I sank my teeth into his throat and tasted the poison in his blood as soon as it flowed into me, my body destroying the poison, my body consuming his blood effortlessly, as it might have consumed a dozen such young ones, and into my mind there came the visions of his childhood¡ªof the Russian monastery where he had painted his flawless ikons, of the cold chambers in which he'd lived.
I saw monks half walled up alive as they fasted, eating only what would sustain them. I smelled the earth. I smelled decay. Oh, how ghastly was this passage to salvation. And he had been part of it, half in love with the sacrificial cells and their starving inhabitants, save for his gift: that he could paint.
Then for one instant I saw nothing but his paintings, one image tumbling upon another, rapt faces of Christ, the Virgin¡ªI saw the halos studded with costly jewels. Ah, such riches in the dark, cheerless monastery. And then came the rich bawdy laughter of his father, wanting him to leave the monastery, to ride out with him into the grasslands where the Tatars rode.
Prince Michael, their ruler, wanted to send Amadeo's father into the grasslands. It was a foolish mission. The monks railed against it, that Amadeo's father would take him into such danger. The monks wrapped the ikon and gave it to Amadeo. Out of the darkness and bitter earth of the monastery, Amadeo came into the light.
I stopped; I drew back from the blood and the visions. I knew him. I knew the relentless and hopeless darkness inside of him. I knew the life that had been forecast in hunger and bitter discipline.
I cut the flesh of my throat and I held his head near me. "Drink," I said. I pushed his head forward. "Put your mouth to the wound. Drink. "
At last, he obeyed me, and suddenly with all his force he drew on the blood. Had he not tasted it enough to crave it? And now it came without measure, and he was passionate for it, and I closed my eyes, and felt an exquisite sweetness that I had not known since the long ago night when I had given my blood to my blessed Zenobia to make her all the more strong.
"Be my child, Amadeo," I whispered in this sweetness. "Be my child forever," I said. "Have I ever loved anyone more than you?"
I drew him back away from the wound, and as he cried out I sank my teeth into his throat again. This time it was my blood mingled with his that flowed into me. The poison was no more.
Again, I saw the ikons. I saw the dim corridors of the monastery, and then in the falling snow, I saw the two on their horses, Amadeo and his father. Amadeo held the ikon, and the priest ran beside him, telling him that he must place the ikon in a tree, that the Tatars would find it and count it as a miracle, and Amadeo, how innocent he looked to be such a bold rider, to be chosen to ride with his father for Prince Michael's mission, as the snow came down heavily, as his hair was whipped by the wind.
And so it was your undoing. Turn your back on it now. You have seen it for what it was. Look to the fabulous painting on the wall, Amadeo. Look to the riches which I have given you. Look to the glory and virtue which lie in beauty as varied and magnificent as what you see here.
I let loose of him. He gazed at the painting. I pressed his lips to my throat again.
"Drink," I said. But he needed no counsel. He held fast to me. He knew the blood, as I knew him.
How many times did we do it, the passing of blood from one to the other? I know not. I know only that never having done it completely since that long ago night in the Druid grove, I trusted to nothing, and made of him the strongest fledgling that I could.
And as he drank from me, I gave him my lessons, my secrets. I told him of the gifts that might one night come to him. I told him pf my long ago love for Pandora. I told him of Zenobia, of Avicus, of Mael. I told him all but the final secret. That I kept from him.
Oh, thank the gods that I kept it. I kept it close in my heart!
Well before morning it was finished. His skin was wondrously pale, and his dark eyes fiercely bright. I ran my fingers through his auburn hair. Once again, he smiled at me so knowingly, with such a quiet air of triumph.
"It's complete now, Master," he said, as if he were speaking to a child.
And toget
her we walked back to the bedchamber where he put on his handsome velvets, and we went out to hunt.
I taught him how to find his victims, to use the Mind Gift to make certain that they were Evil Doers, and I also remained with him through the few hours of his mortal Death.
His powers were very simply enormous. It would not be long before he could use the Cloud Gift; and I could not find a test to outdo his strength. He could not only read the minds of mortals, he could make spells as well.
His mind, quite naturally, was closed to me, though this was still something I did not completely accept. Of course it had happened with Pandora, yet I hoped that it would not happen with Amadeo and only reluctantly explained it to him.
Now I must read his facial expressions, his gestures, the depth of his secretive and faintly cruel brown eyes.
Never had he been more beautiful, of course.
And having done all this, I took him with me to my very grave, as one says, to the gilded room of the two stone sarcophagi which awaited us, and I showed him how he must sleep by day.
It didn't frighten him. Indeed, nothing frightened him.
" What of your dreams now, Amadeo?" I asked him as I held him in my arms. "What of your priests and the distant glass city?"
"Master, I've reached paradise," he answered. "What has Venice in all her beauty been to me but a prelude for the Blood?"
As I had done a thousand times, I gave him the Blood Kiss and he received it and then drew back smiling.