A Loom of Years

Eleventh Weaving
@Anne E. Fraser 2006

Denby did seem to have honour, as the vampire slayings by magic-users stopped. Blaine grieved for Nigel and never forgot him. He promoted one of the junior mages at court to senior position and let the word spread that any mage not interested in joining the Rose and Cross would be welcome at the British court. Blaine was not entirely certain he would trust a mage belonging to the organization, or that Lord Avery would not use such a magician as a double-agent. But there could never be a replacement for Nigel.

Word came from France that Corbeau had somehow made his way back into that country, despite having been exiled by Claude. All that would have been necessary is for one French vampire to invite him back in, unfortunately. Olivia worried about the safety of the French Prince and his beautiful consort, but Blaine assured her that Claude could look after himself.

He would remember those words.

Corbeau had attempted to enter the chateau, and had managed to set part of it on fire. A fledgling was killed in the fight that ensued, but Corbeau once again managed to escape. Claude was furious.

"It's positively uncanny," Blaine remarked, reading this latest report from France.

"We are uncanny, darling," Olivia replied. "It's one of the definitions of a vampire."

"Hm, yes, I know," he replied, unwilling to be distracted, even though she was blowing on his hair while he read the letter. "But Corbeau... he seems to be more than a vampire somehow."

"Don't be silly, of course he's a vampire."

"Is he? He has eluded every attempt to capture him. He seems able to move freely from country to country, always one step ahead of everyone trying to kill him. Even when he's completely cornered, he seems to break free and escape unharmed."

"He's an exceptionally wily and skilled vampire, then. What else could he be? He drinks blood. He turns others into vampires. He meets all the usual requirements."

"I don't know," Blaine admitted. "Armand had a theory that the first vampires were demons but that the curse was diluted through many turnings. Perhaps Corbeau is one of the first, or a throwback or something."

Olivia looked sceptical. "I don't feel like a demon," she said. "Armand also thought the world was flat, remember."

"Darling, so did everyone else three hundred years ago."

"Yes, but... demons?"

"Can you explain why else Corbeau cannot seem to be killed?"

She shrugged. "It's not his time yet."

"And it was Nigel's?"

She brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Let the past sleep, Blaine," she advised him. "Corbeau will meet his doom sooner or later. Keep the borders guarded."

"Perhaps I should go and help Claude. He came and helped me when I needed him."

"Ah, but you asked him to. He has not asked."

"Because he's a stubborn bugger."

"You mustn't go if you aren't asked, Blaine, it would be a breach of protocol."

"Protocol can go fu..."

"Blaine, there is a lady present, may I remind you."

He looked at her, then around the otherwise empty room. "Where?"

She gave him a thump on the ear. "Very funny. You just told me that Claude can look after himself. He has the chateau guarded. He has les Gardiens. He is a wily fox himself. I would not worry too much."

"Hm." Blaine frowned at the letter, as if seeking a hidden meaning. He knew, as Olivia did not, about the last weapon a Prince could use against an enemy. It had been one of the secret, special powers instilled in the Princes when the Council was formed, and only Princes and their successors knew of it. The death curse of a Prince. It worried him.

"Come for a ride, darling," Olivia urged him. "It will take your mind off this. There's nothing you can do unless Claude asks for help."

"Yes, you're right, of course. All right, alert the stables. We'll let Skye and Plodder have their exercise." Skye was Olivia's mare, Plodder Blaine's placid stallion – named, of course, by Olivia.

The horses were duly saddled and the couple rode out together, accompanied as usual by the werewolf pack. Blaine managed to let the worry about Corbeau and how Claude would handle the situation sink to the back of his mind.

*******************

News of death travels quickly.

Olivia seldom wept. So Blaine, himself deeply distraught, heart pierced to the quick with the news, did not know quite what to do when she threw herself sobbing onto his shoulder.

He was numb. It could not be true, even though he knew it was. His sunken, pierced heart knew it was true. He had _felt_ Claude die. There was a connection between Princes; all part of those extra, hidden powers.

"NO!" Olivia's cry was muffled. "No, no, no!"

Tears ran unheeded down Blaine's own cheeks. He, too, wanted to cry "NO!", wanted to deny the pain.

"There, there," he murmured meaningless syllables, patting her gently.

"Oh, Blaine, we have to go to France. Poor Genevieve." Olivia raised her head from her husband's shoulder. "She will need us."

"I will make arrangements," Blaine agreed heavily.

Claude was dead, tortured to death by Etienne Corbeau. Claude's severed hand, with his wedding ring still on the finger, had been sent to the chateau as proof. But there was no proof needed for the death of a Prince. His consort and successor knew the moment he died, felt the terrible loss of the connection that had been between them for a century.

Another French Prince, murdered by the same killer. Who had escaped yet again, although this time paying a heavy price for his crime. For Claude, Blaine knew although Genevieve had not said so in her letter, had invoked Prince's Curse.

A dying Prince could curse his killer, given enough time to do so, banishing him or her permanently from the Prince's country, preventing the slayer from ever harming anyone else in the bloodline. Corbeau, no matter how powerful he was, would be unable to violate Claude's death wish. Claude had gone deliberately to his own death, knowing he would die slowly, so that he would be able to call down this curse on his enemy. He had died to protect France. To protect Genevieve.

He must have seen no other way out, Blaine thought dully. All attempts to capture, kill or even slow down Corbeau had failed. Claude had been furious at the attempt on the chateau, but he must also have been frightened at how close this monster had gotten. Frightened that Corbeau would find a way to get at Gen.

They travelled as quickly as possible to France and then to the Loire, to comfort the widow. Who was now Prince of France.

Genevieve was beyond distraught. She seemed utterly numb with grief, and made little response to Olivia's attempts to comfort her. Ice seemed to be forming on her heart even as Blaine, stricken with horror and pity, watched. But then, her first husband had also been murdered, by Corbeau. How much could one woman take?

There were no tears. Blaine thought he might have felt better himself if he saw Gen cry, but there were no tears. Her grief was too deep for them.

"Where is Corbeau now?" she asked, on their third night at the chateau, as she and Olivia walked in the gardens.

"Nobody knows, Gen," Olivia replied, her heart going out to the younger vampire. "I know you want revenge, but..."

"I do not," Genevieve replied.

"No?" Olivia stared at her.

"Revenge alone will not satisfy me, Olivia. I want obliteration."

"Ah." Olivia could easily identify with that. It was how she had once felt about Blaine.

"Do you think Ingrid is hiding him?" Gen asked.

Many members of the council had long suspected that Ingrid of Germany was in collusion with Corbeau and willingly turned a blind eye if he entered her domain.

"She would not hide the slayer of a Prince," Olivia stated, although she had her doubts. Even if Ingrid herself wouldn't, Lothar was crazy enough to do it.

"Would she not?" Genevieve asked thoughtfully.

"Claude..." Olivia winced at the sound of the name, although Gen didn't react. "Claude told Blaine that he thought Carmine might eventually take care of Ingrid for us."

"Carmine?" Gen asked. "Why Carmine?"

"I'm not certain. Perhaps Carmine thinks Ingrid was behind what happened that night with Ruffina."

Gen bowed her head, thinking. "It would not surprise me."

"Corbeau murdered Carmine's master, as well, and not even Carmine managed to kill him."

The pretty blonde head came up. "Yes," Genevieve said. "Nor could anyone catch him after he killed Armand. Nor could I catch him after..." she shook her head. "Claude..." and this time her voice trembled slightly. The only possible word for her now was "shattered". The ice was cracking. "Claude is dead, Olivia. What am I to do?"

Olivia took Gen's hands in her own, and looked into troubled, grieving blue eyes. But eyes still free of tears. "You must be Prince, now, Gen," she said, heart constricting with pity and fear. "You must uphold Claude's legacy and protect France."

"I loved him." A whisper.

"I know, sweetheart, I know. And he loved you, very much. There is no consolation for such a loss. Oh, my dearest sister. Shall we still be sisters, even though you are Prince and I am only a consort?"

The ghost of a smile appeared. "As you would say, 'don't be silly, darling.' As if that mattered at all to me. I was consort only a month ago, Olivia."

"Then, my dear sister, we shall help you mourn and remember Claude properly."

"How can I ever thank you and Blaine, Olivia? This visit has meant so much to me."

"No thanks are necessary between us, Gen. Ever."

Go to The Twelfth Weaving