you not? After all, you chose to live with your mother’s estranged brother
rather than with Lawrence.”
“I didn’t choose anything! We
were fighting the adoption. I did not want to live with Charles Force and his family?”
“So you say.”
“Why on earth would I want to
kill my grandfather?” she practically shouted. This was insane. A kangaroo court, a
charade, a travesty. There was no justice to be served here.
“Perhaps you did not mean to
kill him. Perhaps, as you told us earlier, it was an accident.”
The Inquisitor smiled, looking
like a shark. Schuyler slumped in her seat, defeated. For whatever reasons, the Inquisitor did
not believe her story, and it was clear the remaining members of the Conclave would not either.
The hidden Silver Blood among their ranks had been discovered, Nan Cutler had perished in the
Almeida fire. The Conclave believed that, at least. They had accepted it. Forsyth Llewellyn had
been the victim of Warden Cutler’s betrayal and had borne witness.
But the ruling body did not
want to accept the reality of Leviathan’s return. It was one thing to accept the testimony of a
fellow Elder, and another thing to take the word of a half-blood. They would rather believe
Schuyler had deliberately killed Lawrence than that a demon stalked the earth once
more.
There were no other witnesses
to back her up except for Oliver, and the testimony of human Conduits was inadmissible in a
Committee investigation. Humans simply didn’t count, when it came down to it. So the night before
the Conclave cast judgment and decided what to do with her, she and Oliver fled the
country.
SEVEN
Schuyler
It was ten o’clock in the
evening, and the first guests were arriving at the landing. As befitting the Oriental theme, a
platoon of authentic Chinese junks rented for the party made a stately procession up the river,
banners flying the crests of the Great Houses of Europe. Hapsburg. Bourbon. Savoy.
Liechtenstein. Saxe-Coburg.
Blue Bloods that had
remained in the Old Country in favor of seeking a new home across the ocean. Schuyler
stood sentry with the army of servers lined up against the stone wall, just another faceless
drone, or so she hoped. Each of them carried a different libation: there were pink cosmopolitans
in martini glasses, goblets of the finest Burgundy and Bordeaux from the hostess’s vineyards in Montrachet , sparkling water with lemon slices for teetotalers. She carried a heavy
tray of champagne flutes, bubbles clustered at the lip, golden and bright.
She could hear the crack-thump
of the wind whipping against the multiple sails. Some were decorated as dragon boats, complete
with gold-plated scales and luminescent emerald eyes at the bow. Some were kitted out as warships
with brightly colored “cannons” poking out of the stern. A grand imperial parade, at once
indulgent and beautiful. She noticed something else as well, the crests on the banners
were moving, changing with the light, transforming in a fluid dance of form and color.
“Do you see that?” She turned
to the girl standing next to her.
“See what? A bunch of rich
people in some stupid boats?” the waitress cracked, looking at her dubiously. Only then did
Schuyler realize that the flashing symbols were visible only to those with the vampire sight.
They were Blue Blood sigils, from the Sacred Language.
She had almost given herself
away, but thankfully no one had noticed. Her lip quivered, and she could feel her body tense as
the guests walked down the dock and approached the waiters. What if someone recognized her? What
if someone from the New York Coven were at the party? What then? It was madness to think she and
Oliver could get away with this. There were sure to be Venators here, weren’t there?
If any of the Blue Bloods
recognized her before she was able to make her case to the countess, she wouldn’t have a chance
in the