Night's Honor (Elder Races #7)(35)

Was she disappointed that he did not live down to her worst expectations, or was she disappointed in herself for not agreeing to a direct blood offering? Given her tenacious nature, she must be battling a serious revulsion for the act. Troubled, he frowned down at his clasped hands.

“The daggers at the dinner settings is a very old Vampyre custom, dating back to the early Roman Empire,” he said. “It is meant as a gesture of courtesy from the host.”

“But what does it mean?”

“Often weapons were forbidden in palaces when a ruler was in residence. The dagger was a symbol of trust, a way of saying to the guest, you may go armed in my presence, and we are still at peace.”

She nodded slowly. “So it would actually end up being a really terrible thing to pick it up. Kind of a betrayal against the host?”

“Yes, except on one occasion. The dagger was also used by the guest to prick herself to offer blood in a show of fealty to a Vampyre lord. At large gatherings like a banquet, it simply wasn’t feasible for the host to take a direct blood offering from everyone personally. This way, a cup was passed from guest to guest. They could prick their fingers, add a few drops to the cup and pass it on. At the end of the round, when the cup had made it back to the Vampyre lord, he would take it and drink.”

She frowned. “Was this a ritual for humans, or for Vampyres?”

He stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. “It was for both. For example, Julian could insist on a blood fealty from all the heads of the Vampyre houses along with human officials that live within his demesne, but the ritual is no longer enacted. Still, the dagger is laid out in formal situations as a tradition. In some households, quite a bit of money is spent on the daggers, encrusting them with jewels and gold. They’re pretty baubles, nothing more, and are usually about as dull as a letter opener.”

She had listened intently, her eyes wide with fascination. “Thank you for the explanation.”

“De nada,” he said. When she lifted the bottle of wine and looked at him in inquiry, he gestured for her to help herself to a second glass.

Silence fell between them as she did so, and they sat for a few minutes, each wrapped in thought. He noted that her fear had subsided somewhat as they talked, and he watched the flames in the fireplace as he considered that.

Finally he stirred and sighed. “You present some interesting challenges, Tess Graham.”

She straightened in her chair. “I’m sorry. What can I do to make it better?”

“That is what I am trying to decide.” He set his empty glass aside. “I’ve already told you that you must make a proper blood offering freely and willingly by the end of the trial year, and that is not an arbitrary requirement. There are reasons why it is necessary.”

“I think I understand,” she said. “Without your bite, I can’t give as much blood as the others, or as often. Also, it would give me increased speed, strength and healing capacity, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, among other things. Regular blood offerings also establish a connection between us—it’s nothing like telepathy, mind you. It just increases my awareness of where you are in a crowd, which can be a handy safety measure.” He rubbed his forehead. “But I’m afraid your capacity to give a blood offering won’t be enough.”

Her expression turned wary again. “What do you mean?”

Meeting her gaze, he said, “You have to do more than confront your fear. You have to conquer it.”

“I—I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and frowned at her. “You walked into this room directly toward me, despite the fact that every instinct you had was telling you to run the other way. Didn’t you?”

She shifted uneasily under the weight of his stare. “Yes.”

He would have smiled, except that it saddened him too much. She was certainly brave enough. An edge of bitterness entered his tone. “I respect the courage it takes for you to do so, but that’s confronting your fear. It’s not conquering it. As you grew closer, I heard your heart rate accelerate, and I could taste the pheromones of your fear in the air.”

He paused to read her expression, but he could see no real comprehension on her face. She merely looked trapped and frustrated.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“No,” he said. “This is not about sorry. I cannot in good conscience set you loose in a room full of predators. Many of them have far fewer principles than I do, and a few have absolutely none at all. They would circle around you like sharks drawn to a pool of blood. Even if my reputation held off most of them, you would certainly not go unnoticed, and that defeats any purpose you may serve for me. It is not acceptable. Do you see?”

The comprehension he had been looking for dawned in her eyes, and it looked very much like dismay.

“I do now,” she whispered. She squared her shoulders. “I’ll change it. I just have to figure out how.”

Such tenacity. Her surface emotions might be all over the map, but underneath it all, she had a spine of steel.

Oh, he liked her. Far more, in fact, than was good for his peace of mind.

“Are you sure you want to?” he asked gently. “You may have chosen to come here, but I do not think you have yet chosen to stay.”

Her eyes widened, and he saw that he had scored a hit. He liked that she didn’t rush to answer him. Instead, her gaze turned troubled and she studied the remaining wine in her glass for a few moments.