Rises The Night
Page 38

Wondering if they were all from the far-reaching branches of the Gardella family, or if they were Venators who chose their profession, as Max had, Victoria watched as her aunt greeted each of them by name and in various languages. They were deferent to her, kissing her hand, making little bows, as though she were some kind of royalty.
Victoria had always known that since her aunt was the most direct living descendant of the first Gardella, she was special in the world of Venators; but this display of affection and respect toward her elderly aunt made her heart swell.
"Signora Gardella!" A voice carried from around the other side of the pool, over the rushing noise of the fountain, and drew Victoria's attention, thankfully, from the others who stood watching.
"Ilias," Aunt Eustacia said, a warm smile stretching her lips, even as she clasped the hand of a man who had approached her in welcome. "How wonderful to see you again!"
The man was nearer her age than any others there, but she still had him beat by a generation. He was perhaps sixty to her eighty, and he looked distinguished enough to be someone of importance.
Victoria watched as he came to her and they embraced. "And this is your niece? The new Gardella?" he said, turning from Aunt Eustacia to face Victoria. "The one who sent Lilith back to the scourge of her mountains?"
"The very one. Victoria, may I present to you Ilias de Gusto. He is the keeper of the Consilium, and has been for many years. Ilias, please meet Victoria Gardella Grantworth de Lacy."
Victoria made a curtsy, and found herself looking into twinkling gray-blue eyes. His brows, bushy gray-and-brown spiders, lifted and arched as he looked upon her with pleasure. "We are honored to have you here today, Signorina Gardella." He smiled wider as she began to correct him. "No, no, to us you will always be a Gardella, signorina. And someday, you will be Ilia Gardella."
The Gardella. The most direct connection to the original Venator. A leader, a decision maker, a figurehead for all the other Venators, regardless of where they fell in the worldwide family tree. The one around whom they rallied when great threats descended.
There was a blur of introductions as Victoria met the others; and she'd been correct—most of them were Venators, visiting the Consilium for training or other reasons. Three others were studying and training to be Comitators. Kritanu was a Comitator, of course, and his nephew, Briyani, was Max's. Or, at least, had been. Victoria had been working with Kritanu, but eventually she would be assigned her own trainer.
Victoria had rather expected to be met with suspicion or condescension by the others, as she had been upon first meeting Max last year. He'd believed she would be more interested in dance cards and gowns and beaux than hunting and killing vampires—and he'd been wrong. At last, he'd finally come to accept the fact that she was a real Venator.
She wasn't even going to contemplate what had happened, what had changed Max in the last year since he'd come back to Italy… especially after last night. There would be time for that later. In fact, she suspected that was part of the reason she and Aunt Eustacia were here today. If indeed Max had defected, the other Venators would have to be told.
But Victoria did not want to be the one to do that.
Despite Max's initial begrudging acceptance of her calling, the other Venators appeared to have no such hesitation. In fact, Victoria felt as if she were making her debut at a ball as gentlemen of all ages and looks crowded forward to meet her.
"Would ye like to see the Consilium chambers, Signorina Gardella?" asked one of them with a faint Scots burr. He was not much taller than she, but he was as large and muscular as an ox. His hair was the color of polished copper, much too long to be fashionable, in London, anyway, and tied back loosely with a leather cord. Unfortunately, she couldn't recall his name, which she'd just learned. "I would be pleased to show you around whilst your aunt speaks with Ilias and Wayren."
"Wayren is here?"
He smiled, taking her arm and slipping it through his as though to stake his claim. His muscles were so large, her fingers felt as though they would be squashed in the cleft of his elbow. "Aye, of course she is. She is nearly always here, ye ken. Or, at least, it seems that way."
He swept her away, and as they walked off one of the others called, "Do not dare to monopolize the signorina, Zavier!"
Ah. Zavier. That was his name.
"How kind of you, Zavier. I am very interested in learning all about the place." It felt odd to be calling a man she'd just met by his familiar name, but apparently Venators didn't stand on ceremony—except with her and Aunt Eustacia—as he had not been introduced with a surname.
Zavier took her first to the fountain and bade her put her hand in it. "It is the most holy of water," he told her when she'd dipped her fingers. "Do ye feel your vis bulla now?"
Victoria wanted to blush at the mention of the silver cross because of where it dangled; he was a gentleman, after all, and a stranger. But he seemed so casual about it that she didn't allow herself to feel uncomfortable. Much, anyway. And, yes, he was correct. "I do feel it. It's as if it knows we are here."
"Aye. Ye might wish to have it blessed again before you leave today. I would be happy to assist if you like." His eyes twinkled as they swept over her, and Victoria could not hold the blush back any longer. She might be used to Sebastian's overt comments, but she was still not comfortable with such teasing from other men.
"I think that I should be able to manage it all on my own," she told him reproachfully.
He laughed and tugged her closer to his side, so that she bumped into his tree-trunk arm. She could only imagine how horrendously strong he was! "I kenned you would say that, but I could not resist making the offer. It is so very rare that we are honored with the presence of a female Venator that one often forgets oneself."
Although she was sure it was not the case of him "forgetting" himself, Victoria forbore to comment. Instead, she said, "How many other female Venators have you met?"
"Well, as ye and your aunt are the only living female Venators—only two thus far," he replied with a smile. "Of course, only a woman directly of the Gardella line can be a Venator. The rest of us… well, we are diluted Gardellas, from the very furthest branches of the family, spread or sent all over the world. And some of us—of course you know Maximilian Pesaro—are not of the Gardella blood at all, but have been called in a different way, and have met the deadly trials and tribulations that allow them to wear the vis."
"Indeed."
"I have not seen Max in some time. The last news I had of him was that he had traveled to England. That is where you have come from, aye?"
"Yes, of course. I had the pleasure of working with Max to retrieve the Book of Antwartha before Lilith obtained it." Calling it a pleasure to work with him was a bit of a stretch, but Victoria was attempting to be polite.
"Ah, aye, we have all heard the story of your adventure, and your sacrifice." The teasing had gone from his face now, as they walked away from the fountain, and was replaced with a soberness that made him look more like a warrior than the flirtatious humor had. "I am quite in awe." And he was so serious that she believed he was not merely flattering her.
"Thank you," was all she said.
"Since ye asked about women Venators, perhaps ye would like to see the gallery?" Zavier asked, leading her toward one of the arches that contained a heavy mahogany door.
He opened it and gestured for her to precede him in. This chamber was long and low, more of a hallway or passage than a chamber. Portraits and sconces alternated on the walls. Occasionally there was a hip-high pedestal with a statue or bust on it, or a glass cabinet, or shelves.
"Every Venator since the first stake was given to Gardella has a portrait here. And we have some other artifacts and mementos as well. It is a bit morbid, perhaps—more like a museum than anything—but it is important that we do not forget those who have given of themselves before us."
Victoria walked slowly along the line of portraits. They all seemed to be done in the same hand, by the same artist, though some of them were obviously centuries, perhaps a millennium old.
She stopped in front of the painting of a striking woman. " 'Catherine Gardella,'" she read aloud. Catherine's hair was bright, shining like polished copper, looped and curled and coiled at the sides of her head with ribbons and jewels. She was dressed in court clothing from perhaps three or four centuries ago, with a ruff fringing her neck and split velvet sleeves, puffed, with red satin behind them. She looked more like a queen than a Venator. In her lap, amid reams of skirts, she held a stake. A large emerald glinted on her other hand, painted so realistically that Victoria almost expected the hand to move and the facets to shine in a different direction.
"Our Cat," Zavier said with a smile in his voice. "She was well named. A spitfire if there ever was one, from tales I've heard. Her temperament matched her hair."
"Lilith's hair is the same hue," Victoria commented, remembering the glowing beacon of the vampire queen's hair, unholy in the way it lit the room.
"You are not the first to have commented on that, and you have seen Lilith, and are here to tell of it. I had forgotten that." Zavier's voice hushed. "Ye and Max Pesaro, and your aunt, of course. Some of the few, the very few of this era, who have walked away from her. I dinna ken how Max has remained so strong all of these years."
Victoria remembered what Max had said last night, about making a bargain with Lilith to be released from her thrall if he joined the Tutela. She'd wondered what he'd meant; surely he'd never shown himself to be under any kind of control by the vampire queen. His skill at stalking and hunting vampires was legendary; how could he be controlled by Lilith and still be so fearsome? There had not, of course, been time to ask him—and, of course, she knew better than to expect him to answer her. He had been intent on getting her out of the opera house, out of Rome, out of Italy.