Dark Journey. Susan Krinard
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described, but his eyes held an almost feverish look.
He had not been totally unaffected, after all. Isis didn’t know whether she should be disappointed that he had felt Ishtar’s sexual appeal or pleased at his strength of will in resisting it.
“Why did you send her?” he asked her. “Did you think that since you failed, she would succeed?”
Isis sat in one of the chairs, angry and ashamed at the same time. “I could not rely entirely on my own judgment,” she said.
“I admit that I wasn’t expecting tactics like these from you, Lady Isis.”
“There are others I could have sent to question you,” she said sharply. “They might not have been so accommodating.”
“And all without punishment,” he said. “That would have been interesting.”
She closed her eyes, wondering how this human could defeat her so easily. “I have made myself responsible for you,” she said.
“Responsible?” he asked. “Why?”
“It is my decision to set you free, under my recognizance. If you commit any disturbance or prove to be an agent from an Enclave or another Citadel, I will be blamed.”
“By whom?” he asked, stepping away from the wall. “I have met two Bloodmistresses in the short time I’ve been here.” He took a step closer. “How many of you are there, Lady Isis?”
“How many of whom?”
“You said you were ‘among those’ who came here when the Citadel had fallen into chaos. Are there others like you and Ishtar?”
“Yes,” she said. “Nine of us were traveling together after the War, seeking—”
“Do they all look like you, more human than Opir?”
Isis paused at the question. The most ancient and powerful Opiri had always borne a closer resemblance to humanity than those who came after. That was the great irony most Opiri did not care to examine too closely.
“You’re an Elder,” Daniel said, speaking into her silence. “You didn’t go into the Long Sleep with all the other Opiri hundreds of years ago.”
“How would you know this?” she asked. “How many of my kind have you seen?”
“One,” he said. “But we all knew there were more still walking the earth.”
“You learned this in the Enclave, before you were exiled?”
“In Vikos.”
The serfs there had spoken of it, he meant. But whom had Daniel seen? There were other Elders who had chosen not to join the Nine in their quest, but they had seemingly vanished.
“Nine of you,” he said, before she could speak again. “All Elders. Who better to enforce the peace? Who better to rule than Opiri wiser and more experienced than nearly all others of their kind?”
“No!” she said, rising quickly. “Yes, we founded this city. But an elected Council of humans and Opiri makes the law and enforces it through the Darketan and dhampir Lawkeepers. The Nine only observe and occasionally advise.”
“And they don’t use their power of influence on the people of Tanis.”
Carefully considering how to answer, Isis hesitated. “We...agreed that every citizen of Tanis should be free in every way.”
“Ishtar agreed to this, as well?”
“I am sorry,” she said, clinging to her dignity. “It was wrong of me to call upon her.”
“I accept your apology,” Daniel said, though his expression remained forbidding. “I’d like to meet these other Elders. Unless, of course, they’re too busy to see a simple human visitor.”
“It can be arranged,” Isis said. “But there are other matters to attend to first.” She lifted her chin. “I will ask for your promise,” she said. “Your oath that you will never do anything to harm Tanis.”
* * *
Harm Tanis. It was a strange request. Daniel knew all too well that Isis feared some kind of enemy from among humans or other Opiri outside the city, but hurting Tanis was entirely beyond his capability, even if he’d wanted to do it.
The only humans or Opiri who would face opposition from him were those who prevented him from carrying out his mission. His goals hadn’t changed; he needed to gather general intelligence about Tanis and find out if Ares had passed through this city.
Isis’s description of the Nine had intrigued him, especially as it related to Ares. Ares was, like them, an Elder. If he had carried through with his mission here, it shouldn’t take long to find out what had become of him. Not when Isis had been so free with her information. Not when he seemed to have as much influence on her as she’d ever had over him.
Something had happened between them...something he hadn’t expected or wanted. He still didn’t understand why she had been so quick to offer herself to a stranger.
He glanced at Isis, who waited patiently for his answer. Oh, he knew what she claimed to want: to assure Daniel that she couldn’t or wouldn’t try to influence him. She had also claimed to desire him. A Bloodmistress, one of the Elders, wanting a former serf she knew almost nothing about.
That was the part he still had the most difficulty understanding. And yet, whatever her original intentions, she’d responded to him like a woman in the throes of passion, hungry to be touched, to be lost in sensual pleasure. That wasn’t something that could easily be faked.
But she’d also told him that he couldn’t abide losing control, that it was his way of rebelling against his old life. She thought she knew him.
That wasn’t why he’d rejected her at the end. It wasn’t because she’d implied that humans required her “guidance” and that she had to remain somehow untouchable in the eyes of the city, like some kind of sacred virgin.
He’d stopped because he had felt too much. For her, yes...as nonsensical as that might be.
But he’d also remembered: the human women who had been brought to him in Erebus...and the threats that had followed—threats to kill the women if he refused, threats of ugly punishments that would befall them if they failed to perform as breeding stock.
There had been Opiri women, as well. Palemon had lent him out to service them. He had been a useful object, like all his fellow serfs in Palemon’s Household.
Leaving that Household hadn’t erased what had been done. Neither had Daniel’s escape from Erebus, or the years of freedom afterward.
Just as he hadn’t appeared to have aged in those intervening years, the memories had remained as fresh as the blood in his veins. In spite of what he’d told Isis, he could still hate.
But didn’t hate her, even though she’d thrown Ishtar at him. He’d been cruel to Isis because of his own experiences, his own suspicions, but he hadn’t thought such cruelty was in his nature. Ruthlessness, yes, when it came to protecting those close to him or under his care. But hurting his only ally would not only be foolish, but unnecessary.
For now, he needed her, in spite of the risks. And as long as he had a job to do, he wouldn’t let the memories get in his way again.
“I promise you that I have no ill intentions toward Tanis,” he said.
Isis relaxed a little, as if she’d genuinely feared he might refuse to give his word. “I am glad,” she said.
“I apologize for my discourteous behavior,” he said, holding her gaze.
Her lips parted. “I, too, apologize for any distress I may have caused you. Perhaps we can simply begin anew.”
They gazed at each other until Isis looked away. “I can either arrange for you to stay here like