“After I recover it, you might be able to figure out which creatures are bound into it, perhaps even date it, by analyzing its genetic information in your lab,” I continued. Matthew’s scientific work focused on issues of species origins and extinction. “When I locate the two missing pages—”
Matthew turned, his face a calm mask. “You mean when we recover Ashmole 782 and when we locate the other pages.”
“Matthew, be reasonable. Nothing would anger the Congregation more than the news that we were seen together at the Bodleian.”
His voice got even softer, his face calmer. “You are more than three months pregnant, Diana. Members of the Congregation have already invaded my home and killed your aunt. Peter Knox is desperate to get his hands on Ashmole 782 and knows that you have the power to do it. Somehow he knows about the Book of Life’s missing pages, too. You will not be going to the Bodleian Library or anywhere else without me.”
“I have to put the Book of Life back together again,” I said, my voice rising.
“Then we will, Diana. Right now Ashmole 782 is safely in the library. Leave it there and let this business with the Congregation settle down.” Matthew was relying—perhaps too much—on the idea that I was the only witch who could release the spell my father had placed on the book.
“How long will that take?”
“Perhaps until after the babies are born,” Matthew said.
“That may be six more months,” I said, reining in my anger. “So I’m supposed to wait and gestate. And your plan is to twiddle your thumbs and watch the calendar with me?”
“I will do whatever Baldwin commands,” Matthew said, drinking the last of his wine.
“You cannot be serious!” I exclaimed. “Why do you put up with his autocratic nonsense?”
“Because a strong head of the family prevents chaos, unnecessary bloodshed, and worse,” Matthew explained. “You forget that I was reborn in a very different time, Diana, when most creatures were expected to obey someone else without question—your lord, your priest, your father, your husband. Carrying out Baldwin’s orders is not as difficult for me as it will be for you.”
“For me? I’m not a vampire,” I retorted. “I don’t have to listen to him.”
“You do if you’re a de Clermont.” Matthew gripped my elbows. “The Congregation and vampire tradition have left us with precious few options. By the middle of December, you will be a fully fledged member of Baldwin’s family. I know Verin, and she would never renege on a promise made to Philippe.”
“I don’t need Baldwin’s help,” I said. “I’m a weaver and have power of my own.”
“Baldwin mustn’t know about that,” Matthew said, holding me tighter. “Not yet. And no one can offer you or our children the security that Baldwin and the rest of the de Clermonts can.”
“You are a de Clermont,” I said, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Philippe made that perfectly clear.”
“Not in the eyes of other vampires.” Matthew took my hand in his. “I may be Philippe de Clermont’s kin, but I am not his blood. You are. For that reason alone, I will do whatever Baldwin asks me to do.”
“Even kill Knox?”
Matthew looked surprised.
“You’re Baldwin’s assassin. Knox trespassed on de Clermont land, which is a direct challenge to the family’s honor. I assume that makes Knox your problem.” I kept my tone matter-of-fact, but it took effort. I knew that Matthew had killed men before, but somehow the word “assassin” made those deaths more disturbing.
“As I said, I’ll follow Baldwin’s orders.” Matthew’s gray eyes had taken on a greenish cast and were cold and lifeless.
“I don’t care what Baldwin commands. You can’t go after a witch, Matthew—certainly not one who was once a member of the Congregation,” I said. “It will only make matters worse.”
“After what he did to Emily, Knox is already a dead man,” Matthew said. He released me and strode to the window.
The threads around him flashed red and black. The fabric of the world wasn’t visible to every witch, but as a weaver—a maker of spells, like my father—I could see it plainly.
I joined Matthew at the window. The sun was up now, highlighting the green hills with gold. It looked so pastoral and serene, but I knew that rocks lay below the surface, as hard and forbidding as the man I loved. I slid my arms around Matthew’s waist and rested my head against him. This was how he held me when I needed to feel safe.
“You don’t have to go after Knox for me,” I told him, “or for Baldwin.”
“No,” he said softly. “I have to do it for Emily.”
* * *
They’d laid Em to rest within the ruins of the ancient nearby temple consecrated to the goddess. I’d been there before with Philippe, and Matthew had insisted I see the grave shortly after our return so that I would have to face that my aunt was gone—forever. Since then I’d visited it a few times when I needed quiet and some time to think. Matthew had asked me not to go alone. Today Ysabeau was my escort, as I needed time away from my husband, as well as from Baldwin and the troubles that had soured the air at Sept-Tours.
The place was as beautiful as I remembered, with the cypress trees standing like sentinels around broken columns that were barely visible now. Today the ground was not snow-covered, as it had been in December of 1590, but lush and green—except for the rectangular brown slash that marked Em’s final resting place. There were hoofprints in the soft earth and a faint depression on the top.
“A white hart has taken to sleeping on the grave,” Ysabeau explained, following my glance. “They are very rare.”
“A white buck appeared when Philippe and I came here before my wedding to make offerings to the goddess.” I’d felt her power then, ebbing and flowing under my feet. I felt it now, but said nothing. Matthew had been adamant that no one must know about my magic.
“Philippe told me he met you,” Ysabeau said. “He left a note for me in the binding of one of Godfrey’s alchemical books.” Through the notes Philippe and Ysabeau had shared the tiny details of everyday life that would otherwise be easily forgotten.
“How you must miss him.” I swallowed down the lump that threatened to choke me. “He was extraordinary, Ysabeau.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “We shall never see another one such as him.”
The two of us stood near the grave, silent and reflective.
“What happened this morning will change everything,” Ysabeau said. “The Congregation’s inquiry will make it more difficult to keep our secrets. And Matthew has more to hide than most of us.”