Religion was something Blaine and Olivia tended to keep an eye on. A country, or even a region, in the grip of religious fervour could cause serious problems for vampires. England had been through a period of religious unrest, shifting from Catholic to Protestant and back again, with people being burned at the stake or beheaded for having the politically incorrect belief of the moment. The rise of Puritanism had Blaine, at least, slightly worried.

The vampires of Great Britain listened (for the most part) to their Prince and faded into the shadows so as not to draw attention to themselves. Noone wanted a literal witch hunt. At least they no longer had attacks from Lord Avery to concern themselves with. The magician seemed, in fact, to have faded as well.

England, however, was on the brink of civil war. Cromwell's Roundheads were gaining power at an alarming rate. Blaine and Olivia had spies in the temporal court of Charles I and their reports were disturbing. The King seemed not to care about the currents that were threatening to sweep him into the undertow.

But the fate of the human King was of only minor concern to the vampire court of Great Britain. Far more disturbing were the rumours and dark hints that reached the ears of the Prince and his consort.

Etienne Corbeau was on the move. Still the monster had eluded all the nets laid out for him. He had left continental Europe, and was suspected to be on his way to the British Isles. Could even be somewhere on one of them, despite all of Blaine's guards at ports and borders. Most likely he had landed in Ireland in some isolated spot and was making his way towards civilization.

He would not, of course, be calling himself Etienne Corbeau. Vampires wore names lightly, rogues most lightly of all. But the rumours of death that followed him put a name to him. He killed when and where he liked, not caring at all about the pact made by the Council, usually preying on the helpless.

"Just let me find him," Blaine said to Olivia, "and I will annihilate him."

She thought of Genevieve, sitting alone in the chateau holding a bloody severed hand. Of Darius and Armand, both slain peremptorily by Corbeau. Of Claude's death curse, and the futility of exiling the monster.

"Don't, Blaine," she asked quietly. "Don't go after him."

He looked at her in surprise, since she had spoken with great sincerity. 'I am Prince," he said. "It is my appointed task to hunt down rogues."

"Is it your appointed task to die?"

"If necessary, to defend Great Britain."

"You are surely not thinking of sacrificing yourself to this monster?"

"No, of course not!"

"It's what Claude did!"

"You can't be certain of that. I am not going to simply allow Corbeau to kill me, but I must try to stop him. Surely you can see that?"

"Then send out the pack, send out the Nameless Ones, the mages."

"What sort of Prince would I be if I allowed others to take the risk for me?"

"One that's not true dead!"

He nearly snapped out an angry answer, but caught himself on time. She was frightened. For him.

"I must do my duty, Olivia," he said softly.

"Nowhere is it written that your duty is to die," she replied, and walked out of the room.

Blaine sighed and sat down to read the reports of his various spies and agents. He gave her an hour or so to cool down, then went in search of her. He found her in the stable yard, subjecting her mare to a rigorous currying.

"Olivia?"

"Go, then," she said to the horse, "if you are so determined to die."

"Olivia, please..."

"What good is the damned Council?" she demanded, applying the comb with such force that the mare shied away from her. "Why appoint Princes if they expect them to die?"

"You are spooking your mare," Blaine pointed out.

A groom appeared out of nowhere to claim the mare, whose eyes were rolling madly. Olivia surrendered her mount with a murmured apology.

"I thought you liked to hunt," Blaine said.

Olivia's head came up and she studied him acutely. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Did you think I was going to leave you behind?"

"Claude left Gen behind."

"I am not Claude. Nor are you Genevieve. There is noone I would sooner have by my side when I hunt Corbeau."

She wrapped her arms around him, driving the teeth of the curry comb into his back.

"Oh, I love you!" she exclaimed.

"A rather prickly embrace, darling," he complained.

"Oops." She dropped the comb. "So, when can we start?" she asked.

"Once I get a clear idea of where he might be. We cannot hunt smoke."

"So we will not be going to Ireland?" Olivia was disappointed. She loved the Emerald Isle even if the vampires there were touchy sorts.

"Not unless I have proof that he is there."

"And we will not be setting out tonight?"

He laughed and stroked her face. "Always so eager for the hunt," he said. "No, we are not haring off after the scent of rumours tonight."

She stopped his roaming hand. "Good. Then we have time to go and make love." And she led him back into the manor and up to bed.

"Shrewsbury?"

Blaine and Olivia very nearly chorused the name. Brengy, the alpha male of the werewolf pack, who had brought them the news, nodded.

"He calls himself Kent Ravensbrook," the werewolf growled, "but there is no doubt it is Corbeau."

"Whatever is he doing in Shrewsbury?" Blaine asked.

"He has apparently made himself comfortable as the steward of a barony," Brengy said.

"But how very bizarre," Olivia murmured. "A rogue vampire working as a steward?"

"This Baron must be rather dim," Blaine mused, "employing a steward who cannot go forth in the daylight."

Brengy grinned. On a werewolf, this was a disconcerting sight. "I understand that the Baron in question is very young, only recently come to the title, my Prince. Easily influenced, perhaps, rather than dim."

"Ah, that might make sense," Blaine nodded. "No doubt Corbeau intends to turn him. Alert the court. We will travel north."

"Yes, my Prince," Brengy bowed to them both and exited the room.