The Kingmakers(134)

“Yes. Very funny. Perhaps the funniest thing ever.” Gareth clapped a hand on Cesare's shoulder, causing his brother to pull away angrily. The Scottish prince doubled over in laughter so loud it attracted the attention of vampires who were passing.

“You're making a ridiculous scene,” Cesare snapped. “Shut up!”

“I don't think I can.”

“Gareth, you ass. I hope you do enjoy Edinburgh, because you will never set foot outside it once I'm king.”

Gareth laughed even harder, slipping to the ground with his back pressed against Ramses. He bent low to the earth, his body racked by guffaws he couldn't control. The gathering vampire crowd began to laugh too, slowly at first, but then louder with fits of hilarity. The sight of the royal brothers laughing—well, one of them—was a great omen.

Cesare leaned toward Gareth. “I don't even care what you are laughing about. I have business. When the sun sets, I sequester the coven. You will be there.”

“Oh I'll be there,” Gareth struggled to say. He took a deep breath to recover his stern visage. Then he looked up at Cesare's grim face, and a smile slowly crept back across his lips. He broke into laughter again. The mob followed with renewed delight.

Cesare said, “If you're going to do this in front of the clan lords, the vote shouldn't take long.” He indicated the gathered crowd of giggling vampires. “You're a joke to everyone.”

Gareth rubbed his face with a deep, satisfied sigh. “And you are a human.”

“What?”

“You've become a human, Cesare. We all have.” Gareth stretched out his legs. “Look at us. Look at your clothes. Look at me and my herds. Look at Ramses here. You put up a statue, Cesare. A statue!”

The younger prince glanced from his brother to the colossus and back. His brow furrowed in anger and fear.

Gareth shook his head. “We're humans now. We're just not very good ones.”

“You're mad.” Cesare nimbly lifted from the ground with his attention lingering curiously on his brother. Finally he turned away and flung himself toward the palace, slipping into the black sliver of a window as if he'd vanished through a wall.

The crowd milled about Gareth, unsure of what had happened, or what was going to happen. They began to drift silently into the sky too, one by one, leaving Gareth sitting alone in the dirt with the colossus of Dmitri.



The two brothers stood on either side of their father's throne. The gathered clan lords waited. Many of them were the greybeards who had fought in the Great Killing, but there were a few youngsters, male and female, who had come to power since. This was Cesare's event, but since Gareth was the eldest son, and technical heir, he was the official host. Even so, it was Cesare who nodded to Gareth to prompt him to speak.

“My lords,” Gareth said, “it has been centuries since our clan was called for this purpose. Would that this day had been more years in coming, but death finds us all. The time has come, and you have a duty to perform. Our clan needs a king, and our tradition holds that you noble lords are the voice of the clan. You will go into isolation, and you will not emerge until you have decided. Recall, there are no candidates. Any member of the clan may be king. There are no packs about, so it is wisdom alone that influences you.”

Cesare raised a hand to silence Gareth. “In addition to you lords of our clan, since we are all one people around the world, it is permissible for rulers of other clans to join this coven. Their voices hold no more weight than yours, but they are welcome.” He signaled his chamberlain, Stryon, to open the door at the rear of the room.

Several males and females entered, boldly attired to give silent notice of their elevated positions.

“Noble lords,” Cesare announced, “welcome among you Ashkenazy of Budapest, Draken of Munich, Natalia of St. Petersburg, and Leopold of Brussels.”

Gareth was relieved that Lothaire was not among the dignitaries. He had warned his friend to stay well away from the coven, but stand ready to move to Gareth's support when needed.

There was some grumbling among the British lords when the foreign rulers entered, but tradition, even recent tradition, was powerful. And these rulers were all Cesare's allies, so there were no wildcards. The coven would end as expected, they believed.

Cesare regarded Gareth, likely mistaking his strained expression for a sudden realization that his days were truly numbered. “Gareth, if you will.”

The elder brother cleared his throat. “Yes. Now that we are all here, it is my duty to send you into isolation. You are required to spend at least three nights in contemplation and discussion, more if needed, but no fewer. Go now, with the chamberlain, and do not emerge again…until you have chosen the new king.”