The Passion (28 page)

Hundreds of werewolves from al walks of life would be converging on the secluded Palais for those two weeks surrounding the Summer Solstice, and their behavior at al hours of the day and night would make our innocent frolic in the garden outside Tessa's room seem as tame as it in fact was. To have a human present at these very private celebrations would have been an insult; it would have been beyond eccentric and far into outrageous. That was where I had to draw the line.

I told Tessa the truth: Elise was exploiting her and I didn't like it. Tessa was an outsider with no place in our intimate gatherings; I didn't want to see her hurt.

But more important, I didn't want to see Elise hurt.

And Elise, by planning to boldly trot Tessa out before the Summer Festival and announce her a welcome guest, was plotting political suicide—if not, in fact, a death of a more meaningful sort.

So that was the most obvious reason I had to send Tessa from the Palais. The second reason was a bit more subtle. Elise and I had become great friends and constant companions, with Tessa, like a winsome child, to bind us together. I wondered whether we would have anything in common when she was gone.

The third reason was petty and unbecoming, and I would never have confessed to it at al had not Elise, who was not a bit pleased with my summary decision to exercise my authority over Tessa without consulting her, confronted me on the issue.

"I think," she announced, bold-faced and unblinking over the wineglass half raised to her lips, "you were jealous."

We had escaped from the chaos of the Palais for a quiet luncheon in town. We found a table in the sun where a fountain splashed a few dozen steps away, and we dined on rabbit and Devoncroix red. The air was scented with lavender and redolent with the thousand lush aromas of last night's rain and spiced with the musky silk of Elise's hair, warm in the sunshine. I looked splendid in a light summer worsted and a deep blue cravat; Elise was lovely in pale lilac. She wore a straw hat covered with violets low over one eye and pearls around her wrist. We turned heads, the two of us, and we both enjoyed that. It was, in short, a perfect afternoon.

Until she brought up the subject that had lain between us like an unwashed garment ever since Tessa's departure.

I replied gal antly, because I had no choice,

"Mademoisel e, I would be a fool not to be jealous of anyone or anything that deprived me of your company for even a moment."

She inclined an eyebrow. "There's that, of course.

But I think you were equal y as jealous of the time Tessa spent away from you." She sipped her wine.

"She's quite in love with you, you know."

I replied lightly, "Al humans adore me. It's a curse."

She looked at me with a steady unblinking gaze which I could not meet for long. "You are cruel, Alexander, to encourage her and then discard her."

"I haven't discarded anyone!" I was quite uncomfortable now, as I began to suspect she was serious. "What can you be talking about?"

"Tessa LeGuerre is a female," she said in mild exasperation. "A human, but a female nonetheless, and she has lived al these months with a virile, attractive male. Young humans' heads are fil ed with fantasies under the best of circumstances, and of course she expects more of you than you're able to give."

This was real y becoming quite embarrassing.

"Don't be preposterous. She's only a human! She may not often act as though she knows it, but I assure you she does. What you suggest is real y quite absurd, and you insult my intel igence and hers." I glanced away, hoping to put an end to the ridiculous turn of conversation. "I've never known you to be of a puerile bent of mind, mademoisel e. It doesn't become you."

She shrugged. "And I shal tel you something else.

You were bothered by the fact that she could be as fond of me as she was of you. Perhaps you were afraid that if she grew accustomed to living with us, you would eventual y come to be less special in her eyes."

I didn't like that, mostly because there was more than a grain of truth in it. But I kept my expression bland and disinterested. "I would never presume to argue with you, mademoisel e."

"Oh, Alexander, don't bore me! If you don't presume today, it wil certainly be the first time."

I tried not to frown. "I was merely trying to preserve the peace of the afternoon for a little while longer.

Until I finish my wine at least."

"Finish it, then." Her expression was as impatient as her tone. "Why do you think I brought you here away from the others if not to talk where their ears couldn't hear?"

I lifted an eyebrow. "Secrets, mademoisel e?"

"Truths," she said shortly, facing me down with a gaze that would have brought any sensible werewolf to his knees. "I wouldn't beg them from anyone but you, Alexander."

Disturbed, I put down my glass. "You have no cal to beg me for anything, mademoisel e," I assured her sincerely. "My life is yours for the asking. Surely you know that."

It was the proper reply from a subordinate to the pack leader, but I meant it as much more than that.

And I was embarrassed by the sudden boyish intensity of my emotions.

The faint gentling of her features was almost a smile, and it reassured me somewhat. "If I have need of your life, Alexander, I wil let you know.

Right now I need something you may not be so wil ing to give."

"The truth," I supplied.

"Why did you send Tessa away?"

"You've guessed the most of it."

"There's more."

I knew without being told that Elise was not interested in my smal personal reasons for sending Tessa home; she had named most of them already and to continue along that vein would have insulted her. I knew that by raising the subject I was endangering my favor in her eyes, but she had asked for the truth. I gave it.

"You're a strong and beautiful queen," I told her.

"The pack wil love you for who you are and wil accept you without question once you're mated."

I saw the impatience mounting in her eyes and abandoned diplomacy for bluntness. "But you're young, and I think naive in many ways. This festival is the first time most of the pack wil have a chance to form an impression of you, and from what they learn about you here, the word wil go out around the world, for better or worse. With it you'll be able to attract a mate—or not. You'll command the respect of the pack—or not. You'll shepherd the pack in unity, or you'll cast it into a hopeless scission of bickering and posturing. I think you would be wel advised not to do anything dramatic without considering the consequences."

She regarded me thoughtful y. I did not even try to meet her gaze for longer than was strictly polite. I had already risked enough and I had nothing to prove to her. I took up my glass again.

She said at last, "So. Your concern is for the pack."

"Of course. Isn't yours?"

She got to her feet abruptly. "Come with me."

Hastily, I swal owed the remainder of my wine and left some bil s on the table for the human proprietor of the cafe, whose food I had enjoyed and whose establishment I hoped to visit again. By the time I caught up with Elise she had crossed the street.

"Tel me," she demanded when I arrived, "what do you smel ?"

There was just a hint of a breeze, and the streets, walks and shops were fil ed with humans and the trappings of their kind. In a single half-drawn breath I smel ed human sweat and horses, leather, cotton, silk, yeasty bread, dung, a dizzying plethora of wines, roast meat, fresh greens, fat sizzling on black iron; smokestacks from the factory across the Rhone, stale water, machine oil, rosemary in a clay pot, spoiled milk, turned earth, turpentine, tobacco and Elise, Elise, Elise of silk and body oils, of faint salt and sharp spice, of strong muscles and satin skin, Elise. With difficulty I tried to focus my attention on what it was specifical y she expected me to smel .

"There," she said impatiently, and nodded toward a woman just coming out of a shop two doors down.

"Ah," I said appreciatively. "Lemon thyme, cassia, and the base—ambergris? One of your perfumes." I had, of course, given myself a short course in perfumery long before coming to the Palais. "It's most al uring."

She gave a short nod. "The human women can't buy enough of it. And do be good enough to tel me, if you please, the name of that very excel ent wine we had at luncheon?"

I grinned. "Chateau Devoncroix, of course. No one in town would dare serve anything less."

She started walking down the street. "Tel me what else you smel , monsieur, when the wind is right."

I was beginning to understand her game. "The factory across the river. It makes wagon wheels, I think."

"And are you aware who owns that factory?"

"Of course. Frederick Parcon,
loup-garou
."

She said, changing the subject, "Do you have enough money, Alexander?"

A surprised chuckle escaped me. "Yes, thank you.

Quite enough."

"Some might even cal you wealthy."

I shrugged. The subject didn't interest me much.

"Most humans, in fact, would cal you extremely wealthy. As they would M. Parcon, whose family makes carriage wheels in London, Brussels and Philadelphia. And both of you put together haven't a fraction of the fortune that I have."

I was utterly baffled as to her point, but was wise enough to stay silent.

"Look around you, Alexander." Her face and her voice were tight with frustration, and she made a short commanding gesture with her wrist. "Tel me what you see, what you hear, what you smel .

They're everywhere!"

"Humans," I replied, enlightened.

"And do you detect a single loup-garou within a kilometer?"

I smiled. "Of course not. They are al at the Palais, enjoying the festival."

She gave a smothered growl of exasperation and walked away from me with steps made clipped by the narrowness of her skirt. I watched her go for a moment, then took a running step to catch up, pushing back my laughter. "Surely, ma'amsel e, at some point in your education someone has pointed out to you that the human population outnumbers ours considerably in just about any city on earth."

"Precisely," she responded, and turned on me.

There was no amusement at al in her eyes. Only grim truth. "And shal I tel you something else, M.

Devoncroix, which perhaps has been an oversight in
your
education? Humans drink wine. They buy carriage wheels, they burn coal, they ride on trains and they purchase passage on ships. Moreover, they sit upon the councils that govern nations, they make the rules that constrain commerce, they own banks and railroads, they build cities and libraries and factories and shipyards."

She was speaking in rapid, mel ifluous French now, and the sound of her voice was such a pleasure of the senses, such a stirring of the emotions, that it was difficult for me to concentrate on what she was saying. I replied soothingly, "As they have always done, Elise. None of this concerns us."

She regarded me for a long and solemn time, and I could not have looked away had I wanted to. There was in her gaze the weight of a responsibility so heavy I could not begin to guess at it, the sadness of a wisdom hard earned, and age far beyond her years. In her eyes was compassion for generations not yet born and the vision to know that their fates rested in her hands. And in her eyes was the knowledge that she, and only she, would answer for their unfulfil ed dreams.

"Who, then," she inquired of me simply, "should it concern?"

Before that day I had worshipped her, adored her, fantasized about her. But it was at that moment that I began to love her.

We walked in silence to the river and stood looking out across the water. There were pleasure-seekers in painted boats making ripples in the current, pretty girls in white dresses and pale parasols, strong young men in boaters and gartered shirtsleeves.

Upriver a big barge throbbed and groaned, pushing its cargo south. I confess I would not have known what to say had an answer been required of me. My heart was ful and my throat was tight and I knew with every fiber of my being that everything I had ever valued in my world was about to change.

Elise began to speak with a quiet intensity. "We are standing on the edge of a new century, Alexander.

The rules have changed. It isn't enough to be what we are and to raise our families and fulfil our ambitions in amused disregard for the others who share this world with us. We are too few, and they are too many."

She looked at me. "Do you know how long it's been since anyone cal ed the pack together? Oh, we have our festivals and our gatherings and our regional celebrations, but we're scattered to the ends of the earth and we have nothing, real y, in common except our species. We haven't been a real pack since the time of the Antonovs."

I answered cautiously, "We had a reason to bind together then. Food, shelter, protection… times were harsh and we were primitive. We had common enemies to fight—the weather, starvation, predators…"

"Humans," she said, when I would not. She turned her gaze back to the river. "We have not been tame so very long, Alexander."