A Loom of Years

 Eighth Weaving
@Anne E. Fraser 2006

 
“Good news, darling!” Blaine looked up from the letter he had just received, beaming.

Olivia, only half-listening because she was also listening to Garron of the werewolves talking to her, said, “Mm?  That’s nice.”

“Yes, it seems I’ve been named as Queen of the Vampires,” said Blaine.

“Well, that’s good... what?” Both she and Garron stared at Blaine.

“Do I have your full attention now?”

“Er, yes.  Sorry, darling.  Garron, do excuse us.”

“Of course, m’lady,” the werewolf growled, and with a half-mocking bow, exited the room.

“All ears now, Blaine,” Olivia promised, sitting up straight and folding her hands in her lap.

“There is going to be a new consort,” Blaine said, grinning hugely at her.

“You’re divorcing me?” Olivia asked.  “Oh, excellent, then I can go and marry Carmine.”

“Pfft.  No, sorry, you are stuck with me forever, my pet.”

“Ah, well, such is fate.  So who is getting a consort?  Kalonice at long last?”

“No, more’s the pity.  Young Claude has found himself a wife.”

Olivia jumped up, a look of joy transforming her face.  “Oh, how wonderful!” She came over and hugged Blaine, incidentally enabling herself to look over his shoulder and read the letter.  “Oh, she is a widow and had small children who died.  How sad.”

“Yes,” said Blaine, almost stiffly.

His wife gave him a penetrating look, but didn’t press the issue.  “Genevieve,” she read.  “What a beautiful name.  It means white wave.  Claude says she is as beautiful as her name.”

“I can read, you know,” Blaine grumbled. “If the words are simple enough.  Yes, it is a pretty name.”

“But Corbeau is still troubling the world, I see,” Olivia frowned, reading further.  “How unfortunate that Claude owes his happiness to that monster.”

“That’s an odd way of looking at it.  But I suppose you are right.  Still, Claude has exiled him from France.  It was the best he could do.”

“Corbeau could be anywhere, then.  You _have_ tightened security at all the ports, have you not?”

“As much as I can, Olivia.  We don’t have a bottomless supply of vampires or mages or Nameless Ones, you know.”

“Yes, I know, don’t bark at me, darling.  But how wonderful for Claude. I’ve always thought he seemed rather lonely.  He did not invite us to the wedding!  I shall be beastly to him next meeting.”

“He says he did not want to overwhelm the girl,” Blaine smiled.  “She was still human when they married, after all, and needed to be eased slowly into vampire society.  I suspect that’s actually a load of bilge to disguise the fact Claude wants to keep her to himself for awhile.”

“He’s going to name her successor?” Olivia stared down at a postscript on the letter.  “She’s just a fledgling!”

“He’ll have plenty of time to train her, darling.”

“But...”

Successors generally, like Princes themselves, were already established master vampires with fledglings of their own.  To name a newly-turned vampire as successor was a bold move.  No doubt there would be grumbling on the Council about it.  But Claude had never really cared much what the Council thought of him.

“I’m sure it will be all right, Olivia,” Blaine said.  “Claude has no intention of dying just yet.”

“Neither did Ruffina,” Olivia murmured, and Blaine gave her a reproachful look.

“None of that.  Come, draw up a chair and we’ll write a letter back to the young rascal and his bride, taking them to task for not inviting us!”

Laughing, Olivia dragged a chair over to sit beside her husband and the two of them composed a long letter, both congratulating and chastising Claude.

“D’you know, he told me once that Armand used to strike him on occasion,” Olivia said thoughtfully as she carefully folded their letter to await Blaine’s seal.

Blaine dribbled hot wax onto the letter and pressed his seal against it.  “Doesn’t surprise me in the least,” he replied.  “I’ve often wanted to give Claude a thick ear myself.”

“I hope he does not strike Genevieve.”

“Read this letter from him again, darling.  This is a man hopelessly in love.  He wouldn’t raise a finger to her.”

Olivia blew on the hot wax.  “I’ll give this to Garron,” she said, starting to rise.

Blaine put a hand on her arm, making her stay seated, looking at him inquiringly.

“I love you very much,” he said, seriously.

She leaned forward and kissed him.  “You silly Prince,” she said.  “I love you, too. May I give this to Garron, now?”

“Yes, of course.”

He watched her walk to the door, open it, and call for Garron.  She turned to give him a quizzical glance, but his expression was hidden in shadow.  The werewolf took the letter with a bow and swore it would be delivered to France quickly.  No doubt he would hand it over to Nigel the mage, currently out, for magical delivery.

“Blaine?” Olivia asked.

He looked up.  “Hm?”

“Everything all right?”

“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason.”

There were blanks in their knowledge of each other, still.  Though relations between them had improved considerably (and Olivia had to smile at that) since the night they’d spent in that claustrophobic space in the farmhouse, there were areas where they did not trespass on each other.  She knew nothing about Blaine’s life as a human–nor he about hers, for that matter.  She suspected he had been married, probably with at least one child. She’d known who his turnsire was, of course–she’d staked him herself, just as Blaine had beheaded her own turndam.  Of those bitter nights of feuding, they never spoke unless they had to.  The past was not a subject fit for discussion.

But sometimes, she would have liked to know. Like now.  Something had darkened Blaine’s mood when he should have been laughing, glad for his good friend’s good fortune.  And she was certain that it had been the mention of Genevieve’s dead children that had done it.

If she could not learn the reason for his sudden pensiveness, then at least she could jolly him out of it.

“Darling,” she said.  “Have you forgotten something?”

He patted his clothing all over, and peered at the paper-littered desk he sat before.  “Um?”

“The next vampire ball.”

Panic flared in his eyes. Mock panic, of course, and Olivia was pleased to see it.  She had her Blaine back.  “Good lord, we aren’t hosting it, are we?”

“No, of course not.  It’s in France.”

Realization dawned.  Blaine started to smile.  “Ah, I see what you’re getting at.  We will get to meet the blushing bride then!”

“Hardly blushing, one should think, her being a widow,” Olivia laughed.  “But yes.  You must dance with her, of course.  And I shall dance with Carmine.”

“Carmine won’t go to a ball,” Blaine frowned.  “Especially not with what just happened with Ruffina.”

It was Olivia’s turn to frown. “You don’t know Carmine.  He will come.  He loves Claude, you know, and will want to see him happy.  And he will enjoy spitting in Rodrigo’s eye.”

The Prince of Spain’s attitude had not mellowed.  He now seemed to actively hate Carmine.  He’d been severely disappointed that his deposition motion had been defeated. No doubt he’d table it at every meeting from now on.

“I myself would enjoy spitting in Rodrigo’s eye,” Olivia sniffed.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Yes, I know, I am only a Consort, and he would be insulted and able to declare war on you with impunity.  What silly rules the Council has.  Don’t worry, I won’t spit in his eye. I might kick his shin when he’s not looking, though.”

“Be my guest,” Blaine smiled.  He looked up at her and sighed. “You are already planning what you are going to wear, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“You will bankrupt me.”

“What utter drivel.”  She came back to his side.  “You look tired, darling.  Forget the paperwork; let us have our own celebration of Claude’s good fortune.”

“What do you have in mind?” Blaine asked.

She began unfastening his doublet.  “Guess.”

“Here?” Blaine demanded in mock horror.

“There is a perfectly nice bearskin on the floor in front of the fire...”

As Blaine’s apparel slid off, piece by piece, his thoughts flew briefly to France.  He hoped like hell his dear friend Claude was enjoying conjugal rights with his lovely young wife at this moment...

“Olivia!” he exclaimed, and gave not another thought to Claude and Genevieve for some time.

 
 

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