Okay, then. Glad we decided to clear that up.
"Perhaps we could flush him out," Arland said.
"Not without attracting attention," Sean said. "Attention is the last thing we need."
"Agreed." The vampire bared his fangs.
They stared at each other, then looked at me.
I shrugged. "I'm not a mighty hunter. I'm just a Southern belle who stays home, bakes cookies, and possibly serves mighty hunters iced tea if they happen to drop by."
Arland blinked.
"You broke it, you fix it," Sean said.
The vampire leaned forward and focused on me. His eyes turned warm, and a charming, self-deprecating smile lit his face.
Wow.
"I didn't choose my words tactfully, my lady. I'm only a man, after all, and a solider, unskilled in the way of polite society. I've dedicated myself to the service of my House. My business is that of blood and slaughter, and I haven't been fortunate enough to be refined by a woman's gentle touch."
Sean coughed into his fist. One of the coughs sounded suspiciously like "bullshit."
"I ask humbly for your forgiveness. I neither deserve nor expect it and therefore appeal only to your compassion. Should I be fortunate enough to be forgiven, I promise to never repeat my transgression."
Unfortunately for Arland, I had encountered a few vampires before. "A vampire of a different House once told me something very similar. He even knelt on one knee while he said it."
"Did you forgive him?" Arland hit me with another smile. Vampire smiles should really be outlawed.
"While I was busy thinking it over, he leapt at me and tried to break my neck with his teeth, so no." I'd been fifteen years old at the time and it was an excellent lesson in vampire manners. Despite their beautiful faces, their religion, their ceremonies, their charm, vampires were predators. If you forgot it even for a second, you risked your life, because they always remembered.
Arland opened his mouth.
"I'm not upset with you, my lord. I just have no ideas on how to trap the dahaka. Or how to kill it."
"May I have some tea?" Caldenia asked.
"Of course." I went in the kitchen and took her favorite mug from the cabinet.
"Would a high-power rifle do it?" Sean asked.
"What sort of rifle?" Arland asked.
"Stealth Recon Scout," Sean said.
"Does it fire a metal projectile?"
"Yes."
"How fast?"
"Fast enough to kill a man from two thousand yards away."
"I don't believe so." Arland grimaced. "The dahaka is likely to have magnetic disrupters in addition to armor, helmet, and an extremely thick skull."
I brought a cup of Lemon Zinger to Caldenia. She accepted it with a nod.
"We could try an armor-piercing round," Sean said.
"If I may." Caldenia stirred her tea. "You're asking the wrong questions."
"And what would be the right question, Your Grace?" Arland asked.
"Have any of you ever hired an assassin?" Caldenia raised her teacup to her lips, holding it with her long fingers. Her nails, manicured and carefully shaped, still resembled claws.
"No," Arland said.
Sean shook his head.
"A messy business. If you do hire one for something sensitive, then you have to have him killed, and then you have to get someone else to kill the killer... It's like dominoes. There is no end to it." Caldenia shrugged. "A good assassin always keeps insurance. Some sort of token, some evidence that will permit him to threaten his employer should he find himself in danger of being eliminated, which aforementioned employer, if he is smart, should definitely attempt."
"It's a Catch-22," Sean said.
"A dilemma," Caldenia said. "Most employers seek to eliminate the assassin after the job is completed, and most assassins, predictably, wish to remain alive. With that in mind, ask yourself why is the dahaka here?"
"I don't follow." Arland frowned.
"Why hasn't he returned to his planet, filled with other dahakas?"
"We don't know if it's a he," I murmured.
"Always assign a gender to an adversary," Caldenia said. "It keeps you from thinking you're dealing with a dumb animal. Why does he remain here on a neutral world, risking discovery, when he could be enjoying the fruits of his labor on his own planet where he is untouchable?"
Good question. "Perhaps he can't go home? Maybe he's banished, but even then, he should be moving on, not hanging around."
Caldenia nodded and glanced at Arland. "Remind me, what happens when a craft enters the atmosphere of your particular planet?"
"The procedure is the same for all six planets in the Holy Anocracy," Arland said. "The orbital defenses challenge the craft, which then transmits a passcode by means of a House crest. As the craft descends into the territory of a particular House, the air defenses challenge it in turn. Again, the crest transmits a passcode. For example, we temporarily permitted members of House Gron to enter our atmosphere for the week it took to attend the wedding festivities."