Demon’s Revenge (High Demon #5)(59)
Author: Connie Suttle

"How much of that w {ucharge. I tere you exposed to?" Gavril turned a knowing glance on Tory.

"Plenty, I think," Tory shook his head, as if attempting to clear it. "My memory of the past twenty-five years is a little spotty, bro. I have bits and pieces. Darletta made me watch. Lots of times. I don’t know how I managed to not turn and go after her."

"Controllers," Gavril gave the one-word reply.

"Others may have been involved, but that information died with Nedrizif," Norian muttered angrily. He paced inside Lendill’s office on Le-Ath Veronis. Lissa had accused Norian of being a bear instead of a lion snake and thrown him out of her study moments earlier. Norian was more than frustrated. He wanted all these criminals in his hand, so he could clench his fist and squeeze the life from their bodies.

Reah, too, was still missing, so no information could be had from her. She likely didn’t know the names either—she’d had minimal contact with Nedrizif and Zendeval Rjjn was little more than a drone. The controller had been removed from his neck and he’d blinked in shock at Norian and Lendill afterward. His memories of recent events were just as bad as Tory’s had been. No useful information had come from him or Perdil, the Liffelithi Dwarf.

Dantel Schuul and his daughter, Darletta, sang like birds, however, once the vampires placed compulsion. Those two, plus Faldin Bierla, Zendeval Rjjn, Perdil the Dwarf, Matiss Meldrim and Gescht Prekisule, cooled their heels in Lissa’s dungeon. They wouldn’t be walking out with their lives—Norian had provided information to journalists, telling both Alliances that the ones responsible had been killed in the ASD raid on Cloudsong. Ildevar had been advised, as had Gavril. Both had given their blessing for the pending executions.

"How did the controllers do against vampires?" Lendill thought to ask.

"Only the youngest of them experienced any effects at all," Norian sighed. "Those less than a hundred years of age. I think it has to do with the immunity they build against compulsion, except by an older vampire," he added. "I’ve been afraid to talk to Lissa about that; she’s mad enough to spit over the fact that somebody got to a few of her people as it is. Most of those were former comesuli, so that made it worse. They’re vampire children, in her eyes. I think Dantel Schuul and that thing he calls an engineer are lucky to still be among the living at this point."

"Faldin Bierla. We don’t have any official records past twenty years ago; the ones we found in the system are forged. He’s managed to conceal his past successfully, and he’s the only prisoner that vampire compulsion doesn’t work on. Unfortunate for us, I know, but I don’t think he knows any more than Dantel does, and we got everything from Schuul that we could." Lendill shook his head in confusion.

"Lissa says that any man who isn’t susceptible to compulsion will make a King Vampire if he’s turned. Can you imagine that thing as a vampire?" Norian flung up a hand. "That was his technology. Dantel admitted it. Faldin Bierla brought the idea to Dantel, and he envisioned controlling everything with it. Un-fucking-believable," Norian cursed.

"I imagine that those not under the control of Schuul and his associates would have become small, renegade islands, constantly threatened by Schuul and his technology," Nefrigar folded in and sat leisurely on a corner of Lendill’s desk. "I have placed new records in the archives concerning this near-catastrophe. We have been quite busy, lately, {usy demy sons and I, getting all of it sorted and cataloged. Had you visited the archives when invited, we might have pointed you toward the section containing information on this forbidden technology."

"Fuck," Lendill mumbled tiredly, rubbing his forehead. "Where is Reah?"

"Safe. On Tulgalan. Did anyone think to check her home there? Her uncle Fes has been taking meals to her. You didn’t think to contact him, either. Did you? He is a kindly soul, more so now that his father is out of the picture. Fes was always frightened that Addah and Marzi would harm his mother and the others, so he bent under Addah’s commands for a very long while. Now, he is his own man and runs a very good restaurant. He hasn’t forgotten what Reah did for him, either. He is repaying a little of that debt. Reah is not feeling the best, as you might imagine. I have visited her several times. She allows my touch, but barely. Being bitten and made ill during an attempted rape, witnessing mass rape, and then the events upon Cloudsong have taken a terrible toll."

"The attack, followed by the illness and the attempted takeover," Norian nodded. "We may have to offer help."

"She may refuse it, out of hand," Nefrigar sighed. "But the need is there, I will not deny it. I would advise all who know her to tread carefully in the next few days."

"We need a report from her," Lendill grumped. "I’ll go chase her down."

"Do not chase. Approach. Cautiously," Nefrigar warned.

"Fine." Lendill stood and lifted his jacket. Winter had come to Tulgalan. Again.

"No, I want this cut," I was about to become impatient with the butcher. Again. Was I invisible? Did he think I wouldn’t recognize the best cuts of meat? Was he looking to sell inferior stock to one who likely didn’t know the difference?

"Sell her that one or Desh’s will stop doing business with you," Fes was at my back, a hand on my shoulder, steadying me. "This is my niece, by the way, so when she returns to your shop, I expect the best to be laid out for her at the beginning."

"Thanks, Fes," I whispered, putting an arm around his waist and hugging him briefly. "What are you doing here?"

"We need a little extra for dinner tonight—we have a party coming in from off-planet. You wouldn’t like to come and help me with that, would you?"

"Maybe." I felt numb, weak, and more than a little stressed, still. Memories crowded my mind often—of hundreds of innocents—all controlled by Nedrizif and Dantel Schuul, hurling fragile, emaciated and nearly naked bodies at my Thifilatha.

I’d watched them burn—countless numbers of them. They’d had no choice and neither had I. If I’d turned off that part of me for more than a tick, then the weapons the others fired at me might have harmed me or my unborn child. I’d made a horrible choice; one I’d have to learn to live with. Still, their screams invaded my sleep at times and I woke, hyperventilating every time.

"Fes, how many are expected?" I asked.

"Just four, I think, but it’s a special group. Come with me, now. I’ll cook that for you," he nodded at the package the butcher packed up and handed to me, "and then we’ll plot out our meals for the evening."