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He laid her over the table with almost tender care.
“No.” Lucan frowned. “Too peaceful.”
He shifted the corpse again. One elbow rested upon a carved statue in the center of the table—an elegant stag with an arrow through its heart. Drevain’s head slumped sideways. Her hand still clutched the overturned goblet. Dark crimson and putrid, blackened blood blossomed from her chest, spilling over the ivory tablecloth on either side of her like macabre wings. Her glassy eyes stared at the witchlights overhead, reflecting their amber glow.
“There.” Lucan stood back, observing the corpse.
“And what is this meant to relay?” Elarian asked.
“Oh, they’ll spin a hundred different theories before an emergency council is called. Let them choose their favorite.”
He reached into his coat and withdrew a small, leather pouch. Gold sovereigns. Untying the cord, Lucan tipped the pouch and shoved the glittering coins deep into Lady Drevain’s slack mouth until they spilled to the table.
Elarian stared.
“Mercenaries,” she breathed. “The uprisings in Ravenholm.”
“My, my. Nothing escapes you, does it, darling?”
Lucan crossed to the sideboard and selected a carving knife. He laid it beside the corpse before walking toward the fireplace, where a small crystal vial waited among Lady Drevain’s decanters of bloodwine.
He uncorked it. A thick ribbon of dark human blood spilled across the marble.
“Enough to smell.”
“But not enough to question where the body went.”
Elarian studied the room. “No, wait.” She crossed to the doorway, crouching beside the threshold. “Not there.”
He looked up.
“If they came through the balcony, there would be blood here.” She pointed at the floor. “Gods, give it here. Your assassin training is lacking.”
Lucan smiled.
“If you insist.” Extending a hand, he readily released the vial. “I shall trust in the assassin who has failed to kill me, then.”
“Simply waiting for the opportune time, darling,” she replied with a growl.
“Oh, I know.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“On the contrary,” he murmured in that low voice that set her skin ablaze. “I have always admired patience in an assassin.”
Elarian smiled at the elegance of it all. Drevain had agreed to overtake Anileta’s position in Ravenholm, a territory fraught with rebellion and growing animosity toward their vampiric overlords. It did not take much to assume another vampire—or perhaps even the rebellion leaders themselves—had bribed someone to expeditiously end the new overseer and further destabilize the region.
At first, Elarian had assumed Lucan only meant to protect his position in this profane court.
Now, she wondered if he played at some larger game.
Dismantling the vampiric empire with Lucan by her side thrilled her more than she thought possible. Her rising bloodlust far outweighed her shame at the realization.
thirty-nine
Daggers
The council chamber had always been designed to make men feel small.
