Chapter 97: Takeover (1/2)

February 3rd, 1834, Boston

“Congratulations on your success, Ariane of the Nirari,” Constantine declares with all the enthusiasm of a city clerk delivering a building permit, “you are now the legitimate ruler of the State of Illinois with all the duties and rights entailed.”

Said duties and privileges are mostly about ruling properly and answering a call to arms in the event of a war.

“Thank you, Speaker. Now, what shall I call myself? Queen of Illinois?”

“I highly discourage traditional nobility titles, especially that of sovereign,” Constantine scolds.

He reflects for a moment, then concedes: “Given the size of your territory, European vampires would give you the title of Duchess. I, however, prefer the term ‘head’.”

Boring.

Well, we shall see what the others call themselves. I never considered that before.

“Are there any other ‘heads’ I know of?” I ask, clearly showing my disdain of the unassuming word. Constantine still does not understand that the trappings of power need to be solemn and awe-inspiring. Perhaps he will never learn.

“Of course. There is me. I am the head of Massachusetts. You also know Kouakou, who recently took over Louisiana with the blessing of the Rolands. Sephare rules Washington and Jarek is settling in the Texan territories in Mexico. Of the Cadiz, you know Suarez who rules the Carolinas and Ceron who commands Florida. The Roland twins rule over Mississippi and Alabama,” he continues in what I recognize as his lecturing tone, until he catches himself. The speaker frowns and when he speaks again, his voice is slightly clipped.

“You do not need me to give you a lecture. I am sure Wilhelm will be more than happy to enlighten you.”

I know for a fact that he will not. The Erenwald steward is far too busy handling the day-to-day affairs.

“In any case, here is your official deed, not that it matters. A formal acknowledgement is all you need. Will you be hosting a celebration here?”

“I was planning on it.”

“Good. Once more, congratulations Ariane of the Nirari. I will be following your progress with great interest,” he finishes before returning his attention to the pile of documents in front of him. I understand that I have been dismissed and stand up from the couch. I make my way out of his elegant office. I cross the antechamber and nod at his two mysterious bodyguards, as well as to Sophie, the Rosenthal renegade, who returns a congratulatory smile. The only surprise comes from the corridor.

Lord Ceron is waiting, standing in the middle of the hallway in an elegant old-fashioned suit. His piercing blue eyes turn to me and he shifts his muscular frame to give me a light bow. I did not even know he was in the city.

As usual, etiquette is everything. I return a low curtsey as a gesture of respect. We may be political rivals, we may have different allies and assets. None of this matters when two vampires come face to face. I am a newly minted Master and he is a centuries-old Lord who could control his essence before my ancestors even stepped on this continent. Deep inside, I can feel the power he wields, and my instincts urge me to show respect, and so I do.

“Congratulations on your victory, Ariane of the Nirari,” he says in a neutral voice. The Cadiz lord’s countenance betrays no sign of aggression. A mortal passing by could assume we were talking about the weather.

“Thank you, Lord Ceron. My condolences on the loss of Reyes. He did not deserve it,” I tell him honestly.

“I agree, still, it does not lessen your extraordinary achievement.”

The lord’s eyes glisten dangerously. It is coming.

“Tell me, how did you manage it?” he casually asks.

I feign ignorance at the implicit meaning behind his question. The old monster is fishing, just as Sinead predicted.

“You would be amazed what you can achieve when you treat other species as more than food,” I answer honestly. My face is completely expressionless because what I said was the absolute, undiluted truth.

I just failed to clarify which specific race I was referring to.

The Cadiz nods slowly, before stepping to the side and letting me through. We part ways after a last polite exchange, and he enters Constantine’s domain. As soon as I know with certainty that I am alone I allow myself a victorious grin.

Nami was right. Gloating is our guilty pleasure.

I do not take part in the purge of the rest of the Pyke family. The reality is that there are few of them, barely twenty including their retainers. Slave hunting was a valuable business that gave them a cover to abduct young casters with no formal training and induct them, twisting their minds with sick games to better serve them and cull those who would resist. As unpleasant as they may be, they do not present a challenge, therefore I let Urchin handle this issue at his insistence.

I may be annoyed, but I am also busy.

The White Cabal gets massively involved as well and our two groups find unity in common hatred.

With this concern out of my mind, I return my focus to settling my affairs. Melusine is granted the title of City Master for the future cities of the north and she decides to settle in a tiny place called Chicago, which she assures me has potential. I also organize a party to announce my ascension and invite all of the Accords to attend, knights and recently arrived Lancasters included. Finally, Blake of the Roland sends me an interesting letter offering a trade agreement between her new holdings and mine, which I accept after careful consideration.

On the diplomatic side of things, I confer with Lady Sephare, still busy worming her way into every interest group she can find. I can tell that she prods me a bit too much on my mysterious adviser, and I deflect with amusement. Sinead has grown into a master of deceit and disguise. She will have to be left wondering. In fact, she should even suspect that I am receiving help from Nirari himself since he is my most likely source of support.

With this lull in activity, with no one actively trying to kill me, rob me, or take over my lands, comes a time of planning and introspection. Painting all those new sources gives me all the time I need to ponder on the recent developments. I am only interrupted once, when I realize that a small version of the Watcher I drew over a large group of naked werewolves in human form turned into a nightmarish nose with tentacles coming out of the nostrils. Truly, an abomination that came from the recess of a completely twisted mind. Fortunately, I blink, and the image is gone.

I still look outside to the cosmic entity and get a feeling of placid innocence.

Sometimes I wonder how close the blasted thing is to full consciousness.

Except for this small distraction, I am mostly left alone with a fateful question, one I had so far avoided.

Two decades ago, Loth came to me after a particularly playful display of cruelty on my part. He advised me to develop a set of rules to follow when dealing with my foes, an advice I elected to follow. He was, as always, right. The laws I defined that night helped me keep myself grounded. Rather than base all my decisions on instinct and emotions, I set up a semi-permanent set of rules that could guide me through clouded judgement and moments of extreme stress. I have the feeling that I broke that law in the previous contest.

More specifically, I broke the law on how to deal with enemies who did not commit acts I deem unforgivable. Reyes was not at fault for Ceron’s decision to encroach on my territory. I did not consider him responsible for the backstabbing, which is the most important factor. Yet, he was tortured by the loss of his Servant, an event which I caused by unleashing Sinead on the Cadiz faction.

It would be dishonest of me to say that I am not responsible for the Likaean’s action. You do not put a snake in a crib and complain about venom. I knew he would inflict untold torment on a group who represents everything he resents about my kind.

I relished it. It made my essence sing in anticipation.

So, in some ways, I broke my own code. It matters little that it was through an agent, I knowingly let it happen. What surprises me is that I would not feel worse.

I realize that when I set the code, I allowed myself some flexibility in the future. It acts more as a guideline than a dogma. Now a new situation has come up and I have to decide whether or not I should amend it. Should I accept the devastation caused by my allies or agents in a conflict?

I do not believe so.

It is a poor tool indeed that escapes its wielder’s control, or rather, a poor wielder who allows their tool to destroy what was meant to remain untouched. In this regard, I erred. I could have set boundaries within which Sinead had to operate. I did not, because I was angry.

I do not feel remorse. Vampires are distanced from guilt in a way that only the sickest of mortals are. I do, however, believe that I made a mistake. I will offer no reparation for the damage I caused as it would be suicidal and idiotic to reveal my role in this fiasco. Instead, I will remain vigilant and take responsibility for the behavior of those under my command.

Yes, this seems wise.

After coming to a decision concerning this issue, I feel better. I accept that perfection will never be within my reach. Decades of hard work and immunity to the ravages of time will not change this fact, yet there is no reason not to keep trying, not to improve. It will take a miracle to stop either my sire or his insane mother. I might as well start by learning self-control in times of intense emotion.

Speaking of emotions, there is one invitation letter I need to deliver in person.

February 10th, 1834, somewhere in the Appalachians.

I stalk my prey with patience and determination. My feet are silent on the wet loam. No twig cracks under my steps and no hanging branch snags my clothes. I am on unknown land but on familiar ground.

The forest extends far in every direction and in its midst, a secluded cabin with a vast underground serves as home for my quarry tonight. Soon, a clearing comes in view and in it, three people are standing.

I recognize the mysterious bald woman with the tattoos on her bronze-colored scalp. The second one is a man with the lost look of a fledgling. He possesses a sturdy frame with just a bit of paunch and a bushy yellow mustache. As I watch, he closes his eyes and listens to the sounds of the forest. I remember being overwhelmed too on the first night I left the fortress.

The last man has his back turned to me.

Perfect.

I approach and climb up a large pine, taking additional care as to not draw attention. The figures below appear oblivious.

I grin at the prospect of capturing my prey. It will be glorious.

I place both feet against the trunk at my back and push, arcing delicately in the air.

Torran’s back is close, so close.

I extend my arms and try to grab his back.

“Hah! Gotchaaaaaaaaaaarg!” I scream as the tall man grabs me by the throat without looking. He flips me like a crepe and slam me into the ground, not as heavily as he could have.

“Oof!”

My lungs are emptied of all air. Torran’s face is just as handsome and slightly intimidating as I remember. His hawkish traits show cold anger, but I recognize the twinkle in his eyes.

“My dear Servant, please take Hardy inside while I deal with this intruder,” he says with mock menace.

I look up to see the bald woman take the fledgling on his way inside. She is smiling knowingly.

“Now then, what shall I do with this little spy,” Torran declares teasingly as he drags me up and holds me by the collar. I channel a smidgen of Hastings essence and struggle like a mortal, letting my feet dance a little jig. There is a dangerous glint in his gaze now at the show of fear.

“How did you even know I was coming?” I object with a choking voice.

“You masked your aura well and you came from downwind, but you forgot an important detail,” he whispers in a husky voice. Then he pulls me in so that my back is against his chest. I still cannot touch the ground. His breath tickles my ear.

“Your dress flaps in the wind like a mighty sail.”

I groan.

“And I was forewarned of your arrival by the appearance of an ominous portent,” he adds with obvious amusement.

“What!?”

A portent? Is Torran a seer?

The man himself turns to face the forest trail leading to the clearing. There, between two leafless trunks, a certain Nightmare observes us with curiosity.

“METIS! You treacherous backstabbing silly pony! No ears for you!” I sputter in outrage, but alas, the vile two-timing harridan neighs in a way that sounds suspiciously like a laugh before galloping away. The wench! She ruined my surprise!

“Now then little spy, tell me why you have come.”

Feeling cheated by fate, I wiggle my butt against my captor in a pretend attempt to escape. I do not miss his groan.

“I will only speak under duress, you big monster. Just try and interrogate meeeEEEEEEEP!”

Half an hour later, I am thoroughly interrogated and rather grateful that the log cabin’s curtains happen to be drawn. I am playing with Torran’s hair and pulling it above my lip to pretend I have a mustache when he finally speaks.

“Congratulations are in order, I believe.”

“You know?” I exclaim with surprise, blowing the gray strands away.

“Of course. I asked Salim of the Rosenthal to keep me apprised of your success via mage sending.”

“Aw, were you going to ride to my rescue?”

“…”

“By the Watcher, you really were!”

“No! No… but I did buy an option for the Rosenthal mercenary branch in case the task proved to be too much,” he concedes.

“Thank you, Torran,” I say, genuinely grateful.

“No need to thank me, my star. I knew that you would succeed. That was merely for my own peace of mind,” he replies while avoiding my gaze.

My, what a little fusspot.

“In any case, I actually came here to deliver this!” I proudly announce as I pick up my dress and remove a folded paper from a conveniently hidden pocket.

Torran opens it carefully before reading its contents.

“A celebration of your ascension with both a reception and a private concert, featuring the works of Schubert, Chopin, and Paganini,” he notes with the beginning of a smile. Once more I am amazed by how quickly he goes from stern and severe to radiant. I find the transformation uncanny.

“I have recruited two different mortals to play the piano. One has a classical education and the other is a prodigy from a poorer family, more unstable but also more expressive. For Paganini, I have called upon a newly come Roland vampire. Paganini’s caprices are designed to be displays of skills so a highly technical approach will work, even if it remains colder than what humans can achieve.”

“An excellent choice. I notice that you have picked only recent composers as well. Do you wish to convey a message?”

“One of embracing modernity, yes, but I also wanted to give those who have stayed here for a long time an opportunity to enjoy Europe’s latest creations.”

“How very thoughtful of you, my star. We will see if those old grumps appreciate novelty.”

“You think they will not?” I ask, scandalized. Torran only chuckles at my vehemence. Honestly, I am doing my best to bring them recent masterpieces. I would be profoundly offended if they did not show proper appreciation. Any grumbling will be met with a scathing silent glare. Repeat offenders will be tutted at. I will show no mercy.

“Do not concern yourself overmuch, my star. Even the crustiest of lords appreciate a good show of human creativity, and a display of technique from a fellow vampire is always a pleasure. Everything will be fine,” he replies in a conciliatory tone.

February 21st, 1834, Boston.

Winter came to the bay for one parting slap, and the air outside is bitingly cold. Standing in the ballroom of Constantine’s fortress, one could not tell.

Hundreds of candles line the windows and the back mirrors, their warm glow turning the vast hall cozy. The walls radiate a soft heat thanks to the miracle of good plumbing and those of us who still breathe have discarded shawls and gloves to luxuriate in the pleasant atmosphere.

Just like last time, I have stayed at the door to welcome newcomers and I am already noticing some major differences.

To begin, everyone is significantly more polite.

I would like to think that this was caused by my sterling behavior, my good manners, my irresistible charm, and the previous undeniable displays of competence on my part.

That would be nice.

Unfortunately, I will attribute it to the Lord by my side. Torran the soul weaponsmith stands protectively with my arm in his. Lady Hastings and Lord Suarez, who came from Charleston to offer his support, are never far. The Cadiz presence is modest after their setback, so his coming is that much more significant, and I let him know I appreciate it.

“Think nothing of it, us Cadiz are not ones to hold grudges for an honest fight. You did well.”

If he knew the truth, we would be having a different conversation.

After half an hour, it is now time to start and the crowd progressively switches to front seats. Wilhelm helped me assign them, for which I am grateful, otherwise I would have just given up and gone for alphabetical sorting. Constantine and the other lords are at the front, naturally.

I step up the dais at the back of the room and feel their attention on me. Once more, all the present members have subdued their auras.

I take a moment to appreciate the masterwork piano Wilhelm lent me for the occasion. It sits there, slick and black and entirely massive. I am really looking forward to this.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, noble assembly, thank you so much for joining me tonight. I am delighted that we have enough room tonight, seeing that perhaps a quarter of my clan is present.”

That gives me a few nose exhalations, as well as knowing looks from the lords at the front who know that there are, in fact, four of us. The others would assume that I refer to a hypothetical spawn.

“This land is one of opportunity,” I start, and stretch my hands in a gesture of offering. “This sentence is as true for us as it is for the mortals. Three decades ago, I was indentured to another clan, and did not even possess the clothes on my back. Tonight, we have gathered to celebrate my ascension as head of a territory. My success is not due to skill, or luck, though they played their part. I am here because of the opportunities I found and seized for myself, and so can you.”

Some of the younger members shift in their seats, eager to know how they could replicate my success.

“We are still parts of our respective clans and need not forfeit our traditions. We can, however, cast away the chains that tie us down. Past grudges. Past prejudices. Those prisons of the mind hamper us and limit our vision and options. I started in this world with no allies, but also with no enemies. A Cadiz freed me, an Ekon trained me, and I was proven innocent by a Lancaster. My path was made possible by the people who helped me along the way. Look to your left and right, and you will see your allies of tomorrow, if you so choose.”

No one moves but I see that quite a few people are thoughtful. Others remain unconvinced, which I naturally expected.

“Now enough words. I promised you music and you shall receive it. Tonight, young and newly arrived artists will present you with works from recent masters, those who have known how to draw upon the classics to create a new current. Please give them a warm welcome,” I finish.