to find any of this interesting, and you should probably dehorse yourself if you want anyone to come near you.”
He gave her a wink, released her hand, and was gone.
Cora sighed, her hand touching her Signet. She had no idea what he was hoping to learn through her tonight, but she would do her best to find it for him.
“Come, Isis,” she told the horse, slipping a hand through her bridle. “Let us retire: you to your pasture and your mate, and I to my very first spy mission.”
Once upon a time, in an era lost to the mists of history, the Signets had been something else: something real, something meaningful. There were no written records as far as anyone knew, but Deven knew that this pageant of peacocks going through the motions of civility wasn’t why they were here.
Despite his age he was a relative newcomer to the Council, having been in power less than a hundred years, but even from the first meeting he had attended, he’d felt the lack of … something . Purpose, perhaps.
They had no real power over each other here; Primes could fight and kill each other from across the globe, but when a Prime wanted to hurt another, he did so secretly, using assassins and vampire hunters and by sending someone powerful to take down an enemy and perhaps take his Signet. Diplomacy as it was practiced by the Council changed little … but oh, how they loved their intrigues, their alliances.
Why did they bother with this charade?
None of the others knew anymore. More disturbingly,no one seemed to care. They performed the ritual of assembling and arguing, then went home and ruled how they liked until the next time, and no one ever questioned why .
Deven watched the Primes assemble, some lingering in groups to chat, others already taking their seats along the great table. There were chairs for every territory, although a few Primes rarely, if ever, attended; Demetriou, Prime of the Black Sea territories, hadn’t been brave enough to show this year, and to Deven’s knowledge no one even knew what Dzhamgerchinov looked like … well, except Deven himself, who was probably the only Prime who had any sort of relationship with the oldest vampire in the Council.
The Prime of Russia terrified most of the others even though they’d never admit it. The vampires of his territory were nasty, brutish, and bloodthirsty; some of them barely looked humanoid. A combination of harsh environment and a Prime who had dispensed with the trappings of humanity centuries ago drew them to Dzhamgerchinov. The man himself was about as far from human as it was possible to get … but his friendship was useful.
Not even David knew that Russia and the Western United States had ties. Some things were best left undisclosed.
Human or monster, Deven would have preferred Russia’s company to the oily presence of the Prime who came to stand next to him.
“Prime Deven,” Hart said with that slight hint of disdain that was going to get him castrated one day.
“Hello, James,” Deven replied mildly. “Had any consensual sex lately?”
“You know, you really ought to mind your manners,” Hart replied, his tone calm, almost friendly.
Deven gave him a withering look. “Run along. The adults have business to attend to.”
Hart’s eyes narrowed. “Be careful … your boy over there is treading on thin ice, and you won’t always be around to protect him or his shrew wife. Neither of you has as much influence as you think you do.”
Deven actually laughed. “Oh, James. Your little grudge is so adorable.” He turned his gaze fully on Hart, who had the good sense to look a little uneasy. “So the South gave Cora asylum, and Miranda threw you at a wall. So David’s affection for humans threatens the status quo you’ve been exploiting to deal heroin and women all over the Northeast—yes, I’m well aware of how you make your money. So you think I’m a deviant: Get over it. You can’t touch me, Hart … And if you try anything against the Southern
He gave her a wink, released her hand, and was gone.
Cora sighed, her hand touching her Signet. She had no idea what he was hoping to learn through her tonight, but she would do her best to find it for him.
“Come, Isis,” she told the horse, slipping a hand through her bridle. “Let us retire: you to your pasture and your mate, and I to my very first spy mission.”
Once upon a time, in an era lost to the mists of history, the Signets had been something else: something real, something meaningful. There were no written records as far as anyone knew, but Deven knew that this pageant of peacocks going through the motions of civility wasn’t why they were here.
Despite his age he was a relative newcomer to the Council, having been in power less than a hundred years, but even from the first meeting he had attended, he’d felt the lack of … something . Purpose, perhaps.
They had no real power over each other here; Primes could fight and kill each other from across the globe, but when a Prime wanted to hurt another, he did so secretly, using assassins and vampire hunters and by sending someone powerful to take down an enemy and perhaps take his Signet. Diplomacy as it was practiced by the Council changed little … but oh, how they loved their intrigues, their alliances.
Why did they bother with this charade?
None of the others knew anymore. More disturbingly,no one seemed to care. They performed the ritual of assembling and arguing, then went home and ruled how they liked until the next time, and no one ever questioned why .
Deven watched the Primes assemble, some lingering in groups to chat, others already taking their seats along the great table. There were chairs for every territory, although a few Primes rarely, if ever, attended; Demetriou, Prime of the Black Sea territories, hadn’t been brave enough to show this year, and to Deven’s knowledge no one even knew what Dzhamgerchinov looked like … well, except Deven himself, who was probably the only Prime who had any sort of relationship with the oldest vampire in the Council.
The Prime of Russia terrified most of the others even though they’d never admit it. The vampires of his territory were nasty, brutish, and bloodthirsty; some of them barely looked humanoid. A combination of harsh environment and a Prime who had dispensed with the trappings of humanity centuries ago drew them to Dzhamgerchinov. The man himself was about as far from human as it was possible to get … but his friendship was useful.
Not even David knew that Russia and the Western United States had ties. Some things were best left undisclosed.
Human or monster, Deven would have preferred Russia’s company to the oily presence of the Prime who came to stand next to him.
“Prime Deven,” Hart said with that slight hint of disdain that was going to get him castrated one day.
“Hello, James,” Deven replied mildly. “Had any consensual sex lately?”
“You know, you really ought to mind your manners,” Hart replied, his tone calm, almost friendly.
Deven gave him a withering look. “Run along. The adults have business to attend to.”
Hart’s eyes narrowed. “Be careful … your boy over there is treading on thin ice, and you won’t always be around to protect him or his shrew wife. Neither of you has as much influence as you think you do.”
Deven actually laughed. “Oh, James. Your little grudge is so adorable.” He turned his gaze fully on Hart, who had the good sense to look a little uneasy. “So the South gave Cora asylum, and Miranda threw you at a wall. So David’s affection for humans threatens the status quo you’ve been exploiting to deal heroin and women all over the Northeast—yes, I’m well aware of how you make your money. So you think I’m a deviant: Get over it. You can’t touch me, Hart … And if you try anything against the Southern
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