Embrace Ch. 06

"Congratulations, sir, you were right," Amelia says with a sheepish smile. "Apparently, my days in Vienna are numbered."

"Indeed." He kindly offers her his left arm, and she follows him around the block to a soup kitchen. In between two buildings is the narrow gate they exited the Labyrinth from last night.

They avoid the more crowded tunnels and no one pays them any mind but for one elderly looking toreador gentleman. Amelia nods politely to him as they pass, and he returns the courtesy. Once they have passed through several gates and are safe from prying eyes the librarian questions her thoroughly and she answers as truthfully as she dares. Eleanor was angry Amelia lied and punished her for it. And now Amelia must prove herself or face banishment.

"Understand," the librarian says, "that as things are, your honesty and insight are a most precious commodity. Understand that outside the ventrue clan, a month, a week of tutelage as you put it, is more than enough. Then tell me what purpose this vainglorious tradition serves? Do you plan to go along with it?"

"Sir, I cannot answer that question tonight. I can only beg for shelter and the blood I need to heal myself."

"You're wearing nothing but rags." He says indignantly. He snaps his fingers and Maggot shuffles from behind a stack holding a bundle of newspapers. "Go and find the girl some clothes, Maggot. Hurry please."

Amelia flashes him a grateful smile as he disappears. She sits at the same little table as before.

"I'll gladly earn my keep so long as I'm allowed to stay," she says. "I can't pretend I'm not devastated. I really thought... I don't know what I thought..."

The librarian sighs. He offers her a little muslin handkerchief and gives her time to collect herself before he speaks.

"It is no small thing for a kindred such as Eleanor to lie to her liege for you, Amelia-Marie. That gives us some hope that your test is not impossible."

"Y... you know about the..."

"Madam." the librarian says firmly. "I take my duties very seriously. Not a word passes from the gerousia's mouth without my knowledge. Don't be embarrassed. It is the way of things."

"Then you know it must be impossible. I cannot seduce her." Amelia twists the hankie into a minute knot. "She despises me."

"Dear dear, even if that were the case, remember, you have been her pupil for five long years. You know what's important to her. You have what we call leverage."

*

Maggot surprises Amelia by bringing some of her own clothes from Eleanor's house. When she asks about Sylvie he gives her a leaky grin.

"She misses you," he leers, "But she'll keep."

Amelia blushes. She turns her back on Maggot before undressing but doesn't ask him to leave. After all, she has no chance of fastening her clothes with one hand. He makes a queer chambermaid but he is kind enough to help her.

There is barely any pathos in the blood of the great brown bear that Maggot feeds her. It is just as addicted to the kiss as any vessel, and though it is less at ease with Amelia than with the Nosferatu, it soon warms to her. Then she could weep, but for once tears won't come. So many people have been endangered to feed her, only for this charade that Felix insists upon, when animal blood would have been as good as human blood for Amelia all along.

Then again, it's not always about sustenance, is it? She misses Sylvie terribly. The borrowed sensation of the kiss would be enough to take the edge off her own craving to be bled. Doing without both Jerome and her mortal lovers is a truly miserable state of being.

"How long do you think it will take for my hand to grow back?" she asks the librarian.

He raises a cynical eyebrow. "That is very much down to determination and willpower," he says.

It takes three days to grow back the missing hand. The intermediate state of fleshless bones and then skinless tissue is stomach churning. The whole process is horrifying, but she is not alone. Many of the refugees and Nosferatu defenders have worse injuries. The anatomy of an eye as it regenerates is so intricate it's hard to look away once you see it.

Gossip among the others in the Labyrinth is even more disturbing.

The toreador that caught her eye is not a refugee, but an ambassador from the court of Salzburg by the name of Pietro. He plies the refugees for information and Amelia takes it all in, for the most part in terrified silence.

It is rumoured that Gwendolyn, a powerful ancient born of the courts of Charlemagne, has declared the domain of Paris to be an anarch free state. Fire boats filled with camarilla dissenters have been forced into the channel at dawn. The ventrue methuselah Mithras has declared war on France from his domain in London. Prince Gustavus of Berlin is sending reinforcements directly to Saint Germain. There the ventrue Justicar is almost single handedly holding back the tide against the etruscan malkavian Feronia. This anarch, is rallying hundreds of feral kindred, some embraced en masse with no regard for the masquerade. She was twice presumed destroyed, once at the fall of Rome, once in the fires of the inquisition.

Both Angelique and Cyrano leave immediately to join the fray, along with many of the refugees. Domain is a nebulous concept after all, and they will have nothing to go back to unless they fight. Rumour has it that now France has fallen, Austria will be next.

Amelia presses the Librarian about Jerome's whereabouts and wellbeing. He has no connection to the cobwebs but his influence would be priceless to the city in this time of crisis. It's as close as she comes to speaking the truth aloud.

There is an ancient well in the very courtroom beneath Schönbrunn where Charity, Henrietta and the other malkavians of Vienna are being held, staked through the heart, suspended in the shaft like common criminals. There is no chance of freeing them without the prince's permission. Even drawing attention to them right now seems somewhat unwise.

It was Henrietta that begged the prince to protect them days ago, and Jerome that called in the boon to keep the preemptive punishment quiet. He remains under the prince's so-called protection, though no one has seen him since the french massacres started.

"As far as we know," the Librarian tells her, "Paracida has done this without involving any other kindred. Neither the gerousia, nor the sheriff are aware. I suspect he was under some influence, for it is not his usual method."

"Then why tell me, sir?" Amelia asks nervously.

"Some things are political. Other things are more personal. I suspect the same influence that guides the prince may also be guiding your sire, and in part, yourself."

Amelia feels deflated. The librarian is right. The agoge is no priority at this chaotic time. Everyone should be doing what they can to help keep the city safe. She is familiar enough with Jerome's assets to apply some of them if needs be. It is sure to anger him on his return, but the malkavian clan needs to be perceived as useful, not as a liability.

Eleanor's brother in blood is known to be a tyrant, feared more than respected by his subjects in Berlin. He acts to preserve the camarilla in France but for some reason, the captive prussian ambassadors languish still in the dark labyrinth. That will be Eleanor's prerogative.

All at once a plan comes together and Amelia's mood immediately lifts. There is an easy way to get Eleanor's attention and assist the war effort. It just needs a push.

*

A week later, half a dozen nobles are making firm plans to reinforce the Prussian army and pacify France. There's talk of taking the court of the empire to Prague for a summer to facilitate closer ties with the court of Berlin.

Amelia finds herself crossing the city to Eleanor's house and seeking her out with all due haste. The summoning is strong, but she forces herself to pause in the hallway and gather Sylvie into a bear hug for a full minute before continuing inside to Eleanor's office.

Eleanor doesn't mince her words. "We will have to continue our unfinished business another time." She passes Amelia an envelope sealed with her cypher. "Take this to the Librarian with all haste and bring me his reply."

Amelia stands staring for a moment, not sure whether to laugh or cry. She has tied up a considerable portion of Jerome's influence in getting Eleanor's attention, some irretrievably.

Eleanor's stern expression softens. "Amelia. The clan is under attack. Besides all the furore across the border, this is the worst time for internal strife. We must stand united against prussian influence."

"Then end it." Amelia says bluntly. "Concede."

"You are missing the point." Eleanor says irritably.

"I don't think so. Save the librarian and yourself a lot of trouble and concede."

"Amelia-Marie, I do not have time to fully engage in examining your competence when the future of the Habsburg dynasty is at stake."

Amelia sits unbidden on the chair opposite and drums the fingers of her left hand on the surface of the desk. It takes a surprisingly long time for the penny to drop. Eleanor's normally stony features flit between horror and disbelief several times before she speaks again, settling on disbelief.

"If I find you have taken counsel or sought succour from Ladislaus or any of his brood you will pay such a heavy price, Amelia. If you come clean now we might be able to come to some arrangement."

"If that's everything, I'm rather busy tonight, and it would be unseemly for me to treat with you during my trials. I'm sure you understand."

Amelia stands to leave and sits back down quick as a heartbeat as Eleanor slams her hand down on the table.

"I have not dismissed you."

"I'm at your service of course, and will be happy to carry the message, my lady," Amelia says defiantly, "it's just that you might find the details of the Librarian's reply embarrassing. I mean no disrespect."

"Give me the name of your accomplice." Eleanor says, her voice rolls like thunder and her eyes flash fire.

"I have no accomplice." Amelia replies warily. That might have been a blatant use of the blood, but she felt no compulsion to speak. "I trust you, my lady. I know you could bully me into withdrawing my influence, but by your own terms, you could end this situation perfectly amicably without such unpleasantness."

Thankfully the heat of Eleanor's anger seems to cool at that. Amelia is still nervous when the elder dismisses her. Almost everything she cares about in the world is in that house.

A week later, arrests are made. The secret police seize evidence of spying and illegal negotiation with foreign powers. The secret police are Wolf-Dietrich's domain. It hurts more for some reason, that Eleanor went through him, but Amelia has no time to dwell on it.

The anarchs are on the move again, and the Librarian has her focussed on the maddening tangle of cobwebs looking for clues. Amelia gives him all the information she can, spends hours meditating each night, but it really is exhausting lonely work. It leaves her wondering what the nature of Vienna is at all.

The prince and the court make a show of patrolling the streets while the Nosferatu feed and clothe the displaced, keep order, and gather information. If Amelia and Angelique hadn't weeded out the spies, who knows what damage could have been done, what secrets would have been lost.

The Librarian comes to find her on the fourth night. She had escaped outside to stretch her legs, and as always the river drew her to its beauty.

"You must gather as much information as you can, Amelia." He says. "I'm sorry, girl. I know it's a struggle."

She follows him back to his study, and berrates herself for being selfish, but the Librarian is not such a hard task master after all.

Jerome is waiting for her in a private room deep in the Librarian's sanctum. When she breaks down in remorse he is baffled by her tears. He listens to her emotional account of the deception she was complicit in, the years of lies and loneliness. He kisses her hand when she tells of the physical torture Eleanor has forced her to endure. But as she recounts the wasted bribes and donations she made with his resources, he sits and stares.

"I will understand if you can't forgive me," she says at last. "I have abused the trust you put in me terribly."

He cups her cheek in his hand and softly kisses her lips. It is the first truly informal gesture of affection he has ever made.

"But I left you alone." He says gently. "I left you all alone. I will not make that mistake again. And what good will it do me, any of this wealth, if they take you away? My dearest treasure."

Without Felix to interfere, Amelia allows Jerome to master her just this once, more from guilt than any desire. His vitae is thinner than any Amelia has tasted before, but his kiss is as sweet as anyone else's. Amelia cannot deny the physical pleasure of him holding her, controlling her, but in the end commanding him is child's play. When she tires of his attention, she tells him so, and he leaves without complaint.

She longs to flee into the labyrinth and find a quiet place, cold and dark, where her faithful memory of Meryem's love can be eclipsed by no other. Instead, she sits in practiced stillness waiting for the dreadful image of Meryem's final frenzy to pass. Naturally the two memories are different sides of the same coin. She clings to the faded hope, that Meryem's sacrifice was not in vain. The fact is a blood bond is true slavery, love beyond all reason.

Paracida is bound to Eleanor, there is no doubt, but Eleanor cannot be bound to Paracida. If she were, there would be no contempt, no revulsion, she would not recoil from his touch. As an archon, what are the chances that Eleanor is already the justicar's thrall? And yet, Eleanor has never imposed such bonds on Amelia, so where does this monstrous infatuation come from?

Amelia heads back to the Library and hunts out the beautiful hand painted picture book Maggot showed her last week.

Some nameless need is still there. Not for the kiss, no. She traces the decorative edge of the picture and marvels at the intricate pattern. It's similar to the knotwork around an embroidery frame.

"I think you're hard to please," the Librarian says. "It's a good thing your true feelings are beyond Jerome's understanding. He is a worthy ally, no? A capable mentor too."

"I am grateful, sir. Honestly." Amelia closes the book and sets it aside. "I am as pleased as could be expected. If this makes any sense to you, you're wiser than I am. Why do I crave the approval of the very architects of my misery?"

"Quite," he says thoughtfully. "I wonder how realistic your hopes are. You may win their approval for a short hour or two but such creatures are incapable of affection as we know it. Her goals are profoundly inhuman, Amelia-Marie. More importantly, however she dresses them, her ambitions are not her own."

"Inhuman?" Amelia shrugs. "Yes, I have a sense of what you mean. Her age, her own trials and tribulations all seem to wall her off from the warmth of the world. But inside, I wonder who she really is? Otherwise, why spare such a pathetic creature as this?"

"Of which elder kindred are we speaking?" he asks wryly. "Aside from age, it is her choices that have turned her to stone, childe. The trials are ephemera, nothing more than her duty. You can only gain a true measure of her affection once her duty to you is done." Amelia can't argue with that. The Librarian sighs. "Very well. Since we really are resigned to this ill conceived path of yours, are you aware of the medieval genius known as Zelios?"

Amelia frowns. The name is unfamiliar.

"You might have noticed that there's a little sundial in the palace gardens with his name at the centre." The librarian continues. "The gerousia of old Vienna found him a most useful tool, even going so far as to grant him a medal for his services to the city. He designed the geometry of the city walls and many of the passive defences of this very warren.

"When he offered the city a design for a bridge, one particular member of the gerousia vetoed it. Even when Zelios came up with an ingenious collapsible design, that person refused. Quite rightly, in my opinion, I might add. At the time it would have made the city far more difficult to defend from the Ottoman hordes.

"Now, more recently it has become quite the sticking point between them. Wolf-Dietrich thinks it ridiculous that we still have such poor communication across the river, and even Paracida has softened to the idea since the Turks have caused no trouble for centuries. But that one individual seems particularly invested in maintaining the status quo.

"I hope I'm not boring you too much with my ramblings?" the Librarian asks.

*

Amelia pictures those breathtaking hazel eyes, always distracted, always suspicious. What a miracle it would be to see them wide open in surrender, be it passionate or fearful, and know Eleanor, peer into the centre of her through those windows of the soul. Her quarry is an archon, an elder, a vessel, but a woman first and foremost. A woman whose needs have been ignored for such a long time. It's a shame it will take such a heavy push to allow the elder to set those other things aside.

The early vengeful desire to turn Eleanor's shallow world upside down has twisted into something far less well defined. It's a dangerous game. What if you put the last stitch into the picture, and realise you sewed yourself right into the centre of it?

The Librarian has given Amelia the tools and Eleanor herself has given Amelia the advantage. Service and protocol and nihilism, are all as poisonous to Eleanor as they are to Amelia, but they both cling to such things.

Amelia spends three precious weeks planning every possible detail. It is all done with the utmost secrecy. There is the subject's fortitude to contend with, her well placed paranoia, her terrifying strength, her pride, the fact that Paracida would certainly erupt in murderous rage at the thought of anyone else laying hands on his beloved.

Three days before the start of the conclave, Amelia makes her way to Eleanor's house. She carries the four enormous scroll cases herself, fully aware of the spectacle it makes as she struggles up the three front steps to ring the doorbell. The butler answers the door after a short delay.

"Madame is not expecting you," he says coldly.

Amelia smiles as she bustles past him. The house is exactly as she remembers it. The butler doesn't raise a hand to stop her, but neither does he announce her arrival. Sylvie is wide eyed, staring from the first floor landing. Amelia beckons her downstairs and holds her for the first time in weeks. Sylvie. Her soft body is so forgiving but still so fragile, she has good reason to be afraid.

"I've missed you so much." Amelia breathes in the familiar scent of cedar and rose water as she presses her face against the woman's hair. "This is important, sweet Sylvie. Are you listening?"

"Mistress," she whimpers, "I'm not allowed, if she hears us..."

Amelia presses an envelope into her hand.

"It's not for me, none of it. It's for Mistress Eleanor my darling, for her and only for her. To make her happy."

"Really?" Sylvie asks, finally daring to look at Amelia properly.

"Really. I'm not asking you to do anything for me, I swear it's for her. Take this to your room and read it, and then burn it. Follow the instructions on it carefully."

The ghoul hurries away with the paper clutched tight in her fist.

There are raised voices in Eleanor's office. The elder herself and perhaps Elizabeth? It is simple courtesy to ignore whatever argument is happening between sire and childe and take herself off to the parlour. She'd have struggled to lay out all the plans in Eleanor's office anyway.