Shatter the Earth (Cassandra Palmer 10)

“That’s politics.”

She blinked at that, why I didn’t know. She’d grown up at court. She must have known that everything a Pythia did was political, whether she meant it to be or not. People would make it that way, trying to spin it for their advantage.

Or maybe that’s why Agnes had kept her in the nursery, to shield her from all that.

Thanks, Agnes, I thought. Thanks a lot.

“It didn’t go well,” I said, after a moment. “But then I ended up dating Pritkin anyway, although Jonas was less than completely happy there. The war mage he sent me was a good little Corpsman who would have put the needs of the Circle first. Pritkin . . . he’s not too sure about. But it’s better him than a vampire, so . . .”

“It’s not any of his business!” Rhea said. “It’s not any of their business!”

“No, but that’s how it is when you’re Pythia. That’s how it was for your mother. Every group is trying to tug you this way or that, to get influence, or a favorable ruling, or whatever it is they want from you, and there’s always something. God forbid you should have a life of your own.

“But Agnes made one for herself anyway, one that included Jonas—and you.”

Rhea got up because it had started to rain outside, and the window had been left half open, tossing the sheers around. And sending a light sprinkling of water over the bed whenever the wind blew just right. She pulled the sash down and closed the drapes, taking her time, pretending to be busy when what she really wanted was to think.

I didn’t mind.

She finally came back over to the bed, and started spreading out the blankets she’d taken from the wardrobe, because the room was chilly. “That’s why Mage Pritkin doesn’t live at court,” she said slowly, as if puzzling it out. “And why you haven’t made any formal declaration about him or the vampire.”

“Lord Mircea,” I said gently, because if she got into the habit of speaking about him any other way at court, it wasn’t going to go down well. The vamps who were with me were all emancipated, and could do as they liked. But once upon a time they’d been Mircea’s boys.

And once in a vamp family, always in a vamp family.

Emancipation just meant that you didn’t take direct orders anymore. It did not mean that you put up with anybody disrespecting the boss. Especially a boss like Mircea, who had always been very good to his family.

“Lord Mircea,” Rhea agreed. She finished making the bed, and sat down on it again, her forehead creased. “You are playing a game, too, aren’t you?” she said.

“Am I?” I watched lamplight flicker on the ceiling.

“You’re allowing everyone to believe what they want about your private life, and tell themselves whatever story they want to hear. The vampires believe you’re with Lord Mircea. You bear his mark, and his people help to guard your court. But you let the mages believe that you’re with Mage Pritkin—”

“Because I am, in fact, with Mage Pritkin.”

“But on your terms. He isn’t influencing you; he’s helping you. He is loyal to you, and not Jonas.”

“He’s loyal to the Corps, too, just not blindly.”

Rhea was quiet for a moment, as if thinking that over. “What happens when they figure it out?” she finally asked. “When people realize what you’re doing? What happens if . . . if you have a child?”

“Figure out what?” I said, dodging the harder question. “I’m a flighty young woman who dates around. Who knows who I’ll be with next?”

“That’s not true.”

“It is as far as they know. Caedmon, the fey king, haunts my court, although I don’t know if he’s looking for a new wife, or whether he’s got some kind of other plan. I can’t read him. And one of the big Were chieftains sent me a freshly slaughtered deer that he took down himself. Apparently, that counts as flirting.”

“I know.” Rhea wrinkled up her nose. “I was there when it was delivered. It was awful. They hadn’t cleaned it, or even skinned the carcass. Or taken the head off! It was lolling with its tongue sticking out, and its eyes—” she shuddered.

I decided not to tell her what was in the sage sausage that Tami had served that morning.

“I know it won’t work as an excuse forever,” I said instead. “But it works for right now.”

“And the other?” she persisted. “What would you do with a child?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“I know what you wouldn’t do,” she said. “You wouldn’t send her away. You wouldn’t bring her back only to save your lover’s reputation. You wouldn’t treat her like a mistake you didn’t want, hide her from the world, give her a different name and pretend she didn’t—”