Chapter Text



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Ajaccio, Corsica, France

February, 1945

The ritual was underway. Red had made the correct hand motions when seating Elodia and William, and had provided them with pewter goblets of water filled to a precise level—when Red had asked about it the previous week, William had said that it was based on the current phase of the moon. Red allowed himself to dwell in the room for a few extra seconds to see what they did with them, but they simply sat there, silent. His nerves eventually outweighed his curiosity and he ducked back out into the kitchen.

When he returned with towels, the goblets were empty.

Back in the small kitchen Jacques and Florence, two of the janissaries, were getting dressed in the most odd clothing Red had ever seen. It was decidedly Victorian—as seemed to be the theme of this whole visit. However, no self-respecting Victorian dressmaker would let such a ridiculous outfit out of their workshop. Or, at least, no one whose works had appeared in any book Red had seen.

The garments made out of a rich green material embroidered with gold, formed into a shapeless tube with long sleeves and pant legs. The cut was identical for both sexes, hiding the natural curves and form of both bodies. The tube extended straight above the shoulders, moving up to cover the face, stopping just below the eyes in the front; in the back, it extended all the way to the top of the head, held vertical with boning sewn into the fabric. Most striking were the two-inch wide oval cutouts in the fabric, on the neck, the inside of the elbow, and the inner thigh. The cutouts were heavily outlined with gold embroidery thread. They had clearly been designed for a different sensibility. Red tried not to think about it.

The two other janissaries sat on cushions at the foot of the stove, bandages around their wrists from where they had made their own contributions to the ritual. One of them was Victor, the oldest of the four, who leaned against the wall and read his thick book. He had approached this trip with the calm boredom of someone who had done such things many times before. Odette was pouting like a little girl. She was young, impatient and had been full of nothing but complaints ever since Lucia had given Florence the job of wearing the green garment.

“Don’t worry, Odette,” Lucia said as she carefully stirred the tiny saucepan of blood, its foul metallic odour filling the air as her dainty wooden spoon gently tapped the sides of the pot. “You’ll get your turn one day.”

“I want to do it tonight. They won’t have another one before we leave, will they?” she whined, curling a tendril of her blonde hair around her index finger.

Lucia shrugged. “I’m not sure. But her grace will need to eat, so you may be able to serve her then.”

Odette folded her arms. “I wanted to find out what it feels like to have two of them. And a man, too! I haven’t seen a man vampire before.”

Lucia frowned. “You are only young. There will be many others, Odette.”

Victor grunted in agreement.

“Do you think it will feel different, coming from a man?” Odette mused, running her tongue along her upper lip.

Red cleared his throat pointedly, deciding now was the time to make his presence clear.

“Hi. How are you feeling?” Lucia grinned, relieved at the interruption.

“Nervous,” he admitted.

“Don’t worry. You’ll do great. I’m just warming the blood up now. Come on, have a look.” She beckoned him over. He moved to stand beside her. The blood was thick and dark and he could feel its fetid copper odor sticking to the roof of his mouth. He wondered if he would ever get used to it. He glanced at Lucia, who seemed bored if anything. No doubt, after a hundred years, he would, too.

“I’ve never seen blood like that before.” Red tried not to pay attention to the images that came to mind at the sight and smell of this warm blood. He found he was better at it, these days.

“We reduce it until it is quite thick,” Lucia explained calmly. “It is important to get the temperature right. Come, I’ll show you how.”

Gently, she grabbed Red’s right wrist and held it near the tiny saucepan, palm facing upwards.

“Hold still,” she murmured, letting his arm go and placing her left wrist beside his. She grabbed a teaspoon from the counter and placed the tip into the viscous blood. She put a drop of blood first on Red’s wrist, and then her own.

“See how that feels warm, but not hot?” she asked, placing the spoon down on a towel.

Red nodded as Lucia rubbed a warm wet cloth along his wrist to clean the muddy red spot.

“That’s how you know it’s at about the right temperature. Just like making yogurt!” She grinned. Red, who had no idea how to make yogurt, just nodded as she continued. “Just a little warmer than body heat, but not so warm it would burn his majesty or her grace. Give me a moment and I will pour it for you.”

Lucia picked up the saucepan and took it to the antique pewter serving tray that had four dainty china teacups and saucers on it. With practised ease, she poured the warm blood into two that were diagonally opposite, then took another half-pint of blood out of the icebox and poured that into the other two. Red mentally recited the order to place them and the angles for the handles. Her warm one, three o’clock. Three seconds. His cold one, twelve o’clock. Eight seconds. Her cold one, seven thirty. Fifteen seconds. His warm one, three o’clock. Twenty-four seconds, bow three times, walk out left foot forward.

Lucia smiled at him. “There we go. They’re ready for you to take them to his majesty and her grace.”

Red nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t be nervous. You’ll be fine. After this, the hard part’s over,” she said casually.

He allowed his shoulders to slacken slightly. “Thanks.”

As he entered the dining room, William was reciting something in a language that sounded like Italian but wasn’t. Neither vampire made any acknowledgement of Red entering the room, not even the slightest movement of the eyes. Everything seemed still, cold. Red was glad for the heavy fabric of his suit.

He glanced at the table, and noticed that the towels had been folded into precise but abstract shapes, and set off to one side. He took a breath to calm his nerves, and placed the cups down. He started with Elodia’s warm cup, placing the handle at three o’clock as William had instructed him. He waited three seconds, and then placed William's cold cup, again taking care with the handle placement: twelve o’clock, not a hair to the side. He allowed himself another breath as he waited eight seconds to place Elodia’s cold cup. As he brought it down it caught on the tray and spilled, cold blood spraying everywhere. Droplets ranging in colour from maroon to scarlet splattered all over Elodia's dress, the meticulously folded hand towels, the table and of course Red himself. He put all his effort into not swearing and apologising: he knew that speaking without being spoken to was unforgivable. And William—who, sitting on the opposite side of the table, had been mostly spared from the deluge—was still reciting something in a thick accent. Elodia had not so much as moved her eyes, her expression remaining neutral.

It was eerily like nothing had happened.

It was all Red could do not to swear, but he knew that something was expected of him. He remembered William saying something about how to recover from mistakes, but that was more than a week ago. Terrified, he looked at William, and, not knowing what else to do, and with thirteen seconds just past, he moved to pick William’s warm cup from the tray. William’s reaction was immediate: his gaze moved to lock on Red’s. Red still had no idea what to do. Maybe he was meant to clean up, start over. He stopped moving for the warm cup. He stooped slightly to pick up Elodia’s cold cup.

Immediately, he knew. Elodia’s mouth twisted into a frown, her eyes narrowed. William's posture changed, too; he stopped his recitation, straightened his shoulders, and gripped tightly at the top of the table. Spilling the blood may have been forgivable, but taking Elodia’s cup away afterwards certainly wasn't.

Elodia stood.

“What hapless idiot do you deem worthy of serving us?” she said in French.

“I beg your forgiveness, your grace,” William replied calmly. “I shall be happy to provide you with the appropriate reparations for this inconvenience.”

“I want that thing destroyed.”

Red flinched, stepping backwards. He knew he shouldn’t have moved, that it could only make things worse, but if she was going to move on him he wanted as much distance as possible. Every second would count when it came time to—he wasn’t sure what he would do, if he could even do anything. But whatever he was about to do, he knew every second would count. All of a sudden, his warm comfortable suit felt stuffy and restrictive.

“Your grace, you should not give the most extreme penalty for a janissary’s first offense.”

“I am the wronged. You know I have the right to mandate the punishment.”

Red’s mind went to the front hallway, where he had a letter-opener that he had been using to open the outer envelopes of William’s letters. It was the closest weapon he could think of.

“You really wish to quibble over punishments with me?” William’s voice contained a menace that Red had never heard before. The letter opener would be useless; worse than useless. William had once offered to have Red to shoot him with a rifle to demonstrate his healing ability.

“Yes.” Elodia kept her gaze level. She may have been small, but Red knew he would be at her mercy if she so much as struck him.

“I will not dispatch with a satisfactory janissary just because he neglected to provide us with rainwater following a spill.” Rainwater. Red had thought that was just if he tripped.

“Why not?”

Red considered leaving, but he knew Elodia would be able to outrun him or maybe even literally sniff him out if he fled; he’d be safer with William nearby to defend him if she tried anything.

“I don’t wish to poach from your lands more than necessary.”

“If you refuse to mete out the punishment, King William of New Holland, I shall have my thrall do it in your stead,” Elodia paused. “Lucia! Come here at once.”

Lucia answered Elodia’s call, entering the dining room. She took stock of the situation and hung her head, bending slightly and hitching up her ruffled skirt to take a dagger out of a sheath that was attached to her thigh. Lucia’s eyes were full of pity as she approached Red.

Red looked to William. He couldn’t believe what was happening. Surely William would be able to stop Lucia? Her dagger didn’t scare him, did it? It looked silver—was it made of silver? Would that hurt William? Surely not? That was werewolves, wasn’t it? Besides, the entire American army hadn’t given him any pause, so what was one woman with one puny weapon?

“Don’t. I’m sorry, I…” Red tried to keep his composure, wondering how long his few weeks of training could hold someone as strong as Lucia off. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I didn’t…” He gave William a furtive glance, but he made no move to intervene. Had everything been an act? Was he just a favourite toy? What about all the tenderness, the nights spent in each other’s arms, the declarations of love? Was he stupid to have believed that someone like William would make the smallest sacrifice for someone like him, when it really mattered?

“I do not accept the punishment you have proposed. I offer instead full ownership of four janissaries, a prime duchy for yourself or one of your allies in my largest city, and my assurance that you will never lay eyes upon this human again,” William stated, still in that commanding voice that seemed to instill no fear in Elodia. “That is more than generous, for the life of a useful janissary that has never offended before.”

Lucia calmly grabbed Red’s shoulder, holding him with strength he knew he could not equal. He attempted to wrench his arm away to break her hold, the way he had been taught in basic, but knew he had as much chance of breaking her grip as a bird did to a cat.

“No. I have the right to declare the punishment,” Elodia said, louder, glaring at Red.

“Then I declare war,” William stated louder still, with a flat, confident voice. Not the tone of someone who expected eventual capitulation; this was the tone of someone who believed they had already won.

Lucia moved to stand behind Red, holding her dagger to his neck. He could feel cold sweat running down the back of his neck, soaking his collar.

“You would declare war? Over a useless janissary such as this?” Elodia shrieked, the corners of her mouth turning up minutely as gestured to red.

“Please, William. Please.” Red could feel the cold bite of the blade on his neck. He braced himself for what he knew he was coming, biting his bottom lip, and closing his eyes. Was this any better than if he had just died in the field that day? That, at least, might have been quicker. It would have been more honourable to die begging a god for his life than a demon.

“Yes. And my first act in this war is to kidnap your thrall.”

The pressure on Red’s neck disappeared. Red opened his eyes, and there was William, standing in front of him, gently holding Lucia’s wrist. The knife sat just above his neck, but she pulled it away from him, holding it by herside.

“Go to the servant’s quarters at once.” William barked.

Lucia looked to Elodia. Elodia gave a slight nod, her eyes cold.

“Yes, your majesty,” Lucia said, sheathing her dagger and going for the stairs. She made eye contact with Red and gave him a small smile. He looked away, not understanding what was happening, uncomfortable that she would smile at him after all that as though nothing had happened.

Elodia produced a small glass vial from somewhere under her preposterously poofy skirt.

“By providing you this sample of my blood, I declare that I wish to resolve this without immediate combat,” Elodia recited, the words full of venom. She gave William a withering look as she bit a small hole in her left wrist and bled into the vial. She handed it to him and went to the kitchen.

Red looked at William, his hand on his throat. His heart was thudding in his ears, his lungs burning as though he had just run for hours. “What... How…”

“Duchess Elodia is quite upset.”

“What just...?”

“I have forced her hand by kidnapping Lucia.”

Red could feel his throat closing, his eyes prickling. The situation was just beginning to register in the deepest parts of him. Lucia had her knife right there, she was his friend and she had every intention of killing him and William did not try to stop her, until...

Red didn’t understand what had happened. He didn’t understand what he had done that could have possibly worth killing him over. He didn’t understand how William could have kidnapped Lucia, so casually, like he was buying a sack of potatoes. Elodia just let him. And Lucia just went along with it, no screaming or crying. Who knew what vampires did to their prisoners. Despite everything, he admired her bravery.

He looked back up at William, who was standing there in his long black coat and white cravat. The small vial of Elodia’s blood was in his hand. And he was giving Red that look, the familiar look that said he wanted to grab him and hold him for hours, to show him that he was safe. That made Red’s chest ache even worse than before.

As Red was beginning to work up the nerve to run to William despite the fact that he knew it would be the height of indecorum right now, Elodia reappeared. Her four janissaries were in tow, all of them dressed in ordinary clothing—no ridiculous green victorian outfits. Odette’s face was even more sour than before, if such a thing was possible. Jacques and Florence also looked disappointed. Victor seemed irritated, too, but Red knew that was only because his reading had been interrupted.

Elodia stood in front of William, met his gaze, and with a dramatic turn, she escorted her entourage out of the house. The doors slammed shut behind them.

Red couldn’t resist now. He ran to William, who took a step towards him to hug him tightly, kissing the side of his head.

“I’m sorry, god, I’m so sorry.” He exhaled into the scratchy material of William's cravat, his breath only just starting to move past the knot of panic in his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to fear,” William soothed, burying his hand in the soft black hair at the back of Red’s head.

“What happened? Is everything okay?”

“Duchess Elodia and I are now at war.”

“War?”

“We shall negotiate the rules of engagement shortly. Now come, let us clean this mess.” William seemed calm as ever.

Red swallowed, trying to get his throat to relax enough to speak properly. “Did you just say you're at war?”

“Don’t worry, we won’t be mobilising armies. That has not been fashionable for some time.”

“But…” Red didn’t understand. “Why?”

“It seemed the easiest way to resolve the situation,” William said calmly, gently stroking Red’s hair.

“What happens if you lose?”

“I shall not lose.”

Red hadn’t doubted William when he said he did not fear the American army, but something about the way he stood… Red did not sense that same, unalienable confidence from him this time.