Marianthus

Aubrey tilted his head back, looking up at Ruthven, still behind him. "What are you talking about?"

Elisabeth looked ready to cry.

François gaped. "Wait, what—you really are the Consort?"

Ruthven sighed and looked down at Aubrey. "Five dukes, goes the legend, who chose to defend their tsar at the cost of their own lives, simply so that he could murder all his people." His eyes flashed. "To hell with that. I have been alive for more than two hundred years, and I still do not believe my people are so despicable we deserve to be destroyed. Are humans any better? I've seen humans do much worse than drink blood, yet no one wants to wipe them out. But I suppose we vampires were the only ones who could have. Who knows, if animals were able to speak with us, maybe they would wish for humans to vanish, but I don't think completely annihilating any species or race is ever an acceptable solution."

Aubrey reached up to touch his cheek, wishing he knew how to banish the misery etched into Ruthven's face, the anguish and anger that filled his eyes. "Ruthven."

Strangely, Ruthven seemed startled by the touch. He reached up to capture Aubrey's hand, as though afraid Aubrey would change his mind and withdrew. He kissed the palm, then continued speaking.

"Abraham told us his decision that night over dinner, and could not understand why we were so angry. He was so lost in his own self-loathing and the church's brainwashing that he truly believed we'd blindly follow him even into death—into genocide.

"But unlike him, we were not ashamed of what we were. We spent more time in the real world than he, tending to the problems across the country while he stayed in his castle and let his damnable priests convince him to be ashamed of himself, that only death would save his soul."

Ruthven's lip curled in contempt. "I was his lover, but when we became lovers, he was a completely different person. By the time he decided to save all vampires by killing them, we had already grown apart, and I was not terribly sorry for it."

"I cannot believe you're more than two hundred years old," Aubrey murmured. "How is that possible?"

"Why do humans live such short lives?" Ruthven shrugged. "Why do some creatures live for years, others for days? It's the way we are made. Vampires do not procreate easily, but we live a long time. Our longevity was just more thing used to convince Abraham we were abominations."

Ruthven sighed, looking down at Aubrey again. "After he told us what he intended, we tried to talk him out of it. He was angry with us for arguing, more angry than I'd ever seen him. He ordered us put in the dungeons so we could not thwart his plans. But he could not resist coming to see me one last time. I convinced him I had changed my mind, that I would rather die with him than live without him, that we'd be together in the next life for having the courage to do what is right.

"We went to his bedroom after I convinced him we should have one last night together. Once we were alone and I had him distracted in bed, I fed on him. I only meant to weaken him, since at full strength he was too strong for me to overcome, but anger and fear got the better of me and I went too far." He reached up and touched the outer corner of one eye. "That's why my eyes look this way."

"They're like that because you killed him?" Aubrey asked.

"Because I fed upon one of my own," Ruthven said. "It's essentially cannibalism, after all. I took his blood, his life, and gained all his power in addition to what I already possessed. No vampire that knew my eyes would have anything to do with me, save those four who stood with me and knew my intentions that night."

Aubrey freed his hand and sat up just enough to turn around in his seat, frowning in confusion. "They're dead now, though, right? The other dukes?"

Ruthven's mouth quirked. "Hardly. After I killed Abraham, Tepes assumed control, and while it was too late to be what we had been, we arranged for vampires to become Pets. Shortly thereafter, the five of us escaped and did our best to ensure we were forgotten. We have traveled since, always keeping an eye on our people, ensuring they are as well as can be."

"So there are four more vampires like you out there somewhere?" Aubrey asked.

"Yes, Master."

"I can't believe it," François said, voice faint as he stared at Ruthven. "You really are the Consort."

"I told you," Elisabeth said, tossing her head and jutting her chin out.

François rolled his eyes, but then nodded in acknowledgement. "What a day and night this has been." He scrubbed at his face, then took hold of Gilles's hand once more. "So what, one of these other vampires is going to serve as Carmilla's escort?"

"Yes. His name is Varney, and he lives with his Mistress not too far from here. He will be more than adequate protection, and can teach her more about being a vampire while also showing her the world."

Sangre snorted. "If you think I am letting my daughter roam about the world with a vampire who is probably at least as wily as you… I have more sense than that, thank you."

Ruthven gave a small grin. "I promise his owner, Lady Bannerworth, will provide a suitable chaperone. Is that your only objection?"

"Definitely not," Sangre said darkly.

"Oh, please, Papa," Carmilla pleaded. "Ruthven would never do anything to hurt Aubrey, which means he would never harm me. Look at all he's done for us. Pretty please?"

Sangre heaved an aggrieved sigh.

"I think she will be safe enough, my love," Elisabeth said, smiling at Carmilla, then looking up at Sangre. "Come now, you are hardly one to moralize."

"I damn well am when it's my daughter," Sangre growled, but sat back in defeat. "Fine, summon your friend. But if he does not meet with my approval, this ridiculous affair will be called off immediately." He gave Ruthven a look. "You are a born troublemaker."

Ruthven smiled. "So I oft am told, though this is the most trouble I've caused in decades."

Aubrey shook his head. "You cannot truly be two centuries old. It makes even less sense that you are here; I do not believe for a moment that Gilles picked you out. Why are you here?"

The levity on Ruthven's face faded, replaced by a terrible sadness. "A little over a decade ago, I heard rumors about three people who were making great gains in the freeing of Pets. We dared not let it happen, not yet, and so I set out to persuade the three to quiet their efforts. I wanted to explain to them why we had done what we had, and why it should remain so, at least for the time being."

He looked at Sangre. "I got here too late, however. The day of my arrival, a funeral was taking place for two of the three with whom I'd wanted to speak."

Sangre's eyes widened. "I remember you offering your condolences. You said you were a supporter who had only recently arrived in town and was sorry to have arrived at so awful a time. I can't believe I forgot all about that."

"That seems to happen a lot around Ruthven," Aubrey muttered.

Ruthven met Aubrey's gaze. "I swear it was only to protect him and myself. I have been alive a long time, and done things in that time that will never cease to haunt me. Abraham was not the only vampire I killed, nor the only one I fed upon. There will probably be others, for it is my duty to help control the Pets until three hundred years have passed and the arrangement can be renegotiated. Until we think enough time has passed that we can live safely again, without fear of genocide ever again being a possibility."

He turned to Aubrey. "That day, after I spoke with your father, I saw you. You were a sweet child, Brey." He smirked. "I guess the temper came later."

"Che," Sangre said, and laughed briefly when Aubrey glared at him.

"You made me smile, and that was something I had not done in more years than I cared to count. I left a few days later, but always kept tabs on your family. More than once, during my work, I saw you in a bookshop, or a café, or racing down the street to your classes." He smiled. "When I learned by chance, checking on the Pets still waiting to be purchased, that someone was seeking a Pet for you, I could not resist inserting myself and ensuring I was the one purchased. Every time I saw you, I woke just a little bit more. It's good to feel alive again, and you alone are the reason for that."

Aubrey could only stare.

"I think he's redder than your hair, Carrot," Gilles drawled.

"You be quiet," Aubrey hissed, turning redder still.

Sangre glowered. "If your friend is even half so smooth a talker, Carmilla is going nowhere."

Carmilla rolled her eyes, then giggled at Aubrey.

Swallowing, Aubrey finally managed, "You really should stop calling me 'master.' I think everyone here can agree how pointless and absurd it is for you to continue doing so—especially since I never wanted you to in the first place."

"You are my master, freely chosen," Ruthven said, and kissed him briefly. "Are there any more questions, or may I be allowed to put the past back where it belongs?"

"What are these powers you keep mentioning?" Sangre asked.

Ruthven grimaced. "Many and varied, and I seldom bother to use them anymore. I can manipulate minds, to some degree. The way I transferred blood from Aubrey to Gilles is not something most vampires can do—it is harder than you might think. There are other things, most of them listed in the various myths. Using them requires a great deal of energy, and the only way to restore it is to rest deeply—which you have seen me do twice now—or drink vast quantities of blood."

"We are definitely having a discussion about this 'manipulate minds' later," Aubrey muttered.

"Yes, Master," Ruthven replied, smirking.

Aubrey made a face at him, then turned around and dropped back down into his seat. "So I have a two hundred year old vampire with magic powers for a Pet. Gilles, you are never allowed to pick out Pets again."

"Apparently I did not pick him," Gilles said dryly. "Tell your Pet to stay out of my head."

"Where do vampire powers come from?" Stregoni asked. "Are you born with them? You said you gained some when you killed Abraham…"

Ruthven shrugged. "Some of us are born with them, but not many. Most of those who did possess powers are long dead, and any who remain are smart enough to hide them. They can transfer when one vampire cannibalizes another, but it's not a process we ever scientifically figured out. Now we likely never will, at least not until vampires are free again."

"Intriguing," Sangre said pensively, then shook his head. "It is a matter for another day, however. At the moment, it is nearly three in the morning. I think it's long past time we all found our beds."

Stregoni yawned. "It sounds a fine plan to me. Anything requiring thought can wait until the morning."

François rose and offered a hand first to Stregoni, and then to Gilles. They nodded goodnight to the others and walked out with hands tangled together.

Sangre held his arm out to Elisabeth, who gathered up her skirts and reached up to kiss his cheek. "Come, Carmilla, we will walk you to your room." He slowed as they passed Aubrey and Ruthven. "Thank you, Ruthven, for everything."

"It's been an honor to assist, my lord," Ruthven said, bowing his head.

"Good night to you both."

Aubrey smiled faintly. "Good night, Father. Milla, Elisabeth, pleasant dreams."

A moment later he was left alone in the parlor with Ruthven. Yawning, he leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the lingering scent of forget-me-nots that permeated the place, probably the remnants of someone's perfume.

He opened his eyes as a weight settled on him. He looked down to see Ruthven's head in his lap, looking weary and somewhat sad. "I'm sorry we pressed you," he said quietly. "I guess I should learn to keep my nosiness to myself."

Ruthven moved in a way that suggested he was trying to shrug. "It would have come up eventually, I'm sure."

"So you'll be young when I get old?" Aubrey asked.

"I'd prefer to save that discussion for another time," Ruthven replied, "if you don't mind."

"Of course," Aubrey said, yawning again. "I really don't want to think about anything, least of all the fact that I seem to be attached to a vampire who is over two hundred years old. It's incomprehensible."

Ruthven looked up, dark eyes as unfathomable as ever. "Is it really so awful, being attached to me?"

"I never said you were awful," Aubrey snapped.

"Not in so many words. If I am a trial, I will go…"

"Of course you're a trial," Aubrey said, tugging at Ruthven's hair in irritation. "You play at being submissive and it drives me crazy. You call me your master even though we both know I'm not. You're impertinent and bold and far too clever for anyone's peace of mind, least of all mine—" He coughed, throat suddenly going tight. "Of course you're a trial, and you thrill at being so. But the idea of you leaving is unbearable, so I guess I shall simply have to learn to deal with you."

Ruthven lowered his lashes and looked up through them, the submissive gesture completely ruined by the satisfied smirk on his face. "I'm certain, Master, that I could find ways to make my presence more bearable."

"I've no doubt you could," Aubrey muttered, refusing to look at him and give in. "You're such a brat."

Soft laughter washed over his cheek, tickled his ear, and Aubrey turned back to make it stop, even knowing what was coming—and could not muster even a token protest as Ruthven kissed him. Instead, he sank his hand into Ruthven's hair, holding tightly and giving back as good as he got.

"I still don't understand why you call me master, of all people," he said when they finally broke apart, unable to reconcile all he'd learned about Ruthven with the fact that Ruthven so obviously wanted him.

Ruthven scraped his teeth across Aubrey's throat, making his shudder. "I killed my lover to save my people and now bear a stigma that will stay with me until I die," Ruthven said. "I survived that night, but felt as though I were dead. Something about you made me feel like living again, Master. "

Aubrey yelped in surprise when Ruthven grabbed him and pulled him down to the floor.

"Though, it does not hurt that you take so well to being fed upon. You are well-suited, master, to a vampire's embrace."

"Whatever," Aubrey muttered, grabbing the lapels of Ruthven's jacket. "I really don't care about any embrace but yours, so shut up already, unless you really want to keep talking."

"I live to serve, Master," Ruthven said, and did not give Aubrey a chance to voice his scathing reply.