A Loom of Years

Ninth Weaving
@Anne E. Fraser 2006

Olivia in velvets and brocade, with a jewelled hairnet and a drop-
pearl necklace, looked so beautiful that Blaine didn't want her to 
get out of the carriage.  But since they were here at the chateau 
for the vampire ball, there really was no choice.  Already one of 
Claude's "little cousins", wretched half-turned ghouls that he kept 
out of charitable guilt, was assisting Olivia down.  She thanked the 
creature graciously as Blaine descended.

"How wonderful the chateau looks," Olivia remarked, watching as 
another carriage drew up and its passenger–unfortunately, Rodrigo of 
Spain–alit.

Blaine looked critically at the castle Claude had built himself, now 
over a century old.  It had been tidied up and decorated for the 
ball, but there was no disguising its strictly utilitarian 
lines. "Hardly a fairy-tale castle," he said.

"Fairy tales usually end badly," Olivia smiled.  "Oh, I cannot wait 
to meet Genevieve!  I feel as if I already know her."  One consort 
to another, they had written to each other intermittently since the 
wedding.

Blaine quirked an eyebrow at the scowling Rodrigo. "If he ever 
marries, you will have to be nice to his consort," he warned Olivia.

"If he ever marries," Olivia sniffed, "his consort will be a saint, 
and worthy of adulation.  Not to mention sympathy and condolences."

"Now, darling, play nicely."  He escorted her into the chateau, past 
the bowing ghoul.

And there she was, in deep blue silks that must have cost Claude a 
fortune, standing beside her husband, welcoming the guests with the 
most wonderful smile.  Genevieve.  

She deserved the name, Blaine thought, as his turn came.  He bowed 
to her (Prince to Consort, a far less formal bow than he thought she 
deserved), and then kissed her hand.  Oh, she was beautiful.  
Motherhood and widowhood had not blighted her in the least.  Her 
hair was golden, rich and soft, and her eyes deep sapphire blue.  
She gave a consort's bow back to Blaine and he fell in love.

Not lust.  But just as he had formed a nearly instant friendship 
with Claude (beaming at Olivia, welcoming her, grinning at Blaine's 
reaction to Genevieve), Blaine felt an instant love for Claude's 
bride.  The love of, say, an older brother or uncle.  He was very 
happy for Claude.

"You must call me Oncle Blaine," he found himself saying to his 
hostess.  "And I shall call you Gen."

Claude laughed, and Genevieve smiled.  "Gen," she said, trying for 
the harder `g' English sound, rather than the soft 
French "je".  "Yes, I would like that.  Oncle Blaine."  Almost 
laughing, she turned to Olivia.  "And shall you be Tante Olivia?" 
she asked.

"Not if you do not wish to be spanked," Olivia replied, 
seriously.  "Soeur, I could accept.  Yes, let us be sisters."

"But how very confusing."  The sapphire eyes twinkled.
"You aren't the least bit confused," Olivia twinkled back at 
her. "But you have other guests arriving.  You and I shall talk 
later, my dear new sister."  She hooked Blaine's hand in 
hers.  "Come along, Uncle Blaine."

"You aren't angry, are you?" Blaine asked as a servant showed them 
into the ballroom.

"Good lord, no.  She's an angel. I can see why you fell."

"Strictly avuncular, I assure you," Blaine said.

"Uh huh."

They accepted wine and watched the other Princes and guests arrive.  
Everyone had wanted to meet Claude's new bride.  Rodrigo grumbled 
that Genevieve was far too young to be a successor.  Ingrid looked 
vaguely murderous–making Olivia, at least, wonder if perhaps the 
German Prince had desired Claude for herself.  Of course, that would 
leave Lothar somewhat in the cold, wouldn't it?

And then Carmine came in.  Olivia felt her heart lift a bit to see 
him.  She had not expected him to be here.  Obviously, neither had 
anybody else. Ingrid wasn't the only one looking murderous now.  
Rodrigo looked like he might have a fit of apoplexy.  But since this 
was a social occasion, no politics allowed, even Rodrigo had to be 
marginally polite to Carmine.

Carmine, of course, had been the last Prince to arrive.  The last 
guest, in fact... all the important weres, mages and Nameless Ones 
were already gathered in the ballroom.  Carmine loved making an 
entrance.  He should have been on the stage.

Once the drama of Carmine's entrance had played out, Genevieve and 
Claude joined their guests and the ball officially began.

Blaine was the first in line to beg a dance with Genevieve.  Olivia, 
laughing, accepted Carmine's offer.

"I did not expect to see you," she said.

"I know," Carmine replied.  "I did give serious thought to not 
coming.  But not only would it be a breach of protocol, it would 
have sent entirely the wrong message to Ingrid and Rodrigo. I would 
rather not have had them triumph over my absence.  Besides, I wished 
to meet Claude's wife, and wish them well."

"What do you think of her?" Olivia asked.

Carmine glanced where the blonde beauty was doing the pavane with 
Blaine. (Alas, nobody had invented the waltz as yet) "She is very 
beautiful," he replied.  "And far too young."

"We were all young once, Carmine."

"I don't think I ever was."

Blaine was being gallant.

"You are quite the loveliest thing I have ever seen."

Genevieve laughed at him. "I shall tell Olivia you said that," she 
warned.  "I heard about the dagger."

"Yes, she's not one to be trifled with, I fear."

"I also happen to know that you love her dearly."

A smile crinkled the corners of Blaine's eyes.  "Yes, you caught me, 
I'm afraid.  But you are adorable, my dear girl.  I am so very happy 
for Claude.  And for you."

"I love Claude."  Her eyes flew to where her husband was dancing 
with the Prince of Greece.  "I became a vampire for him."

Blaine touched her cheek briefly.  "I can tell that you love each 
other," he said.  "How wonderful.  Claude has been lonely."

"I know.  It seems to be a problem for us all, loneliness. It is 
good that you have Olivia, and I have Claude, and Ingrid has 
Lothar.  Oh, and Yves has his Katja.  Is it true that Carmine 
beheaded his consort?"

Blaine almost stumbled in the dance.  "Unfortunately, yes.  But she 
betrayed him and tried to murder him. I assume you are not planning 
to do the same to Claude."

"No, of course not."  But the look she gave the Italian Prince was 
thoughtful.

The dance ended and Blaine was forced to surrender Genevieve to the 
next suppliant.  He bowed and went to dance with Zalyina of Russia 
while Olivia accepted Hans' offer.

The evening passed without incident; even Rodrigo and Ingrid behaved 
themselves, although they cast dark looks at Carmine and muttered 
about Genevieve's age and beauty.  Claude was grinning at them; he 
obviously thought they were merely jealous.  Carmine asked for, and 
was granted, a dance with Genevieve. He returned her completely 
unharmed to her husband at the end of it.

Claude had offered the hospitality of the chateau to all his guests; 
Blaine and Olivia were amongst those who had accepted.  Once the 
ball had ended and the guests who had declined (Carmine amongst 
them) had departed, the British couple were shown to a well-
appointed guest chamber.  Genevieve herself did the honours of 
taking them to their room.

"Thank you for a wonderful evening, dear girl," Blaine told her, 
kissing her on the cheek.

"I wish you and Claude many, many happy years together," Olivia 
said.  She and Gen hugged and exchanged kisses; it looked quite 
sincere.    "You did very well, for your first meeting with Council 
members."

Genevieve smiled gently. "I was terrified," she admitted.

"Oh, pooh," said Olivia.  "They're just a bunch of children, really, 
playing at politics."

"Children!" Blaine exclaimed in mock hurt.

"Children who could have us beheaded," Genevieve reminded them both.

"That will never happen to you," Blaine assured her.  "Everyone 
adores you.  And Claude."

"Not everyone."

"If you are worried about Rodrigo..."

"Yes, I am.  And Ingrid."

"The rest of us outvote them, dear child.  Let them stew in their 
jealousy."

"Yes, don't give them another thought, Gen, dear," said 
Olivia.  "What are you doing, showing guests to their rooms, 
anyway?" she asked, stepping back and giving the younger vampire a 
look of chastisement.  "You ought to be showing that husband of 
yours to that big black bed I have heard so much about. Off you 
go."  She shooed a laughing Genevieve out of the room.

Blaine looked at the bed in their room. "Alas," he said, "neither 
big nor black."

"But twill serve," Olivia replied, and bore him down onto it.

Go to The Tenth Weaving