Page 12 of Blood & Bedlam

Cami and Fleur exchange a look in that secret language they’ve always had.

“You bowed to the Blood twice in a single night, after three hundred years of discipline. Something is happening to you, and it’s all centered around that woman, Mina,” Cami says, swallowing hard as she folds her arms across her chest.

“Reine,” Juliette corrects, sitting on the ground in front of me. She reaches up, swiping away an errant tear from my cheek. Offers me a smile. “Her name is Reine, now. Don’t cry, Papa. You won’t hurt us. We know that.” Remorse floods me, pushing down the rage, locking it deep in my chest at the slightest touch from my youngest. The crucifix she clutched that first night on the ship still hangs around her neck, and she holds tightly to her faith, despite all she’s seen, all she’s endured. She gives so much grace to everyone around her.

Perhaps more than I deserve.

The front door of the Manor opens below, Kendra’s heels thundering over the oak floors in a determined rush. I make haste to dry my face, to slip a cool mask on as I stand, doing my best to appear unaffected. She enters the study, crosses to Fleur, and they embrace quickly before she turns her attention to the room at large.

“There was a courier at the gate when I arrived. It’s got the Italian Royal Seal,” she says, handing a thick envelope to Fleur. We all watch as Fleur pops the crimson seal and unfurls the thick parchment, her eyes moving quickly over the pages. Rage and worry make a home on her face the farther down she goes.

“Oh, fuck them,” she spits, green eyes swimming in indignation. She glances up at me but flings the letter out to Cami. “They know you’re unkillable, so they’re demanding la morte dell’alba. Against Camille.” Cami’s eyes grow wide as she reads the summons, and the scent of burning paper singes my nose as the edges spark in her fury.

Death of Dawn.

An ancient, barbaric practice of hand-to-hand combat that starts in the early twilight hours and ends with one of the duelers burned to death under its light.

“Absolutely not,” I hiss, as Cami reads out a line from the summons.

“In an effort of Diplomacy and to maintain peace between our houses, we issue the challenge for a Death of Dawn from House of Clan Torini to House of Clan Dracul. As the slight was leveled to a member of the First Blood, we issue a challenge in like kind, that the heir of the Dracul dynasty may honor. We await your reply.”

“We have to answer the challenge. Not doing so will end in open war. They’ve been looking for a chance for years to make a legitimate run at you. They know you can’t be killed, so they seek to harm you by taking one of us.” Fleur’s voice is cold and deadly, and I can already see her wheels turning.

“You are not fighting. I will go to the head of the Torini Clan and make this right,” I declare, pushing off the desk. Fleur shakes her head.

“This edict has been sanctioned. That is the tribunal seal of the European Council. They can’t undeclare this—you know the laws.” Fury wells up at the audacity, wrestling the guilt threatening to cripple me. Arguments break out, and I feel like my world is imploding. Fleur is correct. There’s no stopping the challenge once it’s issued, hence the severity of the consequences. I stand, helpless, as they debate strategy, sizing up their mettle against potential opponents from the Torini Clan. Fleur has a dossier on them all, but Juliette remains quiet.

“And the final terms?” Cami asks, cutting another worried glance between Fleur and me. She looks nervous, more nervous by whatever else is on that paper than the prospect of fighting in a duel to the death.

“What final term?” I ask. I have a sinking feeling I already know.

“They want Mi—Reine. Whatever her name is. They want her.” Fleur sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. They all turn to see my reaction.

“No.” The word is venom on my lips, poison as it drops into the air between us. Cami fidgets with the paper in her hands.

“They want the human returned as penance to their thrall upon their victory.” She offers the parchment to me, but I don’t take it, because I don’t give a fuck about what they want.

“They can’t have her.”

Another silent conversation rings out between Fleur and Cami.

“This is all too suspect. Coordinated. It’s been less than an hour since this went down, and they already have an official summons ready to go? When was the hearing? They knew you’d see her and react. None of this is a coincidence, so it means whoever that girl is, she’s dangerous.” Cami’s voice is even and measured, but the distaste in her tone has my muscles tensing.

“It’s difficult to fake that kind of fear. Down to a biological level, that woman is terrified.” Juliette’s voice takes on a harder edge—something in the short time she and Mina spent together has brought out her defensive side.

“I’m not saying she’s one of them, but even as an unwilling participant, she’s a threat to us. Best case, they set this up to distract you, to try and tear us apart from within, knowing it will cause division if I die and you won’t let her go. Worst case, she’s in on it. One way or another, we have to find out.” Claire’s blue eyes lock onto mine, and she matches my stance, not showing an ounce of reservation.

“And if she is just a pawn in all this?” I fire back, and it feels like every word costs something for me to breathe them into the universe. I know Cami speaks logic, but it’s as though a garrote is wrapped around my lungs, squeezing the breath from me.

“Then you claim her. Turn her. She’d be Blood of your Blood, an untouchable,” Fleur says gently. Anger and despair wells up in my chest. I shake my head, biting my tongue so hard I draw blood.

“No. I won’t force her into this. There’s another way,” I say, spinning on my heels and rummaging around my desk for stationary with my seal at the top. The girls watch anxiously as I scrawl out my own summons, straight to the head of the Torini Clan.

House of Clan Dracul hereby issues an official counter summons of la morte dell’alba to House of Clan Torini, for acts of insurrection on our lands, in a Duel of Magnum Opus, on this day, 1 November—

Fleur slaps her hand on the middle of the parchment, smearing the still drying ink beneath her fingers.

“Don’t do this, Papa. Talk to her and, if need be, turn her. This will start a war we can’t stop with the rest of the First Bloods. We have citizens to think about. Many of them are refugees from Europe, and if New Orleans stops being a sanctuary territory, that’s the death warrant for thousands of Otherworlders. Protecting them—it’s bigger than you or her or me or our family. You taught us that.”