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When she stood in front of us, I paused. In the city, thedraugrqueen tended toward an outdated formal attire. Ballgowns, cloaks, or something equally noticeable was her default. Here, however, she was dressed in comfort. Feet bare, the regional queen of thedraugrstood as comfortably as I would in my apartment. Loose palazzo pants and a top that seemed to be a net of threads woven into the barest of halters.
“Son of Stonecroft,” Beatrice said with a moderately deep bow.
“Lady Beatrice.” He dipped his head to her. “We come with news.”
“I was hoping you’d come after Daphne found you,” Beatrice said regally.
“Daphne?” I asked.
“At your raising of many dead,” Beatrice said. “Lovely bones, that one has . . . and a beautiful penchant for displaying flesh.”
“Right.” I remembered thedraugrin the jacket sans blouse. I tried to force my brain to not think of the definite lust in my great-dead-gran’s voice. “She said ‘her lady’ wanted to speak to me. I thought you sent her.”
“She likely wanted you to think that. I did not. You are not a lackey to be summoned, Daughter of Mine, but I am glad you are aware of her. She means to cause me troubles. It’s rather charming, though.”
Charming?
I glanced at Eli, who shrugged.
Then Beatrice tucked my arm into the fold of hers in a way that reminded me of Mama Lauren. And without another word, she led us into the castle.
Chapter Ten
“Grandmother?”
Beatrice smiled at me. The familiarity of calling her that wasn’t truly there, but it had a positive reaction when I did so. We both knew that it was as much to remind her of my familial tie as to attempt to forge a bond. I had mixed feelings, but honestly, the temptation of knowing anyone who was both witch anddraugrwas hard to resist—and Beatrice knew it.
“Daphne?”
“Ah. Precious thing, maybe three centuries?” Beatrice stared to the side as if summoning details from her mind. “She wants my throne.”
I exchanged another tense look with Eli before asking, “Are you in danger?”
Beatrice laughed like I’d told her a ludicrous joke and patted my hand where it rested on her forearm. “You’re a love! If I still had girlish dreams of love, she’d be dangerous. Quite the talented seductress, Daphne is.”
“But she’s not going to . . . attack you?” I prompted.
“No unless I accept her application to be my consort.” Beatrice’s eyes practically twinkled in amusement.
I nodded as if I understood, but the inner workings ofdraugrsociety were even more hidden than the ways of the fae—and they were often called The Hidden People. I had no idea what it meant to “apply” to be a consort, or even how many queendoms or kingdoms there were. All I knew was that Beatrice was the local ruler, intentionally so because my mother had been living here.
“I’m not so foolish, though she is quite lovely,” Beatrice explained. “Sadly, her earldom has long ties to the Inquisition and the Witch Massacres. Daphne wasn’t born then, or reborn obviously, but she lives in a community that is steeped in hatred. Of witches. Of Jews. They posture as if it’s in the past, but there is not a soul in their entire earldom with witch ancestry—orwith Jewish matrilineage.”
“So hot but bigoted?” I prompted.
Beatrice laughed in a way that had probably charmed emperors or started the fall of a small nation. My great-times-great grandmother was a charming, beautiful deadly creature. It amused me to call her “grandmother” as she looked no older than I was now. Centuries of knowledge and power hid behind her laughter.
“I am hoping it won’t be necessary to behead her,” Beatrice continued conversationally. “Business before sentiment, though. If she continues to bother you, feel free to behead her. Her holdings are minor, but I could demand an insult penalty if necessary.”
“Sure . . .” I wasn’t clear on if Beatrice told me these things to increase my knowledge for my use or her own, but I was certain it was never accidental.
I mused on her long game as Eli, Beatrice, and I wound deeper into the castle.
The vestiges of modernity were remarkably absent in this part of her home. The wall sconces were electric in this passage, but the floor was worn stone under ancient rugs. One room we passed had a tapestry that looked as old as Chaucer.
This was only my third trip here. The first on a visit such as this, and the second for a soiree that ended with a murder. That, incidentally, was what I’d been there for. Adraugrcalled Harold had sought to overthrown Beatrice. Motivated by prejudice and misogyny, he thought he could take her power, but I was there as her secret weapon. Harold was no more. He’d gambled on a power play and was now dead by Beatrice’s hand.
His head, which she’d sent as a gift, was buried in the city. I didn’t have a permit for that burial, but I wasn’t really a heads-on-the-wall kind of woman. The jewels she’d sent, spoils from his corpse, were converted to money that was useful, though.
