Blacker than Black (38 page)

A room service cart with a carafe of coffee and a tray of pastries sits near the coffee table in the center of the office. Fresh, judging from the smells and gently billowing tower of steam. It seems more time has passed than I realized. Never one to deny hot caffeine, I fix myself a cup. Leonard trails after me, watching both me and Jhez in turn, silent and observant.

She glances up at us, fingers marking her place on the papers in front of her, and then does a double-take and gives us both a closer perusal. “May I presume you didn’t make nearly as much progress as I did.”

“We should probably compare notes to determine that.” I shoulder past Leonard and lean on the edge of the desk with one hand, attempting to decipher upside-down. Not that she’ll get all the details, but I’d beg to differ with her observation. Strongly.

Jhez sits back in her chair and busies herself with resetting her ponytail. “You think?”

I grin and scan the meticulously drafted additions she’s created for Leonard’s collection of references. “Well. All knowledge is worth having.”

Leonard settles into one of the leather chairs before the desk. He stretches his legs out and crosses his ankles, a crease between his brows as he studies Jhez. “What did you find, then?”

“Well, most of it’s hypothetical on my part. I’m getting the impression that circle alliances are as malleable and dynamic as . . . kiln-fired clay. Inflexible. They either exist, or they don’t. Handled with delicate care, always in danger of shattering into . . . rather dangerous shards.”

He shakes his head, a small, sharp movement. “Not an entirely accurate analogy, although you’re correct about the dangerous shards in the aftermath of an alliance failure. It’s rarely peaceful. The alliances themselves aren’t immobile, but it does require a good bit of heat and pressure to facilitate any large change or shift in allegiances.”

“Okay.” She spins the chair, tightens her ponytail with a callous, double-fisted yank, and points at one of the newer charts. “It’s a given that Alpha stands apart from its younger counterparts. But I noticed some that maintain certain relationships with the eldest. Fillun would seem an obvious one, but is sporadic at best. There are more resilient patterns—of which Kraveon is one. Their ties even go so far as marriages and bloodline mingling, though I imagine it’s mutually beneficial business partnerships as well. Discovering that tidbit was sheer luck on my part.”

I imagine the information revealed itself as a result of dogged persistence, actually. She probably spent the entire evening dissecting Leonard’s chart with her imager and t-square. Part of me feels sorry for the chart.

“What else?” A muscle cords in the line of his neck as he continues focusing on her. How much effort is he expending, resisting the urge to glance at me?

I squelch the bark of laughter itching at the back of my throat with a sip of coffee and turn back to the cart to study the diverse selection of pastries. Each different from the next, much like the collection of
lyche
in
Dragulhaven
that first evening. Only the Monsieur of York knew them intimately enough to know friend from foe and all the shades of gray in between.

Apple fritter overlapping elephant ear, cozying up to éclair. Yet for all Leonard knew, there could have been an aura-blocked
lyche
hiding amongst some harem’s entourage of Nightwalkers.

Or even another just like me. Mutt on a leash. I have no illusions that I’m unique. Not with my twin sitting over there at the desk like a twisted Wonderland reflection. Why did Desmonde think us mere humans? Ardienne made the same error. And while Leonard had to tap me to discover I was a mutt, he wasn’t able to distinguish my strong
lyche
characteristics.

My brain isn’t fully awake yet. I take another sip of coffee, wishing my pistons would quit firing out of sequence. Thoughts all over the place, spotlighting disconnected points of abstract oil-on-canvas.

Jhez finally looks up from studying the charts, tapping a section with a capped pen. “Kraveon is the strongest connection. Nauthiz runs a close second, though.”

Leonard narrows his eyes. “How did you draw that association?”

Jhez ignores the look and walks around the desk to flop onto the couch across from me. She pokes at a few pastries with experimental jabs, as if one is going to sit up and beg to be devoured. Apparently the Boston crème is calling to her. “Bloodlines twined with Kraveon, for starters. It’s what put me on their scent, at least.”

I swallow a bite of blueberry scone half-chewed, and refill my coffee from the decanter. “Wait, I thought . . .” I clear my throat, catch myself from using his name. Jhez always looks a little uncomfortable when I do, and given the increased level of my intimacy with him . . . yeah, she’d detect that right away. But I enjoy the way it feels, rolling from my lips.
Leonard
. The man, not the
lyche.
Jeez, I need to focus. Drink more coffee. Something. “Garthelle said circles were thicker than blood. That allegiance and bloodlines didn’t parallel.” I cast a glance between them.

“Not in any reliable fashion.” His gaze flicks over me, the corner of his mouth twitching upward a fraction. “Or, not in a linear manner. Sadly, I’ve no relational charts of
leali
bonds maintained.”

Jhez grimaces and rolls her eyes. “A straight line isn’t the only pattern in the world.”

One of Leonard’s dark brows arches up his forehead. “Indeed.” The hint of droll sarcasm almost makes me spray coffee on the pastry platter. He shifts in his chair, leaning forward to brace his forearms on his knees. “So you found one?”

My sister’s face goes blank of emotion, and she studies him closely. I’m unsure if she’s caught in his trance, studiously avoiding it, or looking for a hint of something. Watching the two of them is very much like watching a professional tennis match. All tension and action and volleying back and forth; strategy and manipulation in every feint and return.

“Do you have any aunts or uncles? Perhaps a cousin who shares your circle alignment? Or maybe it’s your grandfather in whose footsteps you follow.” Her questions hit a nerve. He stiffens perceptibly, seeming to freeze for the space of a heartbeat. Then he pushes up from the chair and stalks off across the room.

Jhez licks custard and chocolate from her fingers, crushes a napkin against her thigh, and watches Garthelle over the rim of her coffee cup. I follow his progress in her gaze as she tracks him.

“My grandfather was Premier of Modere when I was young.” His voice is rough, quiet, and he cuts off abruptly to clear his throat. The ensuing silence is tense.

“Is that why you chose to align with them?” When I break the stalemate, Jhez frowns at me.

“It’s infinitely more complex than that,
mon noire
. But for the purposes of this discussion, the answer would be yes.” His voice originates from directly behind me, just as the swell of his presence pushes against my aura. The energy registers as a hundred tingles of pleasure racing over my skin.

Distracting, that. I take a deep breath and lean forward to put cream and sugar in my coffee, measuring with meticulous precision. It takes all my focus. Hey, creating the perfect cup of coffee is an art form. Not something to mess with.

Going off Leonard’s insinuations and the vibes I’m picking up, he has a less than healthy relationship with his father. And the man came to see him a few days ago. I distinctly recall the tension in his butler, the unstated disapproval and distaste.
What was that about?
Me and my insatiable curiosity. If there’s any justice in the world, I was a very good cat in a past life.

Would explain the attraction the Monsieur of York felt out on Nightwalker Boulevard that first evening.

“Point being, bloodlines might not be the greatest factor of influence, but they aren’t totally disregarded.” Jhez stirs a pinch of sugar and a dribble of cream into a fresh cup of coffee and gives the pastries another critical study. “Combine that with an aural dampener that would permit any
lyche . . .
” She pauses and I meet her gaze with a grimace. “Or
mutt
to walk through these grounds unmolested and all but invisible.”

The back of the couch creaks, and I glance over my shoulder at Leonard’s white-knuckled grip.

“And what you end up with,” I interject, when it’s apparent my sister enjoys leaving off her conclusion, “is that none of those present at your party are directly responsible for the death of Madame Soiphe Noire, just as you thought, despite whatever alliances or agreements may have come into play between Desmonde and the newly instated Madame. Whether deliberate or unintentional, someone slipped in under the guise of being human and did the deed.”

“And whoever it was, they’re long gone. Obviously.” Jhez clinks her spoon against the side of her cup; the tinny sound grates along my hypersensitive nerves. “This wasn’t just some struggle for Premier successorship. Though I don’t doubt that was the desired conclusion. It’s what they wanted you to think.”

“There’s more to it than just that.” Leonard moves around the couch and sits beside me, just far enough away to avoid casual contact. “They’ve made it look as if I’ve no control over behavior beneath my own roof, let alone within the boundaries of my territory. In doing so, they undermine my authority, the power of my position, and leave me standing on shaky ground, at best.”

“But the whole thing with Ardienne. And this,” I add, motioning between the two of us with a flick of my wrist. “Doesn’t that amp your power, your influence?”

“Some.” His lips twist into a grimace before he manages to regain control. “Not enough to balance out, to save face.”

But Jhez frowns. “Wait a second. You already hold your position. Short of someone stripping or killing you, that title can’t be usurped, right?” The Monsieur of York cants his head fractionally, acknowledging her conclusion. “So then what would be the point in another
lyche
attempting to make you lose face? What would they stand to gain?”

“Influence amongst their peers, standing with their allies. It is a demonstration of skill and prowess.”

Jhez walks back to the wall of charts with an expression of victory, stuffing the last bite of pastry into her mouth and swallowing quickly. “Ha. Personal alliances, as close as I’ve been able to determine, amongst the most prominent
lyche
we’re dealing with. Turns out Desmonde might be guilty of more than we realize. Soiphe was her competitor for successorship. But the Madame of Vega has a personal interest in who holds the Orleans territory, thanks to her alliance with Alynna.”

Leonard pushes up from the couch and joins Jhez in perusing her work more closely. I pick up an elephant ear, and alternate nibbles with sips of coffee. “Any chance Ardienne was maneuvered into behaving in a way that would leave you no choice but to strip her of her position like that? Desmonde was there when it happened. A favor for a favor, perhaps? The Madame of Venice falls, and in exchange the Madame of Orleans is brought low. Two port cities up for grabs in one fell swoop.”

“You’re suggesting that Alyn had something to do with Soiphe’s death.” He furrows his brow as he holds my gaze over his shoulder. “Alyn is Modere. It goes against circle philosophies.”

“And last time I checked, I wasn’t feline.” I watch a flush of color creep up Leonard’s neck as he turns his focus back to the wall of charts. “Whether involved directly or not, Alyn knew.”

“Yes. Alyn was aware of the threat on Soiphe’s life.” The ensuing silence drags out to the point of discomfort.

“What did you just say?” Jhez’s carefully neutral tone is like hearing a jaguar growl right before it drops out of a tree on its prey.

Leonard offers a weak smile. “Alyn was aware, as was I.”

“You knew of the threat.”

He nods.

“And its source?” I toss the half-eaten pastry back onto the tray and fold my arms, force myself to take a deep breath. My pulse is pounding so hard I can feel the rhythm of it against the skin of my temple. This is ridiculous. He better have one hell of a good explanation for this ruse. “Have you been aware of that all along also?”

The Monsieur of York stands still as a statue, a study in casual repose with his hands in his pockets. Ready to move, or react, in any direction. “I was made aware of the suspicions, yes.”

Sheets of notes and huge graphs fly into the air beside me and I flinch away from the desk, moving out of the path of my sister’s wrathful destruction. The papers float to the floor in a tangled heap, the last whispering down in slow arcs like the feather from some mighty, alien bird.

“You have wasted our fucking time for the past week, Garthelle. To what end, exactly? Our agreement is null and void. You can take your charges of chi-theft and your threat of a death sentence and shove them up your ass.” I catch her by the arm as she charges around the corner of the desk and guide her forward momentum clear of Garthelle. Heading toward the door instead.

“Toward the end of preserving your lives. At the expense of your aunt’s.”

I stop dead three feet from the door, but don’t turn around. He knows who our sire is.

He knew all along.

“No, Black. Don’t you dare. Don’t you listen to the bullshit he’s shoveling. We’re going to leave. Right now. Pack our shit and go back to the old flat. I’m not letting him tangle you in his little
lyche
webs of deceit any deeper than we already are.” Jhez grabs my elbow with both hands, yanking roughly in an attempt to pull me forward. I stare at her, eyes wide, burning with unshed tears.

He knew.
I can’t let go of the thought. Garthelle knew all along Soiphe was our aunt. That means he knows who our father is. Why would he ask the identity of our sire if he knew?

“Vincent Noire is Alpha’s Premier. He was once Modere, and it was his shift in allegiance that sparked the disclosure. Unnatural, unexpected, and thoroughly upsetting the balance of power among the circles. We had no hope of hiding a war waged between
lyche
from the eyes of humans, and so they fought us as well.” Garthelle speaks softly, as if the truth, spoken with too much volume, will inflict injury. “I never knew your mother, but my acquaintance with your sire . . . goes back a long way. I have long suspected the motivation of his defection. It was my goal, with your aunt’s assistance, to keep you safeguarded while drawing out the individual behind all of this. The one driving Noire. In hopes that a direct confrontation would free your sire from the influence holding him captive, has been all these years.”