Radu sighed. “Sit,” he commanded. “I’ll have something brought. If Chef hears that you were prowling around his space tomorrow, I shudder to think of the consequences.”

“If he’s one of Mircea’s stable, surely you can order him to—”

“Of course he isn’t,” Radu said, tugging on an old-fashioned bellpull on the far side of the fireplace. “Have you ever heard of a vampire chef?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Nor will you. Death, you know,” he said archly, as a mirror shattered somewhere above. “Ruins the taste buds.”

“But you eat, occasionally anyway, and Mircea—”

“I’m second level, Dory, and your father is a step above me. With power comes certain advantages, but do you really think the world’s handful of upper-level masters have nothing better to do than braise a leg of lamb? That’s what we were supposed to have tomorrow, by the way, with homegrown rosemary, but who knows what we’ll get now. Chef threw it out after The Pear Incident.”

I waited while a servant came in and received instructions. Somewhere in the distance, it sounded like an entire china cabinet had been pushed down a flight of stairs. After the man left, I glanced at Radu. “What, exactly, is Louis-Cesare’s problem?”

“Which one?” I raised an eyebrow; apparently Radu hadn’t forgiven his son for the scene at dinner. Suddenly, a speculative gleam lit his eyes. It made me nervous. “He tends to be very protective of women,” he said thoughtfully. “You’re a woman, Dory.”

“Thank you for pointing that out. But I didn’t think dhampirs qualified.”

The ceiling shook, so hard that some of the plaster cracked and fell down in small chunks. Radu smirked. “It appears you’ve been upgraded.” I moved my chair slightly, to avoid being directly beneath the large, swaying chandelier, and looked up to see him regarding me with that same disquieting look. “Perhaps he’ll finally stop blaming himself over that girl,” he mused.

I knew I’d regret it, but I asked anyway. “What girl?”

“Christine, the perpetually tragic.” Radu threw a new log on the embers, apparently solely for the chance to stab viciously at it with a poker. He saw my expression. “You haven’t heard the tale?”

“Should I have?”

“Not really. It’s long and extremely depressing. Suffice it to say that, centuries ago, Louis-Cesare brought her over in order to save her life. She had been tortured because of him and he felt responsible. But he never stopped to consider that she was an ardent Catholic, and moreover one who believed the old stories about us. She thought the change had damned her, and informed him once she rose that she would have preferred a true death.”

“So he killed her?”

Radu rolled his eyes. “If only!” he said fervently. He saw my expression and grimaced. “Don’t give me that look—you haven’t met her. The woman is impossible, always in some trouble or other. Most recently, she was kidnapped by Alejandro.” Radu said it like I should know the name. “The leader of the Latin American Senate,” he added impatiently when I looked clueless.

“So why is Louis-Cesare here, instead of off rescuing her?”

“Because no one knows where she is, of course!” Radu looked at me suspiciously. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“No, I just can’t imagine the family swallowing an insult like that.”

“You simplify everything,” Radu said crossly. “Not every problem can be solved by whacking it with a stick!”

“No, just nine out of ten.”

Radu visibly restrained himself. “An underling of Alejandro’s, a vampire named Tomas, challenged him,” he explained with exaggerated patience. “Alejandro wanted Louis-Cesare to be his champion. But the rumors about that court—it’s disgraceful.”

I didn’t need to ask what he meant this time. It was infamous for sadism, even among vamps. “I take it Louis-Cesare refused?”

Radu nodded. “He told him that part of the purpose of a challenge was to weed out incompetent, cruel or insane masters—and that if he couldn’t fight his own battles, he didn’t deserve his position.”

I winced. Diplomacy didn’t seem to be Louis-Cesare’s strong suit. “So Alejandro kidnapped Christine to make it his battle,” I guessed. “Fairly standard.”

“It is too bad you weren’t there to warn him at the time,” Radu said acerbically. “In any case, Louis-Cesare defeated Tomas, but refused to kill him, as the man had done nothing wrong. So Alejandro refused to release Christine, claiming that he had stipulated to let her go only when the threat was gone, and that as long as Tomas lived, the threat remained.”

“And the Senate couldn’t intervene on his behalf,” I reasoned. Agreements between masters were rarely challenged by the Senates, especially if the two involved were members of different Senatorial bodies. It was too easy to have a personal quarrel escalate into war.

“Which is why this has dragged on for so long.”

“How long?”

Radu flipped a hand. “Oh, a century.” I stared while he went blithely on. “And ever since she was taken, Louis-Cesare hasn’t been the same. He knows she may be suffering, and he feels responsible for it—twice over, in fact. He’s become extremely morose about the whole thing.”

“Radu! The woman was tortured, forced to join the undead and kidnapped, all because of him. Has it occurred to you that maybe he has something to feel guilty about?”

“You sound just like him!” Radu said irritably. “He didn’t torture her; the Black Circle did.”

I blinked. “Come again?”

“They were trying to steal power, as usual. She was an untrained witch, you see, before the change. Very powerful magically, but her faith ensured that she wouldn’t accept it. Any manifestations were ignored, or put down to the devil’s work.” Radu shook his head. “It was only a matter of time before the dark found her.”

“Louis-Cesare said you rescued him from some dark mages once. I assume we’re talking about the same group?”

Radu looked annoyed. “He shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I promised Mircea not to have any contact with him.”

“Because of that time thing,” I guessed.

“What time thing?”

“The one I’d know about if I kept up with the family.”

“Oh, yes, exactly. But then, when no one could find him . . . well, what was I supposed to do? Leave him to be tortured to death every night? Anyway, don’t mention this to your father. Mircea doesn’t need to know everything.”

Amen to that. “Did you really bring down the roof?”

Radu ignored the question with aristocratic disdain. “As I was saying, Christine has had several hundred years to recognize that we aren’t monsters. I explained to her myself that vampirism is a disease. She doesn’t blame weres for transforming into slavering beasts on a regular basis, but she continues to view us as just above Satan himself. It’s insulting.”

“Maybe weres haven’t screwed up her life,” I commented, flinching at the sound of glass breaking somewhere above us.

“The point is, he doesn’t allow himself to get close to anyone anymore. It isn’t healthy!” Radu pronounced, as if he were the poster child for mental health himself.

He started pacing, the hem of his elaborate teal dressing gown swirling around his agitated feet. He looked like a man at the end of his rope and I made a brilliant deduction. “There’s more than Louis-Cesare’s issues troubling you.”

Radu shot me a less-than-fond look. “My brother is trying to kill me—again—and in order to prevent that, I’ll likely have to kill him instead. My well-ordered house has been disrupted by some extremely strange, not to mention violent, creatures, and my chef is absolutely livid about—”

“The Pear Incident. Yes, I know.” I looked at him narrowly. Something about that list worried me. “You said you had no problem with killing Drac. You agreed with me that it was the smartest course. You aren’t getting soft on me, are you, ’Du?”

It worried me that he didn’t immediately respond. He had come to rest by the mantel, but wasn’t staring at the fire. The portrait above it seemed to have riveted his attention instead. The new log popped and sparked in the silence, while the old one slowly crumbled to a soft redness beneath.

“I was eight,” he finally said, “when we first became hostages. Vlad was thirteen.”

“Radu! Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental.” I couldn’t believe he was doing this. “He tried to kill you. Repeatedly!”

“It isn’t sentiment,” Radu insisted, gazing at the still-vibrant colors of the portrait. “Nor some rusty conscience stirring to life. I never really had much of one, you know. Even before the change.”

“What, then?”

He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Why do you think I have this painting, Dory?”

“Well, he was your lover. I suppose—”

He laughed, but it was harsh. “We were never lovers. At least, there was no love involved in anything we did.” He fiddled with some of the ornaments along the mantel, as if his hands needed something to do. “As a prince, Mehmed had a map, showing not only the Turkish lands but all of Europe, too. He told me that there was destined to be only one empire in the word, one faith and one king. It was the belief that I could forward his ambitions that attracted him to me. There were dozens of handsome oghlanlari at court—royal pages—who were better-looking than I. They chose them as much for appearance as ability, whatever they said. And none of them ever took a sword to him.”

“You attacked the sultan and lived?” I grinned.