Shadow of Night (All Souls Trilogy, #2)(48)

“Which one opens the library?” I asked, fingering the worn iron surfaces with interest.

“We don’t lock up books in this house,” Philippe said, “only food, ale, and wine. Reading Herodotus or Aquinas seldom leads to bad behavior.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” I said under my breath. “And what is the cook’s name?”

“Chef.”

“No, his given name,” I said, confused.

Philippe shrugged. “He is in charge, so he is Chef. I’ve never called him anything else. Have you, Matthaios?” Father and son exchanged a look that had me worried about the future of the trestle table that separated them.

“I thought you were in charge. If I’m to call the cook ‘Chef,’ what am I to call you?” My sharp tone temporarily distracted Matthew, who was about to toss the table aside and wrap his long fingers around his father’s neck.

“Everyone here calls me either ‘sire’ or ‘Father.’ Which would you prefer?” Philippe’s question was silky and dangerous.

“Just call him Philippe,” Matthew rumbled. “He goes by many other titles, but those that fit him best would blister your tongue.”

Philippe grinned at his son. “You didn’t lose your combativeness when you lost your sense, I see. Leave the household to your woman and join me for a ride. You look puny and need proper exercise.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

“I am not leaving Diana,” Matthew retorted. He was fiddling nervously with an enormous silver salt, the ancestor of the humble salt crock that sat by my stove in New Haven.

“Why not?” Philippe snorted. “Alain will play nursemaid.”

Matthew opened his mouth to reply.

“Father?” I said sweetly, cutting into the exchange. “Might I speak with my husband privately before he meets you in the stables?”

Philippe’s eyes narrowed. He stood and bowed slowly in my direction. It was the first time the vampire had moved at anything resembling normal speed. “Of course, madame. I will send for Alain to attend upon you. Enjoy your privacy—while you have it.”

Matthew waited, his eyes on me, until his father left the room.

“What are you up to, Diana?” he asked quietly as I rose and made a slow progress around the table.

“Why is Ysabeau in Trier?” I asked.

“What does it matter?” he said evasively.

I swore like a sailor, which effectively removed the innocent expression from his face. There had been a lot of time to think last night, lying alone in Louisa’s rose-scented room—enough time for me to piece together the events of the past weeks and square them with what I knew about the period.

“It matters because there’s nothing much to do in Trier in 1590 but hunt witches!” A servant scuttled through the room, headed for the front door. There were still two men sitting by the fire, so I lowered my voice. “This is neither the time nor the place to discuss your father’s current role in early-modern geopolitics, why a Catholic cardinal allowed you to order him around Mont Saint-Michel as if it were your private island, or the tragic death of Gallowglass’s father. But you will tell me. And we definitely will require further time and privacy for you to explain the more technical aspects of vampire mating.”

I whirled around to get away from him. He waited until I was far enough away to think escape was possible before neatly catching my elbow and turning me back. It was the instinctive maneuver of a predator. “No, Diana. We’ll talk about our marriage before either of us leaves this room.”

Matthew turned in the direction of the last huddle of servants enjoying their morning meal. A jerk of his head sent them scurrying.

“What marriage?” I demanded. Something dangerous sparked in his eyes and was gone.

“Do you love me, Diana?” Matthew’s mild question surprised me.

“Yes,” I responded instantaneously. “But if loving you were all that mattered, this would be simple and we would still be in Madison.”

“It is simple.” Matthew rose to his feet. “If you love me, my father’s words don’t have the power to dissolve our promises to each other, any more than the Congregation can make us abide by the covenant.”

“If you truly loved me, you would give yourself to me. Body and soul.”

“That’s not so simple,” Matthew said sadly. “From the first I warned you that a relationship with a vampire would be complicated.”

“Philippe doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Then bed him. If it’s me you want, you’ll wait.” Matthew was composed, but it was the calm of a frozen river: hard and smooth on the surface but raging underneath. He’d been using words as weapons since we left the Old Lodge. He’d apologized for the first few cutting remarks, but there would be no apology for this. Now that he was with his father again, Matthew’s civilized veneer was too thin for something so modern and human as regret.

“Philippe isn’t my type,” I said coldly. “You might, however, do me the courtesy of explaining why I should wait for you.”

“Because there is no such thing as vampire divorce. There’s mating and there’s death. Some vampires—my mother and Philippe included— separate for a time if there are”—he paused—“disagreements. They take other lovers. With time and distance, they resolve their differences and come together again. But that isn’t going to work for me.”