Death's Mistress (Dorina Basarab, #2)(112)

Apparently, Mircea didn’t, either. “She truly thinks I would move against her?”

“She wonders if one with so much power will be content to serve for the rest of his life,” Marlowe said.

“I am content to live, Kit. Perhaps it is something you have forgotten how to do.”

“You are making no sense.” Marlowe sounded confused and resentful. “You do realize that?”

“Then tell your Lady this. The love of power destroyed my family once; I do not wish to see history repeat itself. I will serve her loyally until such a time as she moves against those I consider mine.”

“You want me to give an ultimatum to the consul?”

“No. Merely to request a concession. For an old and trusted ally.”

“There are those who would serve her without such concessions.”

“Yes. Sycophants are always easy to find. They are also easily swayed by the next power who promises them more. How many offers have I turned down to stay with her?” Mircea asked, suddenly angry. “Why this? Why now?”

“It’s Anthony,” Marlowe admitted, “at least in part. He has been whispering in her ear since he arrived, warning her that Louis-Cesare would add too much to your personal power base.”

“She must surely see why!”

“Of course, but his words reinforced her own concerns. This was . . . a test.”

“An unnecessary one.”

“Was it?” Marlowe’s dark eyes were serious. “You chose family over the needs of the Senate. Over her.”

“This would not have helped either, as I believe I made clear.”

“And now another member of your family has gone rogue. He must be brought in, Mircea. She cannot allow such a direct challenge to her authority to stand.”

“I am not hiding the man in my closet, Kit! I know no more of his whereabouts than you do.”

“And if you did?”

Mircea met his eyes steadily. “I abandoned a member of my family once, long ago. I swore then never to repeat the error.”

“Then I trust you are prepared for the consequences!” Marlowe snapped, and stormed out. The reporters tried to squeeze through the open door, but a nudge of power slammed it in their faces. I heard someone yelp.

“You can almost see the consul’s hand up Marlowe’s ass,” I said, blinking my eyes open. The room trembled a little at the corners, but it was better than it had been a minute ago. I decided that was good enough, and sat up.

“It may seem that way,” Mircea said, rising and crossing to the small bar in the corner. “In reality, it is more that they think alike and always have done.”

“You know he’s going off to report to her right now.”

“I doubt that will be necessary,” Mircea said wryly. “There are few rooms, if any, in this house that I would consider truly private.”

I assumed that was a warning, although I didn’t have any deep, dark secrets to spill. And if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t be talking about them here. “He’s right, though. Risking yourself for me wasn’t smart.”

Mircea poured something that I really hoped was whiskey into a couple of glasses. “When one serves such a mistress, occasionally it is useful to make a show of force,” he said, handing me one. “Otherwise, she may forget which among her servants are courtiers and which are ciphers.”

“You took a hell of a risk for a reminder.”

Mircea joined me with his own drink. The sofa was right across from the dead guy; it almost looked like the three of us were having a quiet drink together. Very quiet, on his part.

“It would not have been, under normal circumstances,” he said. “She would not expect me to turn over a high-ranking family member to be slaughtered for a crime he did not commit.”

“It sounded to me like that’s exactly what she expects.”

“She is frightened. And when someone holds that much power, their fear can be dangerous. That is why I want you out of this, Dorina. There are creatures involved in this from whom I cannot protect you.”

I bit my lip on the knee-jerk retort that I didn’t need protection. Normally, it was true. But there weren’t too many things on Earth who could go up against the consul when she was in a mood. Not and live, anyway.

Which made me wonder why Mircea had done it.

I almost asked, but something stopped me. Probably the same thing that kept me from asking him about the vision I’d seen, about the mother I couldn’t remember. I wanted to know, and I didn’t. As long as I didn’t bring it up, didn’t mention it, that brief glimpse of her remained real and vivid in my memory, something I’d never had before. But if I caught him in a lie, if I found out that this was nothing more than another ploy to get me to do what he wanted, I’d lose it. I’d lose her.

Just like, if I probed too deeply into this new attitude of Mircea’s, I might find that it masked the same old schemes. Was this sudden concern because Louis-Cesare had shown some interest in me? Was it merely what Marlowe had said—a way to bind a powerful ally more closely? If so, I’d have thought that Mircea would be more encouraging of a relationship, instead of all but warning me off. Unless he thought that’s what I would think, in which case—

Damn it. I realized that I wanted it to be real, all of it, wanted him to have cared about her, wanted him to care about me. And I was so very afraid that he didn’t. It was easier not to ask, to let the possibility last a little longer, even if it meant not learning anything else.