Margaurethe scowled at Valmont across the conference table. They and Castillo waited for Whiskey. She had requested that all her advisors join her for Valmont’s “audience.”
The night had passed uneventfully. This morning, the local newspaper splashed a lurid photo of Rufus Barrett on the front page. His grisly murder on the eve of his dawning popularity in the art world had sparked the journalist’s imagination. Being discovered in a locked room enhanced the mystery of his death. Local television had picked up the story, dissecting his childhood and talent. After a few calls, Margaurethe saw the inclusion of a police officer’s televised statement that drugs may have been involved. Saginna Bescoe had assured her that Whiskey’s presence at the gallery would be “overlooked” by investigators. She had then set her security team on digging up dirt on Bescoe to ensure the connection between Whiskey and Rufus would remain swept under the political carpet.
Attempting to make small talk, Valmont leaned across his coffee and spoke to Castillo. “I’m surprised there aren’t a dozen guards in here.”
Castillo opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Margaurethe.
“It was a thought, to be sure.”
Valmont grinned, not looking at her.
Castillo cleared his throat uncertainly. “I think Whiskey doesn’t want them. She doesn’t believe you’re a threat.”
“Hardly sounds like Elisibet, does it?” Valmont pursed his lips in thought. “She was ever the paranoid.”
“She’s not Elisibet. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
He turned to look at Margaurethe. “As you’ve made it clear, my dear Ki’an Gasan, I’m not to come close to her without you as chaperone. I certainly don’t have the depth of your experience in this matter.” He smiled brightly. “Of course, I’ll defer to your infinite wisdom.”
She snorted, not finding his behavior as charming as he might have hoped.
Unable to goad her, Valmont took another tack. “Considering Elisibet’s nature, three quarters of our people will want to kill Whiskey. It would be best to have her in a place where she can be well protected. Have you considered taking her to Europe? There are still a number of spectacularly well-defended buildings there.”
“That’s not necessary. She’s in a place of safety now, regardless of recent events.” Margaurethe lowered her chin as she glared at him. “And three quarters of our people don’t know she’s returned. Beyond this company, only the Agrun Nam and their trusted aides are privy.” She paused. “Only the Agrun Nam and their trusted aides are sending assassins.”
Valmont laughed. “Lionel Bentoncourt? I realize you haven’t been to court in centuries, Margaurethe, but he hasn’t changed quite that much. He hasn’t a bloodthirsty bone in his body. He used kizarusi for feeding long before they came into style.”
“Bertrada,” Margaurethe murmured.
He shook his head as he looked away. “Doubtful.”
She rounded on him. “In case you’ve forgotten, she had as much reason to see Elisibet dead as you. No doubt she was behind the Agrun Nam’s push to remove Elisibet in the first place.” From her peripheral vision, she saw Castillo’s mouth drop open as he watched them bicker like old women.
Valmont ignored their spectator. “Perhaps so; small wonder that, eh? But if Bertrada was still harboring a desire for blood, she’d want to do it herself, don’t you think? She’s quite the vindictive bitch when she wants to be, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“You were working on orders from the Agrun Nam?”
Everyone turned toward the door where Whiskey stood with Dorst. She remained focused on Valmont and no one else.
Slipping into his devil-may-care persona, Valmont stood and approached. He smirked as he bent a knee to her. “Ninsumgal, we’ve not been properly introduced. I am Sublugal Sañar Valmont, at your service.” He stepped forward, reaching out a hand.
“Don’t touch me.” Whiskey made no move to avoid him, but her voice held the hard edge of control.
Valmont froze where he was, dropping his hand and blinking owlishly. He flushed at Dorst’s chortle.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
Margaurethe smiled, fears easing as the aura of command crackled around Whiskey. She almost saw the connection Whiskey forced upon Valmont, the pair of them locked together by her will alone. Castillo still sat mouth agape, ogling both of them.
Margaurethe rose, circling around to stand beside Whiskey. As much as she wanted to interfere, to throw in with her abilities, she knew that this was a task for Whiskey alone. Valmont would never respect her if she didn’t tame him in her own way. Regardless of the outcome, she would find Margaurethe at her side to support her. A rustle of leather told her that Dorst had taken up position on Whiskey’s left.
Several minutes passed before Valmont’s shoulders sagged but straightened, standing confident. “Yes. The Agrun Nam ordered me to kill you, kill Elisibet. And I was proud to be the one selected.”
“Are you proud now?”
The question perplexed him. He frowned. “What?”
“Why did you stop Rufus from killing me at the gallery?”
Valmont’s face cleared. “Because I’m not here to kill you, Whiskey. You’re not Elisibet.”
“Really?” Whiskey cocked her head, studying him. “What was it you said when you were first presented to Elisibet at court? A willingness to follow her to the ends of the earth and beyond?” She chuckled. “I’ve been beyond, but you didn’t follow.”
Margaurethe felt a smile grow upon her face.
Valmont was taken aback, unable to do more than work his mouth as he tried to respond. “Elisibet…?” he finally asked, voice thin.
“No. Elisibet is dead by your sword. I remember the wound, the chill of death coming over her, Margaurethe holding me as I bled to death.” Whiskey’s hand found Margaurethe’s though her view remained fixed upon Valmont. “You said it had to be done. Do you still believe that?”
Valmont swallowed, a recalcitrant child, skin blushing. “Yes, I do. I’ll never change my mind on that.”
“You were always one to stand by your convictions, stupid as they may have been.”
Margaurethe felt a lessening of the tense atmosphere in the room, though remained worried. Whiskey’s mixing of viewpoints in her speech disconcerted her.
Whiskey deflated, though not from weakness. It looked like she had simply relinquished control over her prey. “Do you believe it needs to be done now?”
Again, Valmont drew himself up. He met Whiskey’s hostility without flinching. “No. You seem to have Elisibet’s memories, but you’re not her. You would already have ripped my throat out if you were.”
Whiskey released Margaurethe’s hand and moved closer, circling Valmont, who stood motionless. “Don’t think it didn’t occur to me,” she said in a voice so low it barely registered. “You piss me off by your mere existence. You betrayed your sworn ruler and best friend.” She stopped before him. “The second I think you’re holding back or are a danger to me and mine, I’ll gut you quicker than anything.”
Margaurethe’s eyebrows rose at the threat. The conviction with which Whiskey spoke was strong, an aching reminder of Elisibet ringing in her voice.
Glaring at Valmont, Whiskey still bristled.
Several minutes passed before Valmont hesitantly raised his chin in supplication, accepting Whiskey’s superiority. “You have nothing to fear from me. I’ll not harm you again.”
Whiskey kept her stance a shade longer. “Maybe not, but trusting you isn’t an option, is it?” She stood down, turning her back on Valmont as if daring him to try anything. Taking Margaurethe’s hand, she kissed the knuckles.
Margaurethe smiled, feeling the caress of roses, and squeezed Whiskey’s fingers.
“Sorry, everybody. That probably wasn’t fun to watch.” Whiskey led Margaurethe to her seat at the head of the table, taking the time to chivalrously seat her.
A rueful smile grew on Castillo’s face. “On the contrary. I’m quite glad to have been here.”
Valmont’s countenance soured. He snorted, throwing himself into a chair.
Dorst idly leaned his hip on the edge of the conference table. “Book fodder?”
“It’ll be a best seller.” Castillo grinned widely as he looked at Whiskey. “I’ll be most happy to write your memoirs when you’re ready.”
Whiskey groaned.
Margaurethe watched multiple emotions cross Valmont’s face as Whiskey ran a hand through her hair in adolescent exasperation. Some expressions she recognized from long association with him, distant though those years were—surprise, preoccupation, and calculation. Others she had not seen before, having no way of identifying them. On another person, she would have described them as fear and worry. She felt a warm wave of pleasure at the idea.
“Now that we’ve met, Valmont, what do you want?”
He seemed startled to be called upon. “Excuse me?”
Whiskey leaned forward on the table, arms crossed. “What do you want? What are you after?” She raised a hand, half shrugging. “You’ve been tailing me for months now, hired a private investigator to catch me, and overpowered two of my people.” Her hand dropped to the table. “Speaking of which, you owe Father Castillo and Zebediah an apology.”
Margaurethe smirked, biting her lip to keep from laughing aloud.
Valmont sat up straight in his chair to glare at Whiskey, not seeing the humor. “Apology? For what? I didn’t even hurt them!”
“Much.” Dorst smiled. He received a sharp look from Valmont, and chuckled in response.
“Since Father Castillo is here now, you can apologize to him. I’ll have Zebediah come down later.” Whiskey raised an eyebrow, staring at Valmont.
Long seconds ticked past. Valmont’s jaw twitched and moved as he ground his teeth. He finally turned to glare at Castillo. “My utmost apologies, sir, for attacking you without warning. Next time I’ll issue a challenge so that we may duel.” His head swiveled back to Whiskey. “Will that do?”
She studied him, then looked at Castillo. “What do you say, Padre? Will that do for you, or do you want something a little more appropriate?”
Castillo looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. “It’s fine, Whiskey. Thank you, Sublugal Sañar Valmont. No harm done.”
Whiskey snorted, but did not counter his statement. “That still doesn’t answer my question, Valmont.”
Margaurethe watched him squirm, almost wanting to fidget in sympathy. Whiskey had no experience with courtly ways, and her boardroom manner resembled a bulldozer. She’ll need extended lessons with Reynhard and myself, studying court intrigue.
“I was sent by the Agrun Nam to find out if you are who you claimed to be. I couldn’t very well do that from a distance.”
“Are you sworn to the Agrun Nam?”
“What?” Valmont blinked. “No.”
Warning bells went off in Margaurethe’s head, pulling her from her thoughts. She lightly touched Whiskey’s mind, and was just as gently rebuffed. The alarms grew louder as she tensed in apprehension.
“You were sworn to Elisibet specifically, were you not?”
Margaurethe’s scrutiny flickered around the table. It was the first time Whiskey had uttered her predecessor’s name in her presence. Dorst stared at Whiskey, his intent focus indicating he noted the same. Castillo was too happy to be ignored to realize the difference.
“Yes. But you know that.” Valmont placed his hands upon the table, aggressive as he leaned sharply forward. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
Whiskey cocked her head. “Who are you sworn to these days, Valmont? Anyone? Did your honor-bound oath die with your honor when you killed your best friend?”
Valmont shot to his feet, face ugly. “What do you know about honor, you unu narra?” He thumped his chest. “I had honor before you lured me to my disgrace!”
Margaurethe sat poised, prepared to defend Whiskey from physical assault. Valmont panted, fists at his side, fangs bared in fury. Dorst had not moved, but Margaurethe had no doubt he was ready should the need arise; his proximity to Valmont meant he would reach his target before her. A whisper cut through the boiling madness.
“I’m not Elisibet.”
Valmont stared.
Whiskey stood. “I’m Jenna Davis. I was born eighteen and a half years ago in North Carolina. My mother is full Lakota Sioux, my father is American. Six months ago, I didn’t even know the Sanguire existed.”
Margaurethe scrambled to her feet as Whiskey passed behind her chair toward Valmont. She wanted to stand in front of her, but held herself back. Noting movement to one side, she realized that Castillo had risen this time, coming around the table on the other side.
Valmont looked confused.
“Honor isn’t a one-time thing. You can have it, lose it then, but still regain it at some point.”
Swallowing, Valmont retracted his teeth as he glanced at the others surrounding him.
Whiskey smiled. “I think you were in a pretty tough spot. You’d sworn allegiance to Elisibet, but she’d changed over the years. She forced you to choose between your word and what was right.”
“What of it?”
“Your honor is your own. You’ve always had it. You chose to take vengeance for the death of a man who was a father to you, knowing your actions might sentence you to a horrible fate. You decided that it was better in the long run for the twisted person Elisibet had become to be put to rest before the remainder of your people were destroyed.”
Tears stung Margaurethe’s eyes. She no longer guarded against Valmont, too caught up in Whiskey’s words. It had been so easy to vilify Valmont. Even centuries afterward, she would be overcome with violent urges at the mere mention of his name.
“I forgive you.”
Valmont’s jaw dropped to his chest as he stared at Whiskey.
Margaurethe felt a loosening in her chest. The dread that Whiskey would do just this thing broke as the words spilled from Whiskey’s mouth. Along with the expected resignation, Margaurethe felt a little forgiveness for him as well. She knew what Elisibet had been like, and had done nothing to stop her atrocities. Only Valmont had been pushed to the limit, and taken matters into his own hands. Perhaps the members of the Agrun Nam had put him into such a position, but it no longer mattered. Elisibet had been just as responsible for her own assassination as Valmont. The epiphany took Margaurethe’s breath away.
“If you have no other oaths binding you, I want you to swear fealty to me.”
Valmont made an attempt at closing his mouth, resembling a fish drowning on dry land before he succeeded. “You…want what?”
Whiskey raised an eyebrow. “Your oath, your zi lugal.” She waved at the others gathered around them. “Everyone else has sworn fealty already. It’s time you did the same. I can’t have you as an advisor otherwise.”
Margaurethe gasped. Before she could speak, she felt Whiskey’s essence caress hers. It took effort, but Margaurethe gave a slight raise of her chin in concession.
“You’d have me as your advisor?” Valmont stood dumbfounded, one hand to his chest. “After what I did?”
“You did what was necessary.” Whiskey acknowledged his discomfort with a faint smile. “Yeah, this is weird, huh? But if anyone knows what she was like, it’s me. God knows what else she would have done if she’d remained alive much longer.”
The sudden switch back into a youngling made the meeting surreal. Margaurethe had spent the last twenty minutes doing nothing but trying to catch up, and still wasn’t certain she had made it to the finish line. She was disheartened to see that only young Castillo shared her befuddlement. Dorst grinned from ear to ear. Margaurethe’s annoyance faded to wonder as Valmont slowly sank to his knees.
“I, Valmont Strauss, Sublugal Sañar of the European Sanguire, recognize Ninsumgal Jenna Davis as my liege and ruler. My dagger, my blood, my heart are yours, my Gasan, to do with as you will.”