Nightmaster

“Is it afternoon?” Trinity asked, glancing up at the ceiling as if she might see the sky.

“We keep clocks in the Household to remind us and help us keep to our routines.” He looked her over appraisingly. “Are you ready? Ares said he’d wait if you needed more time.”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” she said. “But I’m not afraid.”

Daniel’s eyes warmed slightly. “Ares chose you for more than just your looks.” He gestured toward the door. “Come with me.”

Keenly aware of her naked skin under the gown, Trinity followed Daniel through another series of corridors to a curved staircase ascending to the main floor. At the top of the stairs, a plain door opened onto a hall that could have been the throne room of a palace, elegant and imposing.

Daniel escorted Trinity between stately Grecian columns to a set of double doors. Behind the doors was an antechamber, one wall decorated in the style of ancient Athenian vase paintings. Yet another door, carved with images of ancient warriors in battle, stood at the end.

Daniel touched a panel to the right of the door. Beyond was a room unlike anything Trinity had ever seen. It stretched out in a vast semicircle, a huge, shuttered window taking up half of the curved wall at the back. The floor was strewn with embroidered cushions, and couches from many historical periods were scattered in groups around the room.

On the other half of the back wall hung nearly a dozen paintings, some of which Trinity recognized as well-known masterpieces lost in the War. Sculptures, most in the Greek and Roman style, stood on stands or in wall niches, interspersed with several shelves of old-fashioned books.

“Philosopher,” Palemon had called Ares. But what kind of philosopher? How much of this was for show to his fellow Nightsiders? “The Great Room,” Daniel said, unaware of her musings. He pointed to an arched entryway to the left. “That door leads to the harem chambers, unoccupied at the moment. That door—” he swept his hand toward the opposite side of the room “—leads to Ares’s personal suite. Cassandra lives in rooms adjoining his, but with a separate entrance from the antechamber.”

“I was told she’s been his Favorite for three years,” Trinity said, feeling breathless.

“Yes,” Daniel said, his face turning cold. “Perhaps she won’t retain her place for long.”

He doesn’t like Cassandra, Trinity thought. “Does Ares intend to make me his Favorite?” she asked.

“That’s not for me to know. He has seemed content with Cassandra, taking her blood about once a day.” He met her gaze. “If you feel any gratitude toward him, encourage him to take yours.”

“I am grateful,” she said. “Did he save you, too?”

Daniel look startled, as if she’d read his mind. “That’s unimportant,” he said, gesturing toward the door to Ares’s suite. “Go right in. The master’s waiting.”

He retreated through the doors to the antechamber, leaving Trinity alone. She hesitated, staring at the door to the suite. This was not the time to lose her nerve. She was where she needed to be.

Lifting her head, she walked to the door. She caught Ares’s scent, clean and masculine, but the room she entered was empty.

Once again she paused to get her bearings. His suite was just as comfortably appointed as the Great Room, if a little less elaborate in decoration. It had three interior doors, and one was open. More bookshelves lined the walls. A large desk stood to one side of the room, with a computer monitor facing a padded leather chair. A seventeenth-century map of the world hung behind it, and the dark wood and furnishings made it feel like a Victorian gentleman’s office, his private domain in a world run by servants and women.

All so very “human,” Trinity thought.

She looked to see if anyone was watching and went to the desk. The computer wasn’t on, and Trinity assumed it was seldom used. The internet was a thing of the past, at least in a worldwide sense, but both humans and Opiri still kept electronic data and records. If she could get into those records in Erebus...

“Trinity.”

A chill slid down Trinity’s spine. Ares hadn’t seen her yet, but he didn’t have to. Just as she hadn’t needed to see him to know he was there. Like her, he had other heightened senses at his command.

“I’m here,” she said.

“Come in.”

She followed the sound of his voice through the door farthest to the right. The first thing she saw was the bed, easily large enough to accommodate four people, heaped with pillows and covered with a spread embroidered with a nearly perfect reproduction of the famous Bayeux tapestry. A huge Persian carpet stretched across the floor.

The rest of the room was surprisingly spartan. Ares sat in a chair to the right of the bed, next to a small table set with a plate of delicacies, two glasses and a bottle of wine.

Wine was almost impossible to get in the Enclave. The Nightsiders had taken over most of the vineyards, and living on blood didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy some human food and drink.

For a moment, Trinity felt only anger and disgust for what Ares’s kind had stolen from humanity. She stopped just inside the door, and his gaze swept over her with seeming indifference.

“Abbie should not have dressed you this way,” he said in the Opir language. “I brought you here to talk, not to serve me in bed.”

Trinity had thought she was ready. But now, enduring his intense inspection, she found herself trembling.

And oddly disappointed.

“Are you afraid?” Ares asked, his voice almost gentle.

“Do I look afraid?” she asked in the same language.

“That’s better,” Ares said with a slight smile. He gestured to the thickly upholstered chair on the other side of the table. “Sit.”

She glided toward him, lifting her skirts to lengthen her stride. She took the chair, feeling the silk tighten across her breasts and thighs. Ares seemed not to notice as he filled both glasses with wine.

“A very good year,” he remarked, offering her one of the goblets. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Can I refuse?”

“You have that choice,” he said. He sipped from his glass, and then set it down. “For the time being, I want to know more about my newly acquired property.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer to start by tasting it? Isn’t that why I’m here?”

He leaned back, steepling his fingers under his chin. “What did you do in the Enclave? You speak our language fluently, and you apparently know some history. Tell me.”

Trinity could hardly believe he was genuinely interested in hearing about her work or her past. In fact, her background story was not entirely concocted. She had studied languages and history as her specialty at the Academy, and she was grateful she wouldn’t have to fake it.

“I was one of the lucky citizens to be chosen for an advanced education,” she said quietly. “I learned ancient Greek, Latin and modern languages. And Opir, of course.”

“As I see. You have very little accent. Our tongue is not easy to master.”

“Because it’s a mishmash of ancient languages,” she said, leaning toward him. “Greek, Latin, Babylonian and various ancient Indo-European languages we have yet to decipher.”

“A mishmash,” he said drily. “I am certain our own experts in human languages would find that description less than amusing, especially because they believe all ancient human languages derive from ours.”

She held his gaze. “Did I offend you?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want your opinion.”

“Why would the opinion of a serf matter to you?”

He smiled slightly, and she felt a deeper stirring of interest that went well beyond helpless sexual attraction. He was treating her almost as an equal, and she doubted that this was his ordinary way of dealing with new serfs.

“You intrigue me,” he said. “You’re clearly intelligent, and your spirit has not been broken by your deportation from your city.”