Blood Legacy: The House of Alexander (12 page)

Abigail was thoughtful. “You know, you may have unwittingly been the one to release Ryan’s Memories of her mother.”

Aeron turned to Abigail. This was news to him.

“From the pieces I have put together, those few obtained from Ryan and her even-less verbose father, as well as those obtained from the trial, Ryan began to recover the Memories of her birth only after she went through the shock of your taking her blood.”

Aeron slowly smiled. This gave him great pleasure. To have unknowingly struck a near-mortal blow at his enemy while committing the symbolic equivalent of rape against his child was brilliant. If only he could take credit for having planned it.

Aeron savored the thought a bit longer, then returned to the conversation. “And you have never Shared with Ryan?”

Abigail smoothed her skirt. “I have a standing invitation.”

“Yes, I know, courtesy of her father.”

Abigail smiled, remembering the recent events in her chambers. “I do not think the girl would resist, with or without the blood debt.”

“But you have not tested the waters, so to speak.”

“No,” Abigail replied, “So to speak.”

She was thoughtful for a moment, then turned her gaze upon Aeron, smiling her cool smile. “There are many paths to domination, some far more enjoyable than force.”

Aeron eyed her. “Yes, my dear. I am well-aware of your powers of persuasion. Which is why I avoid the many snares you have laid across the paths of every one of our Kind. Most blindly tumble into your traps and are not even aware they have been taken captive.”

Abigail said nothing, merely smiled. If she was at all perturbed by his comments, it did not show. Except, perhaps, in her next words to him, which would be her last for the evening.

“I just hope you know what you are doing. The plan of action you have chosen is going to cause great instability in Ryan.” Abigail stood, running her cool fingers through Aeron’s hair as she passed. She paused in the doorway, her eyes gleaming in the darkness. “And I know how unstable she can be.”

CHAPTER 8

RYAN KNEW SOMETHING WAS WRONG the moment the plane landed. Susan Ryerson’s expression would have told her the same thing had she not already sensed it.

“Where is my father?” Ryan asked, coming up the stairs three at a time, knowing the answer.

“He’s in his room. He has requested your presence as soon…”

Susan’s words trailed off because she was speaking to empty air. Ryan had literally disappeared.

Ryan pushed through the double doors of Victor’s room and stopped. Her father lay very still in an immense bed staring out the window. For a moment he simply stared, then slowly turned to face her. Ryan swallowed hard.

Outwardly he had not changed. His handsome face was youthful and unlined, with perhaps just a touch more gray at the temples of his jet black hair. But the exhaustion in his dark eyes brought a fierce ache to Ryan’s throat. In an instance she was on her knees at his side, clasping his hand to her cheek.

He gazed down at his golden-haired child, caressing her cheekbone. He placed his fingers beneath her chin, tipping her head up so she would look at him.

“I am going to have to go away for awhile.”

Ryan closed her eyes, the words creating an agony within her that no physical pain could match. She clasped his hand so tightly it would have crushed normal bone. Victor held her hand just as tightly.

“We have been apart before.”

Ryan shook her head violently. “No, not like this. Even when I thought you were dead by my hand, part of me knew you were still here. But,” she shook her head, having difficulty with the words, “I feel you slipping away right now. And I don’t know where you are going, or if you will return.”

Victor managed a tired smile. “My leaving will give you strength. But I will come back for you, little one. If I can. In fact,” he said with emphasis, “I have a feeling you will bring me back.”

Ryan shook her head, “I have caused this, I know that I have. You never recovered from my violence.”

Victor leaned back on his pillow. “I should not have kept so many secrets from you. I did it to protect you, and now there is no time to tell you what you need to know.”

Ryan’s jaw clenched and unclenched, the ache in her throat unbearable. Impossibly, a tear began to roll down her cheek.

Victor touched the tiny drop of water in wonder. “You truly are capable of anything.”

“I am capable of nothing,” Ryan whispered in anguish, “I cannot stop this thing.”

Victor again leaned back into his pillow, exhausted. “Perhaps you are not meant to stop it.”

Ryan again leaned forward, grasping his hand. “You see the future,” she said with insistence, “I know that you do.”

Victor turned to his progeny and smiled. “Perhaps.”

Ryan clenched his hand even closer. “Then tell me what you see. Tell me that you will come out the other side of this.”

Victor closed his eyes. “It is not clear. The future never is.”

The answer increased Ryan’s anguish, if that was possible. Victor opened his eyes again and reached over, toying with a tendril of her hair. His gesture was playful, but his words were deadly serious.

“You must trust no one, Ryan. No one except yourself. And that you must do absolutely.”

Ryan pressed his hand to her forehead, closing her eyes. “I don’t understand. What is it that I must do?”

“The Others, those sitting on the Grand Council. You are going to have to,” Victor paused, as if the thought pained him, “You are going to have to get very close to them.”

Ryan was taken aback, knowing what he was asking her to do. “I cannot.” She shook her head at the thought, “I cannot do that.”

Victor was firm. “My power has always been my ability to resist desire. Yours,” he said, nodding to where her powerful heart sat mute, “Might be in giving in to it.”

Ryan started to pull away from him but he grasped her hands firmly, and once again his grip was steel. His eyes burned into her. “No one can dance on the edge of death like you can, Ryan. No one. But there is only one way for the Others to learn that lesson.”

Ryan swallowed hard. She could not hold his gaze and looked down, but Victor grasped her chin and forced her to look up.

“You will be King, Ryan,” Victor said softly, firmly, “It is your fate, and your destiny.”

Ryan shook her head violently. “You are my King. You always will be.”

Victor smiled and leaned back into his pillow, his strength ebbing. “Hmmm, yes. And look where that’s gotten me.”

He grew quiet, and Ryan realized those would be his last words.

Marilyn was standing before an open window of her country chateau, gazing out into the well-manicured courtyard. She had returned to France almost immediately after the Council meeting, waiting only for Ryan to depart, which occurred as soon as the girl had left Abigail’s quarters.

She had been here only a few hours, and was standing before the open window enjoying the beauty of her country when she felt it coming. Instinctively, she grasped the window sill in front of her tightly, bracing herself for the onslaught.

It rushed toward her, accelerating to an impossible speed, then exploded through the window, ripping through her, burning and shredding everything in its path, leaving only an echo of agony behind.

Marilyn stood frozen, gripping the window sill. Her vision gradually returned to normal. The pastoral scene in front of her was unchanged.

But in fact, everything had just changed.

Ala felt the warmth of her mother sun on her ebony skin, and welcomed the deep, mossy smell of the fecund earth. It was renewal for her; she kneeled and dug her hands into the rich, dark soil of her homeland.

She stood and her consorts stood by respectfully, grateful for their Queen’s return. One brought her an elaborately decorated cloth with which to wipe her hands. She took the cloth, honoring the ritual. The hand movement slowed, however, and then stopped. Several of the consorts looked at her with concern as a strange look crossed her features. The cloth dropped to the ground as if in slow motion.

Ala turned to the west, just in time for the wave of agony to overtake her. It sliced through her like shards of ice riding the edge of a bitterly cold wind. It took her breath away, and although she had no need of this air, she felt the loss as keenly as if she did.

She gazed off into the distance, her eyes dark with the knowledge of an approaching storm.

Kusunoki was deep in meditation. His mind was a placid pool, reflecting all and reflecting nothing. Although he had not required oxygen for centuries, he still utilized breathing techniques in his practice. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, the tempo undisturbed by anything in the external world.

Hundreds of years of studied concentration had yielded a mind so perfectly trained that nothing could disturb the utterly still surface of that inner pool. But even so the surface began to tremble, as if agitated by some great force at a distance. Kusunoki attempted to return to stillness, but the surface of the pool began to ripple, then shake violently, as if the force was rapidly getting closer. Kusunoki tried to calm the surface through his iron will, but it was too late, and the pool was caught in a maelstrom, sucked upward into a twisting, violent whirlwind, spraying liquid everywhere.

Kusunoki opened his eyes. He was seated in his meditation chamber, alone. His breathing, which had become harsh and ragged, was stopped. His fists were clenched so tightly that the skin across his knuckles had split wide open. The silence was complete, and the only movement in the utter stillness was the stream of blood that slowly made its way down his arm until it dripped to the floor, forming a perfectly still pool.

Abigail had returned to her private estate, which was decorated in much of the same cool elegance of her Council chambers. As she settled into a pale blue settee, she wondered if the anticipation of an event lessened its impact, or amplified it.

She turned her head ever so slightly to one side. She was about to find out.

The effect was definitely not the former as the anticipation of the force did nothing to lessen its crushing blow. It was impossible to say if the anticipation had amplified the effect because it was of such magnitude, comparisons of size lost meaning.

Abigail let the anguish pass through her like a raging torrent, doing what she could to redirect the flow so that it would damage little and leave her body in the most expeditious manner possible.

When it had passed, she again settled into her settee, gathering her knitting to her lap. Her fingers remained motionless, however, and her eyes unfocused as she stared off into the distance, a look of deep contemplation on her face.

Aeron sat before a chess board whose pieces represented a game four centuries old. He pondered the positions of the pieces, and the knight that had been so boldly moved into a highly unorthodox but brilliant attack. He could not help but smile at the audacity of the move.

However, although fortune might favor the bold, chess could punish them mercilessly. Aeron reached for the rook, ready to counter, but paused when his hand touched the piece. His hand hovered in the air, and he caressed the top of the ivory playing piece with his finger, waiting.

The wave struck him, causing exquisite pain, washing through with a throbbing urgency, leaving only an aching that gave him intense pleasure. He sat for a moment as the feeling ebbed, enjoying every last second of the pain.

Aeron refocused on the board, his hand still on the rook. He smiled to himself as he carefully moved the rook to the square the knight was occupying, and removed the piece from the board.

Edward stood outside Victor’s quarters, his head bowed and his eyes closed. There was nothing he could do to assuage his own grief, let alone the agony of his young liege still inside the room. Susan came up beside him and put her hand gently on his arm, and although Edward did not think it possible, the touch brought him comfort.

Minutes passed, perhaps an hour, then both were startled as both doors were thrown open. Ryan strode through the doorway, her face without expression, her mannerisms carefully controlled. She had changed and was now entirely in black, and Edward noted that she wore her father’s clothes well.

She turned to him, and her voice was as controlled as her mannerisms. “Prepare my father for transportation, we will be leaving within the hour.”