Wait. Covenant? “What covenant?” I demanded.
Edmund continued speaking. “I am also heir to the Master of the City of New Orleans and heir of Clan Pellissier. I speak as one of power. Only days ago, Jane Yellowrock completed a blood-binding upon me, a master Mithran, making me, according to the Vampira Carta, her primo.”
Every single vamp on the far side of the room inhaled in shock. Good thing the windows were open or there’d be no air left for the humans. For myself, I’d forgotten to breathe.
I hadn’t wanted to claim Edmund. It had been the only way to save his life.
Ed said, “Such a binding gives Yellowrock the right to be appointed as a clan master. Jane Yellowrock is now master of Clan Yellowrock. And I am now her primo.”
Coldly, Titus said, “A master Mithran, heir of massive territory, in the position of servant? No. This is absurd. I will not allow it.”
“The outclan priestess allows it,” Sabina said, her words cutting. Titus started to speak again, but Sabina went on. “To the challenged is the choice of weapons.”
Gee said, “Dual swords. No shields. Smaller blades as desired.”
“To first blood or to the death?” Sabina asked the combatants.
Someone at the back of the room answered, “Blood.”
“Blades and first blood. Begin.” Everyone stepped back except Gee, wearing metallic painted plasticized armor, and Concetta Gallo. The tiny woman, shaved headed, olive skinned, looked fourteen, though she was over two hundred. Her armor was silver-green and shiny, and she was a master swordswoman.
The combatants crossed swords, gave half bows, and from somewhere a single bell-tone sounded, echoing in the ceiling. They attacked. Blades clashing, glinting, flashing, they advanced and withdrew. Danced the Spanish Circle around the octagonal fighting ring. Gee cut, a controlled transfer of weight and balance, so smooth it looked as if nothing had happened. A deep cut sliced the woman’s face, bisecting her cheek from ear to nose. Instantly it bled in a drench, as all head wounds do, the flesh already swelling and drooping, to expose bloody teeth through the wound. They both stepped back, off the ring, but not as if they wanted to, and not as if they trusted the other to abide by rules of first blood. The bout had lasted all of five seconds. Maybe just four.
One of the film crew cursed softly, presumably at the speed.
Fast,Beast said, inside me, entranced.Want to fight fast with steel claws.
Brandon said, “Results of this duel are acceptable to the Onorios.”
Sabina said, “Next rounds, apace, now that Pellissier has drawn first blood.” She looked to Shiloh. “Call the next three bouts, which shall take place, as Americans say it, back-to-back.”
“No,” Titus said, adding what sounded like,“Es una locura.”Then in English he added, “This is mayhem. Unacceptable.”
We waited while someone explained to Titus that the phrase meant the bouts would follow one after the other, not with the fighters standing back-to-back while battling.
Titus shook his head and rattled off more foreign words, before adding, “Following this farce, it will be a privilege to teach the Americans their place and restore proper order, decorum, and protocol to these neglected shores.” As insults went that was a good one. I wondered if Titus had crib notes in his hand. Wisely I didn’t ask that question.
Leo narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t speak either. That might have had something to do with the film crew or with Bruiser’s hand on his shoulder, holding the MOC in his seat. Or playacting. Leo had planned for this night for, maybe, centuries.
Shiloh said, “Nibolio Mancini challenges Jane Yellowrock. Simon Costa challenges Jane Yellowrock. Lanbros Alafouzos challenges Eli Younger.”
My heart took a dive. Lanbros was a three-hundred-year-old vamp. He was a killer through and through. Eli was dead. I started forward, but someone held me back. The irony of Leo and me both being held back wasn’t lost on me. I snarled and jerked my arm free, but waited.
Gee said, “The honor of facing Nibolio Mancini is mine.”
Sounding like a bored roué, Edmund said, “I shall die of the tedium, but thehonorof facing Simon Costa shall be mine.” The way he saidhonorlet me know that Edmund and Simon didn’t like each other much.
“My name is properly pronouncedSee-MOH-neh,” the man said to Edmund, “as you are well aware. And though it is a dishonor to fight a former slave, I accept the humiliation of this bout, out of great regard for my master and emperor.”
I was watching Edmund’s undead face. Yeah. He’d been a slave. And though his expression gave nothing away, that history was still a hard pill to swallow.
A voice from the stairs said, “The honor of facing Lanbros Alafouzos is mine.” I spotted Koun ascending to the third floor. He wore no armor and was mostly naked, wearing only a loincloth, his body tattooed with blue and black dye in what was said to be Celtic symbols. “I am the chief strategist of Clan Yellowrock,” he said, as acameraman stepped around him, getting the full three-sixty, front and back. “No one may gainsay me.”
Koun stepped up to me and dropped to one knee. So quietly no vamp on the far side of the room could have heard it, Koun said, “I yield unto you all my honor.”
Faster than my eyes could follow, Koun leaped from his crouch, going high, over the heads of those still standing, to land in front of Sabina, one knee on the floor, both hands touching the floor for balance, his blond head bent. “Mother bless me, for I have sinned.”
Sabina touched Koun’s head. “You have done well, my son. You are the only warrior to remember the old ways. Not even our once-emperor has been so proper.”
