"Thank you," was all she said.
"Since ye asked about women Venators, perhaps ye would like to see the gallery?" Zavier asked, leading her toward one of the arches that contained a heavy mahogany door.
He opened it and gestured for her to precede him in. This chamber was long and low, more of a hallway or passage than a chamber. Portraits and sconces alternated on the walls. Occasionally there was a hip-high pedestal with a statue or bust on it, or a glass cabinet, or shelves.
"Every Venator since the first stake was given to Gardella has a portrait here. And we have some other artifacts and mementos as well. It is a bit morbid, perhaps—more like a museum than anything—but it is important that we do not forget those who have given of themselves before us."
Victoria walked slowly along the line of portraits. They all seemed to be done in the same hand, by the same artist, though some of them were obviously centuries, perhaps a millennium old.
She stopped in front of the painting of a striking woman. " 'Catherine Gardella,'" she read aloud. Catherine's hair was bright, shining like polished copper, looped and curled and coiled at the sides of her head with ribbons and jewels. She was dressed in court clothing from perhaps three or four centuries ago, with a ruff fringing her neck and split velvet sleeves, puffed, with red satin behind them. She looked more like a queen than a Venator. In her lap, amid reams of skirts, she held a stake. A large emerald glinted on her other hand, painted so realistically that Victoria almost expected the hand to move and the facets to shine in a different direction.
"Our Cat," Zavier said with a smile in his voice. "She was well named. A spitfire if there ever was one, from tales I've heard. Her temperament matched her hair."
"Lilith's hair is the same hue," Victoria commented, remembering the glowing beacon of the vampire queen's hair, unholy in the way it lit the room.
"You are not the first to have commented on that, and you have seen Lilith, and are here to tell of it. I had forgotten that." Zavier's voice hushed. "Ye and Max Pesaro, and your aunt, of course. Some of the few, the very few of this era, who have walked away from her. I dinna ken how Max has remained so strong all of these years."
Victoria remembered what Max had said last night, about making a bargain with Lilith to be released from her thrall if he joined the Tutela. She'd wondered what he'd meant; surely he'd never shown himself to be under any kind of control by the vampire queen. His skill at stalking and hunting vampires was legendary; how could he be controlled by Lilith and still be so fearsome? There had not, of course, been time to ask him—and, of course, she knew better than to expect him to answer her. He had been intent on getting her out of the opera house, out of Rome, out of Italy.
"What hold does Lilith have over him?" she asked. "I have worked with Max, but he is not terribly forthcoming about… certain things."
"Of course. Ye ken that is Max's way." Zavier looked over at her; he did not have to look down, as they were of a height. "Her bites dinna heal, even for a Venator. Even with the balm we use, or the salted holy water. They are always there, and cause him pain when she wishes, for she chooses to remind him of her influence over him."
"Why?"
Now he looked at her in an odd way. "She wants him as her concubine, is my understanding. I am certain he would do anything to be released from that position. To be a Venator yet tied to the vampire queen is a burden heavier than I could ken."
He offered his arm and she slid her fingers around the bulge of muscle that seemed to be flexed at all times, even when at rest. "Here is another of our lady Venators. Lady Rosamund, meant to take holy vows, but instead she left the abbey when she learned of her calling, and went on crusade to the Holy Lands."
Victoria stood before the picture of the young woman. Dressed simply, in a sapphire-colored gown similar to Wayren's long, loose garments, with pointed sleeves that brushed the ground, Lady Rosamund looked serene and calm—very different from the mischievous Catherine Gardella. Long honey-colored hair fell from a simple headdress of pearls. She held a stake in one hand and a rope of prayer beads in another.
"She was a mystic, and during her time in the abbey, before she knew she was called, she wrote many manuscripts about the revelations she received during her meditation and prayer. Many of her works have become known as our prophecies, and Wayren studies them a great deal. Aye, she is the one to whom was revealed the whole story of how Judas, beloved of Jesus, came to betray him and turn to Lucifer, and was thus turned into the first vampire."
"There are some who say Jesus asked him to turn him over to the Jews in order to set all of the following events in motion," Victoria commented, looking at the portrait of the serene woman whose calm gray eyes reminded her of Wayren's.
Zavier laughed, a low, rolling laugh that fit his bearlike physique. "Och, that is what Lucifer would like us to believe. If ye study Rosamund's writings, as I have, ye will learn that for whatever reason, Judas indeed sold Jesus for thirty pieces of silver, and even today the presence of that particular metal is cause for a vampire to shrink back. Perhaps Judas knew what would happen because of his betrayal; perhaps he did not. But the truth is, after Jesus was crucified, Judas dinna believe he would be forgiven for his role in the betrayal, and Lucifer was easily able to convince him to turn to him for protection."
"You are quite a historian. Do you remember such detail for all of the Venators?"
He grinned back at her. "Ye ken, it is the female Venators' stories I am the most fond of, because men are expected to be warriors and hunters. When a woman is called to do so, she has more hurdles to leap than the men ever do. It is hard enough for a man to be chosen and called as a Venator. I have the greatest respect for a woman who answers the call."
Victoria thought of Melly, her own mother, who had been chosen to be a Venator, but who had ultimately decided not to take on the responsibility because she had just met the man who was to be Victoria's father. Because of that, Melly's mind had been wiped clean of any memory related to vampires and Venators, and any innate skill that she would have had had been passed to her daughter. In that way, and because Melly's father—who was Aunt Eustacia's brother—had also chosen not to accept the Venator call, Victoria had inherited the skills and sense of two previous generations of Venators.
Zavier was clearly pleased to be in the presence of a female Venator, and had no hesitation in showing it. Victoria decided to be flattered and to enjoy his acceptance. "And where is Aunt Eustacia's portrait?" she asked.
"There is no portrait yet. The paintings are not made until the Venator's work is done. The biggest question regarding your aunt will be how to portray her—as the young, fierce Venator of legend, or the older, elegant matriarch."
Before Victoria was able to ask about the next portrait, they were interrupted.
"Pardon me, Zavier, Signorina Victoria, but the Consilium is drawing to order." The man gestured toward the door with a great flourish, torchlight glinting off his round spectacles.
"Grazie, Miro," Zavier replied, and led Victoria out of the room. "He is one of our weapon masters," he explained to her. "A Comitator who has a finesse for creating new ways to fight vampires and protect ourselves. We will have to see if he can create a special, more ladylike stake for ye. Perhaps one that will fit in your reticule, or down a stocking. Or some formfitting leather armor?" He winked.
The Consilium, which was both the name of the governing body and also the name of the chambers through which they walked, met in a different room. This one had a circle of chairs arranged in a half-moon shape about a semicircular dais.
Most of the twenty seats were taken; Victoria selected one near the back and noticed that her aunt and Wayren had been seated on the dais behind a table.