When she was gone, Eira resumed her seat, candlelight flickering around the room now. She sat upright, head lifted, disapproving. “That was harsh.”
“It needed to be. You know how she is: she loves mothering everyone. If I don’t put my foot down, she’ll continue to bring us Fen’s blood.”
“Vlad,” she said, serious and low, “it’s a Familiar’s honor to provide for his or her vampire–”
“I’m not her vampire,” he said, turning to her.
Her gaze was narrow, sharp, lips pressed together.
For a moment, a half a heartbeat, he knew a boy’s uncertainty.
But he wasn’t a boy anymore – he hadn’t been since the day he woke in silver cuffs in a janissary tent, bound for Edirne. “I’m not,” he insisted.
“You’re right. She is mine. And you are my son.”
“Who is now the prince of Wallachia, and who can make his own decisions. I won’t risk the health ofyourFamiliar for the sake of a little rich blood. I’ve grown used to going without wolf blood. I can make do now. I will not be a boy on apron strings anymore, not while I’m trying to secure our home.”
She stared at him a long beat, then finally nodded and turned her attention toward the food, plucking up a bundle of grapes. “You need your own Familiar,” she said, quietly. “Cicero will offer. He would not bind himself to me.”
“I have no need of a Familiar.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I don’t–”
“Don’t say that.” She turned to him again, eyes flashing. “You are a man now, and a prince, and I can’t imagine what you’ve lived through at the Ottoman court. But you are young, and I’ve lived a long, long time. Do not disparage the idea of a loyal Familiar. I couldn’t have survived this long without mine.If Cicero offers, don’t dismiss him lightly. He will offer out of love and loyalty, and I believe you’ll need all the allies you can get.”
He was angry; angry at her; angrier than he should have been. But he felt a wry smile lift one corner of his mouth. “You speak boldly, Mother.”
“Well, someone has to. You might be the most savage prince that ever lived,” she said, throwing his earlier proclamation back at him, “but that just means you’re more likely to need someone to help you see reason.”
A knock sounded at the half-open door. Malik.
“Come in.” To Eira: “I thank you for your counsel.” He turned to face the cavalry captain as he entered.
Malik still wore his armor, even carried his armored turban beneath his arm, the long white and red tail of it swaying against his legs, layered over the hem of his kaftan. “Your grace,” he said, ducking his head briefly in greeting. In that moment, Vlad saw his lashes flicker, and knew he’d stolen a glance at Eira.
Vlad drummed his fingers on the desk. He’d end up having to do something about this…curiosity. “What is it?”
Malik straightened, admirably unphased by Vlad’s tone. “The troops have all been settled, your grace. I took the liberty of forming up groups for guard duty and scheduled shifts. The rest are stationed in the barracks beyond the stable.”
“The horses?”
“Happily eating, your grace. There were plenty of grain stores, and the hay is set to be reaped next week, the stable boys said.”
“Very good.”
“All the messengers have been sent as well.”
“Yes. Thank you, Malik.” A clear dismissal.
He lingered, unmoving…save his eyes, which shifted to the desk, to the food laid out…to the cups of blood.
“Something else you needed?” Vlad asked.
Malik’s gaze lifted again. “I only wanted to ask, your grace, if your earlier errand was successful.”
Ashes in a jar. Bones laid out on burlap.
