submitted to the passions that Annatoly and Fabienne fueled. Lust could too easily break down his determination to maintain his allegiance.
Smopheus had sent him here to gain access to the inner circle of the Viadine, that sect of the phratry that secured the lines of order against the chaos of the Diadune. He fought for control, to stay true to his purpose—he fought for his life because if Annatoly and Fabienne discovered his allegiance they would likely have him killed.
This inner battle was something he could not share with Carne. He never should have said what he had the night before, but he had been weakened and the primality of their encounter had left him even more vulnerable. He wasn’t even certain that he was the one who brought forth the words that now fueled suspicion in his lover. But he was the one who would reap the punishing results.
“Perhaps I spoke out of jealousy. In the months we’ve been together, it’s only been him, that unknown man from Paris that has sparked your devotion. Annatoly—that’s who it was, wasn’t it? And now we’re here. And so is he. I know I’m going to lose you—I can already feel you drifting away. That thing between us this morning—it wasn’t about us—it was about Annatoly and last night. And now we’re here and it seems even stronger than before. At least in Venice I had you to myself.”
“That’s not good enough. I saw you with them. I watched them with you.”
Dandrae rounded on him. How little Carne understood the eternal war between the Viadine and the Diadune. He was an innocent. Dandrae was torn—Smopheus offered him untold reward in the form of riches and power. With Annatoly and Fabienne there was something of them that touched his soul with a purity of purpose he’d never felt before. Clean was the best word he could think of.
And then there was Carne. Such a beautiful and talented composer. He’d heard his music last night and it had filled him with an overflowing sense of peace and joy. And these are the men he would help to destroy and in the process he would forever damn his soul. For money and power. Suddenly what he planned to do seemed some sort of terrible evil. If Smopheus had meant to keep him shackled by chaos, he had succeeded. Dandrae’s mind was in utter and complete chaos. Until he understood what his path would be, he dared not bare his soul—or what was left of it—to Carne.
“Then perhaps it was you that was jealous,” Dandrae accused, thinking an attack was the far better road to travel. “They summoned me rather than you. Is that it?” Looking into Carne’s eyes he saw confusion and consternation. He wanted to take him in his arms; yet he wanted to spirit him away from this place. The Viadine would use Carne just as the Diadune wanted to use Dandrae. In the end they might both be destroyed by powers far stronger than human ability could fight. And there was no place they would be safe from their power.
Carne wiped a hand across his face. “I-I don’t know. This place, there are things here—mysterious forces at work.”
“Don’t be foolish. It’s simply an old castle. Don’t they all hold some deep, deadly secret? You shouldn’t have read that Stoker novel before we left Venice.”
Carne laid a hand on Dandrae’s arm. His attempts to divert Carne’s focus were flimsy at best. But he couldn’t utter the words Carne wanted to hear. They held power over his ability to speak the truth. He felt Annatoly whispering in his ear, his presence commanding him to obey.
“Tell me the truth, Dandrae.”
What was the truth? Dandrae wasn’t certain that he knew it. Sometimes it felt like a dream, but a dream from which he would never awaken completely. There were times he looked down from a distance, separated from his body, unable to command his physical self, knowing that his every action was now owned by Smopheus. That wasn’t quite true—since last night he felt the presence of warring factions inside him, and he knew that before it was over he’d be ripped apart.
“It isn’t for me to tell you,” he finally answered. “The secrets of this place and these...men are not mine to tell.”
“It’s not right. Let’s leave.”
“It’s too late,” Dandrae said. Far too late.
“You’re my lover, and yet at this moment I don’t think I know you at all. Who are you Dandrae Edmund? You never felt anything for me except perhaps the joy of conquest? Or was it just the money? What’s the reward for whatever action you’ve been hired to complete?”
Carne would never understand the darkness that had claimed Dandrae. That ache that always pushed him to use people to get what he wanted. Never before had he possessed a conscience or cared about the consequences of his actions other than to himself. Until he’d met Carne.
“I’m leaving this place,” Carne said. “I’ve made up my mind. Are you coming with me or not?”
Dandrae almost felt pity for Carne. He had no idea. “You can’t leave.”
“I will, even if it means I walk out of here. I’m going to the stables and arrange for the coach now.”
Dandrae shook his head. Such futile hope. “You won’t find anything there. No one will help you, nor will the gates open for you. You’ll remain here until they decide otherwise.”
“My God, you’ll help them, won’t you? Do they plan to kill me? Why would you do this?”
“You wanted it, Carne. You’ve always wanted it. Now, you might as well stay for the outcome.”
“Who is Annatoly really? Is it the blood? Is he truly a...vampire then? Has he hypnotized you? Is that what he did to me back in Paris?”
“They aren’t vampires. Of that I can assure you. It’s something else, in some ways I think far more dangerous. I expect Annatoly will reveal everything to you in his own good time.”
“But you’re his man now, aren’t you? Having been my lover means nothing to you, does it? Your allegiance now is with him.”
Truthfully, in Venice it had meant something. With distance from the source of the power, he’d felt human enough to truly want Carne. But here, everything was different. Suddenly, he felt a tug from another direction. The pricks in his thigh began to throb. A summons from his true lord.
“I-I have to go. If you want answers, you have to go back to the castle to get them. I can’t tell you anything.” He turned away, pulled by compulsion, and headed past the edges of the garden and into the forest. A familiar dark claiming descended over him. But here? Had they gained access to the grounds?
“Dandrae? Where are you going? Dandrae!”
He moved swiftly, not bothering to answer Carne. As though he was driven, as though he was pulled by a rope attached to his very soul. He arrived at a stone wall, and followed it until there was a break, where tall black wrought iron bars breached the stone. Something sinister awaited him there.
“Open the gates,” Smopheus said.
“I haven’t the power. They know something’s amiss.”
Smopheus smiled coldly. “Of course they do. It’s why I sent you to them.”
“I don’t understand. You’ve been chasing them for centuries. You really think it will be that easy? They know I’m your man.”
“There are two items inside the castle I want you to bring to me. A set of masks. Find them. It’s a simple task.”
“You won’t win,” Dandrae said.
“You underestimate us. We’ve grown in power in recent years. We’ll destroy the gios once and for all.”
“Gios?”
“The nightingales. They’ll be destroyed. And then the Viadine will know utter and complete chaos. Without the gios, they’ll lose the peace they’ve fought so desperately to protect.”
Dandrae stepped away from the fence. “So it isn’t just Carne you want destroyed.”
“All of them. You will facilitate our instrument of destruction.”
“No. Not even immortality is a high enough reward for the stain of their deaths on my soul.”
“You have no choice.”
Choice. Did he have a choice? He felt their grip on him. But Annatoly had now also bound him. If he told Annatoly the truth, would they help him? All his life he’d been alone, always making his own way, finding his own fortune in any way he could. But this was something different. Far more dangerous; far more at stake. And if he made the wrong choice, he wouldn’t get a second chance. Of that much, he was certain. He would be damned for eternity.
* * *
CARNE WAS JUST ABOUT to take off after Dandrae when he heard footsteps on the stone walk behind him and he swung toward the sound.
“There’s no need to go after him. If it’s answers you seek, I’m more able to give those to you.”
Carne saw the terrible scar on the man’s neck, so in contrast to the beauty of his face. It seemed to account for the tenor of his voice. He’d been cloaked in shadows the night before and Carne hadn’t noticed the scar. But he recognized him as the man who’d been with Dandrae and Annatoly. Carne was rooted to the spot.
“Who are you?”
The corner of the man’s lips quirked into the semblance of a smile. “Your fate. My name is Fabienne.” He bowed from the waist. “Fabienne Brunnetto.”
He drew himself up and looked Fabienne in the eyes. “And why am I really here?”
“You’re here for me. And because you wanted to be here.” Fabienne stepped closer. “Because you haven’t been able to get Annatoly out of your mind these last ten years, isn’t that so?”
Carne forced himself to breathe, although it became more difficult the closer Fabienne came to him. “Dandrae? What hold do you have over him?”
Fabienne shrugged. “What hold has Annatoly over you?”
“There’s more to it than that. I can feel it. This place—there’s something strange about it. I saw ghosts last night—heard them singing. I saw you with Dandrae. I saw Annatoly.”
“Ah, yes. The nightingales sing loudest in the hour before dawn.”
“They weren’t birds. Or, not—” Carne was getting confused because, of course, at first it had sounded like the trill of a bird’s song when he’d first been awakened. The closer Fabienne came to him, the more confused he felt. The more aroused he became. He took a step back, trying to distance himself from Fabienne. But Fabienne followed.
“You have some sort of power and you’re using it on me, to try to make me do what you want me to do. To control me. Not this time.” He grappled for the medallion and held it up.
Fabienne chuckled, a deep, raspy sound. “Yes, you are protected.” He fingered the medallion. “But the protection is not from me; it is from the Diadune.” He moved closer. “Do you really think it’s from me that they would have given you their protection?”
“W-what do you mean?”
The tall, pale man swooped forward, drawing Carne into his arms. “Your ancestors tried to destroy me once. The nightingale protects me as well. You’re mine, Carne Geraint, they know this. And Annatoly knows this. They would never keep me from having what belongs to me. You are the reason we’ve all come to this place.”
“I’ve never done anything to you. I never met you before. What have I to do with you?”
Fabienne leaned closer. “Carlo Borggio. Do you know the name?”
Carne just barely managed to shake his head. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“Come with me, Carne Geraint, and I’ll tell you a story. It is one of twisted desire and righteous vindication. Or are you a coward like the rest of your lineage?”
Carne tried to twist from Fabienne’s grasp, but the man only drew him closer still with an inhuman strength. Fabienne swooped down and captured Carne’s mouth. All the memory of his deep-seated lust boiled to the surface. He clung to Fabienne even as the man deepened the kiss, drawing from Carne, hardening his body, molding and shaping his lust. When Fabienne finally released Carne, he dropped to his hands and knees, gasping for breath, fingers digging into the wet, decaying earth.
“You can’t resist me, so why waste your energy trying?”
Carne looked up at Fabienne. “You mean to make me love you and then kill me?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps it’s that you’ll make me love you.” Fabienne studied him closely, his eyes narrowed, a strange look coming into his expression. “Yes, I think that’s exactly what will happen. He knew I’d be jealous. The wily bastard. And yet I think he’s fallen into his own trap. Come with me, Carne Geraint.”
Perhaps his curiosity would kill him, but Carne went with Fabienne to his lair in the tower. The room Fabienne led him to looked like a workroom containing tables littered with pieces of machinery and tools. It was to the far table that Fabienne led Carne.
“Sit.” He waved to a wooden chair. He rolled out a piece of parchment that looked like a family tree with scarlet notations written near each male name. Carne saw his mother’s name, Sally Geraint, an actress, mistress to a composer was the notation after her name. His father’s name was there—at least that was the name of the lover her mother had named as his father. She’d sent him to live with a tailor and his wife soon after he was born, so he’d been told. He’d never met his father. Sally sent money, but Carne saw little of her until he’d turned twelve. But now, there it was, each letter written carefully on the parchment. Benjamin Morgan of English-German descent, sire of one Carne Geraint.
He tracked across the tree. Friederich Gereund sired a son by a German prostitute. Marco Teatro sired a son by an Italian maid. Gianni Salter sired a son by a Swiss governess. Pietro Contra consorted with an Italian seamstress. And finally Carlo Borggio, engaged in a liaison with an Italian courtesan. All sons. All bastards. All dead. Each notation in red noted their date and manner of their deaths. Also noted were their weaknesses for drink, for gambling, for women, for drugs.
He looked up at Fabienne. “They’re all dead, except for me. By your hand I suppose?”
“By their own destinies as you can see. The curse of their bloodline, from the moment Carlo set his hand to my throat.”
“Why am I still alive?”
“You are the seventh son. Your blood is the most powerful. Your blood added to the rest will give me back what Carlo stole from me. Apparently we both have a chance to be purified.”
“So, you’re supposedly immortal, right? Like Annatoly? And you waited. They all had sons, and then they died. Some young, some old. You waited for me to be born and grow to manhood? Do you plan to cut my throat?”
Fabienne sighed. “You are a problem. Apparently I need you. You and your music. And I need to—I need to publicly forgive you.”
“Forgive me? What did Carlo Borggio do to you? Was he the one who gave you that scar?”
Slowly Fabienne removed his clothing until he stood naked in front of Carne. Carne’s eyes widened in horror. Fabienne’s body was littered with scars. Carne hissed a long slow release of breath as he stared at the evidence of what must have been a savage assault.
“It took him three days,” Fabienne said as he pivoted around so that Carne could get the full impact of the savagery carved into his body. “Three days before he did this.” Tilting his head back showing Carne more clearly the scar on his neck.
“H-how did you survive?”
“Annatoly. He found me barely alive and nursed me back to health. Back to something that I was not before this happened. I had sacrificed everything for my music. By the end of the third day I begged Carlo to slit my throat and let me die. Borggio took everything from me. He hadn’t the courage to make the sacrifices I made, but he hated me for my successes.”
Carne could understand the deep-rooted hatred that would have resulted from what had happened. He hadn’t been a party to the act, but he still felt shamed by it. He felt the need to make reparation.
He walked to Fabienne. He stroked his cock, then slid a finger along the scar that marked his castration. “At what age were you?”
“I was fourteen. Older than most.”
“When did this happen to you?” He knew castration had been outlawed long ago. He was still trying to wrap his mind around this immortality thing. Was he really going to let himself believe all of this?
“It happened almost two hundred years ago. More than a lifetime.” The year had been 1695 to be exact. In three nights it would make two hundred years to the day that Carlo Borggio had tried to kill his lust for a man by destroying Fabienne.
Fabienne had been a singer, one of the castrati, gifted with a voice from heaven, some say. That tainted jealousy was in Carne’s blood, inherited from generations of men who took what they wanted and left ashes in their wake without considering the cost to others.
“The only thing I knew about my father was that he was an extraordinarily talented musician, but that he’d been very young when he was trampled by a coach after stumbling into the street in a drunken stupor. I shared his talent, but I never wanted to be like him. I overheard my mother talking with one of the other actresses one night, telling her that my father had raped her. I thought it couldn’t be true. And now you’re telling me it wasn’t just him, but it’s in my blood.”
“So I thought. I’ve watched you all these years. Ever since your birth. And yet, you aren’t like them.”
“But what’s to say it won’t eventually happen?” He couldn’t look away from Fabienne. Even with all those horrible scars he was still the most beautiful, most courageous man Carne had ever known. He couldn’t help touching him with a certain level of reverence.
“I’m sorry. I would give anything so that you could have your life back. The way it was meant to be. Anything.”
“Even your own life?”
He felt a sense of despair rise through him. A sense of the absolute agony this man must have endured. He looked him in the eyes.
“I don’t know if you have me under some spell or not. If so, it started ten years ago in Paris when I first met Annatoly and I’ve never been able to be free of this strange connection. I’ve a feeling I never will. Tell me what you want. My blood? My life? To make me feel what you experienced all those years ago?”
Fabienne stared down at him for a long time. Carne got lost in his eyes. His hands rose to rest on Fabienne’s wickedly scarred chest. Fabienne sucked in a breath.
“Not yet,” he said. “Not yet. First, I would discover what Annatoly finds so fascinating about you.” And then his mouth devoured Carne’s, his tongue thrusting deep inside. And Carne was lost, willingly giving himself over to Fabienne. Anything this man wanted, he could have.
He heard them singing, that same ghostly presence of the night before. He allowed the music to carry him away, to whisk him to a place where he only knew the pleasure of Fabienne’s hands, and mouth, and cock. To where flesh melded with flesh, soul to soul. He saw them, the tall, beautiful men with the celestial voices as they circled Fabienne and Carne, watching and waiting, their voices lifted in splendorous harmony and it brought tears to Carne’s eyes. And Carne gave himself over into their keeping. There was nothing but the music to fill his soul. And the flowering of redemption and forgiveness.
