He pressed his lips to my forehead, igniting me by his touch. “I can see your mind working in those stunning eyes of yours. We’ll have a private dinner tonight and we can talk about this more. See you then, my jewel.”
His black cape floated out of view from beyond the stack, leaving me with Oddo for my vampire lessons.
My history lesson was not as expected. Rather than sitting for a lengthy, boring lecture, Oddo guided me to the Hall of Truths. The movement was welcome; I needed to stay in motion to match the pace of my mind. I was learning endless information all at once. As frustrating as it was, I had to accept that my questions would have to wait until dinner with Rhazien. Until then, I had to focus on the task at hand.
Dommik occupied himself with a brown book, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Always in sight but never hovering, he leaned against an empty space in the Hall of Truths.
Oddo paused in front of the first of six large pieces of art. “Please correct me, Lady Reyva, but am I right to assume your knowledge of our history is limited?”
I nodded. “Anything we’re taught is focused on the terrible things vampires have done.”
“Ah, yes. Fear tactics. It makes sense. Communities full of fear areeasier to control.” Oddo tapped his temple, then gestured to the tapestry in front of us. “Let’s start at the beginning then.”
We turned our attention to the colorful threads. Their interwoven patterns displayed multiple scenes across the piece. My focus was first drawn to the bottom left corner where a few simple homes were sorted in a circle and beside them, four women.
“Each and every one of us is a direct result of the vampiric strain spread from four of our oldest known vampires, who we refer to as the Originals. The Eldritch sisters were part of the primitive tribes of the world’s first people.”
Oddo lifted a guiding hand to each of the sisters. “Lorana, Ruelle, Aveen, and Isley.”
“I recognize Ruelle. We are taught she’s a temptress,” I chimed and my cheeks heated.
“I’m afraid you’ve been misled about her.” Oddo chuffed. “No. No. Don’t be embarrassed. It’s a common narrative. The story you likely know is that Ruelle enchants young men, luring them away from their homes to feast on them. Correct?”
I nodded.
“Her life had a tragic beginning.” He exhaled and pointed to the next scene. A war camp littered with tents, small fires, weapons and warriors, and in the center of it all, a chieftain and a young woman.
“Cursed with exceptional beauty from a young age, she captured the attention of a warlord from an enemy tribe. His warriors had ransacked their village searching for food and weapons when they found her, hiding amongst their destruction. Ruelle was only ten when she was taken from her home. Her formative years were spent in service to the warlord.”
“What type of service?” I assumed the answer, but I wanted Oddo to know I was listening.
“Any kind he desired, unfortunately.”
A shiver crept its way down my spine thinking about what she likely had to endure at the hands of unkind men. “That’s terrible.”
“It is.” He gave me a tight-lipped smile and we honored her in silent reflection.
We stepped to the next scene, a man and a woman in a lover’s embrace. “Ruelle lived that way until her early twenties, when a soldier who had become enamored with her aided her escape.” He gestured to the next. Underneath a blood-red full moon, the four sisters surrounded aman’s body. “Ruelle returned to her family and once home, she murdered the lovestruck soldier, stabbing him dozens of times.”
“Can’t say I blame her,” I muttered louder than intended.
“The warlord had many captives. One of them had been a witch, a master of dark magic. Little is known about this woman, although we call her The First Crone. Before her escape, the Crone provided Ruelle with instructions for a spell to get revenge on the soldiers who had stolen so much from her.” Oddo’s words quickened, the story igniting his adoration for history.
“So it wasn’t just a murder of passion. It was part of the spell,” I stated.
“Very astute and correct, Lady Reyva.” Oddo’s white sleeve fell up his tan arm as he pointed at the tapestry. “Ruelle had been away so long, her two younger sisters didn’t recognize her and were understandably horrified by the scene.”
“What about Lorana?” As the eldest sister, I felt a natural kinship with her and committed her name to memory.
“She held the soldier down while her sister bled him,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Oh.” Hearing about the devotion from an estranged sister sent a pang of jealousy through my chest. If it had been Cova and me, she would have found a way to twist it to her advantage. Deep-seated anger bubbled in my gut, chased by a hollow mourning for the dead relationship.
Oddo chattered as we moved to the second to last scene. “The sisters fed on the dying soldier as part of the Crone’s directions.”
My eyes went wide. “Even the younger two?”
His dark hair swayed as he nodded. “They turned that very night.”
