"What's that?" Gile asked.
"Aelon."
The robes of the newcomers dissipated like smoke. Celestine adjusted her fur-trimmed stole draped over a dress made entirely from glossy raven feathers. Her companions were garbed in simpler fare, as though they sought not to stand out.
Loud, slow clapping interrupted the silence.
Killian whistled loudly as he continued his mocking applause. Drowan's features betrayed nothing, and Tasith smiled as if enjoying an unspoken joke. Celestine took in their attention with a condescending stare before turning to take her seat along with her Sect.
Servants entered. They knelt before the guests, one human for each member of every Sect. Only then did the servants move to where Gile and Orabon sat.
Orabon cupped his servant's chin in his hand and inspected the lithe, silk-clad young man as if he were a gifted pet. "This is an unexpected honor. I had thought we would be ignored." His faint smile returned. "Don't be shy. These domestics are a gift to us. I promise you will never again enjoy the like."
Gile looked at the young woman at his feet. She was dark-haired and as lovely as any of the others. Her golden skin shone as if kissed by the sun. It was almost unnatural, a human offering herself like that. He immediately felt the arousal, the hunger that drove him and all of his kind. He seized her head in his hands.
It always amazed him that the focus was so similar to Neumos, the Craft of healing. The only difference was when he forcefully pushed, penetrating the fragile barriers that held back the human's precious pran.
It was not the battle he expected, the struggle to seize that which humans fought for even unconsciously. It was as though the pran was offered, fed like honey dripped from a silver spoon. The sensation filled him with a tingling rush as his blood turned into molten gold and every hair on his body was brushed with electric feathers. Gile gasped as the rush overtook him. It was glorious, a sensation that pushed all thoughts and concerns away until nothing remained except the brilliance…
"Enough."
Orabon's voice shattered Gile's nirvana, jarring him back to reality. His magnificent surroundings seemed dark and faded compared to what he had just experienced. Murderous rage swelled as he glowered at the man who had snatched his hands away.
"Easy." Orabon released him with a light laugh. "These morsels are only intended for a sample, not a meal. After all, we are not the Obdura, are we?"
Gile looked at the domestic in alarm. She quivered violently at his feet. Her veins slowly receded from being distended to the point of bursting, her eyes glazed as she panted like a dog in the summer heat. A sheen of sweat plastered her filmy gown to her supple body.
"I didn't mean to—"
"Of course not. This is your first time. Do not worry; I stopped you before you did any permanent damage. They recover quickly. She will be ready for use again after a few days."
Other servants entered and helped the domestics rise and leave the chamber. The ones who served the Obdura were carried out, for as Orabon insinuated, they were too drained to walk on their own. The Paphic petted and stroked their fawning domestics before allowing them to be taken away, much to the disgust of the other Sects.
Gile felt much more lightheaded and dizzy than after a normal feeding. Orabon chuckled richly.
"Did I not tell you? Unlike any you have ever tasted." He clapped Gile on the back.
"You've… been here before, haven't you?"
Orabon did not answer. "Do you feel it, Gile?"
It was more a sense of their coming, not an actual announcement. The talking suddenly died down as the humans vanished. When lights in the room brightened, the Sects rose to their feet.
Gile stood with Orabon. "What is it?"
"The Co'nane." Orabon's voice was hushed with awe.
They entered silently, clad in bright tunics and gowns of material softer than silk. Their skin shone almost metallically, and their luminous eyes outshone any gemstone. They were the Co'nane — the True Blood. The Aelon who had not returned when the others departed the world of men.
For once Orabon did not need to say anything. Gile knew the Co'nane even though he had never laid eyes upon them in the flesh. Yet as men knew of their gods, he knew of the Co'nane.
They moved with a grace that made the Paphic seem clumsy and possessed a regal bearing that made the Arcana appear humble. Yet behind the beauty was an air of deadliness that made the Obdura and Malic appear as dogs in the presence of wolves.
They stepped onto the dais and stood beside three gilded seats, four on each side. One of them spoke in a ringing voice.
"Bow, you children, for you are in the presence of the Caretaker of the Blood. Bow, you children, for you are in the presence of the Royal Consort. Bow, you children, for you are in the presence of the Pale Lord." Then he too bowed along with everyone else in the room as vapor billowed beside the three chairs, an unearthly mist that slowly coalesced into the three most powerful of the Co'nane.
The Caretaker was a strikingly severe woman, clad in a simple scarlet gown that did nothing to rob her of her imperial bearing. She was more handsome than beautiful, with a firm chin and glittering emeralds for eyes. Her hair was fiery enough to make Killian's look waxen in comparison. Even her skin appeared red-tinted.
The Consort was of such beauty that even Tasith seemed ordinary in her presence. Her lustrous hair glinted a shade of dark lavender; her golden skin was smooth and flawless, her lips full and sensuous. Most striking were her violet eyes, which glowed beneath her thick lashes like amethyst. Her slinky indigo gown hinted at sleek curves but revealed nothing. She wore no jewelry, as if nothing forged could enhance the beauty she already possessed.
Alaric Aelfvalder was tall and lean, yet somehow powerful in stature. His skin was pale but not sickly; his eyes polished sapphires. Silvery-white hair hung loose past his shoulders, though no age showed on his slender, commanding face. A scarlet gryphon was stitched on his shimmering white tunic.
His face was an imperious mask that gazed at the room full of kneeling subjects. They only rose after he and the other Co'nane took their seats.
Orabon glanced at Gile as they sat. "The Caretaker is Jacquelis, perhaps the oldest of the Co'nane. The Royal Consort is Serona Belleson, the solestra of the King."
Seeing Gile's questioning look, he explained. "In human terms she is his bride, his soulmate, though to them it is much deeper than that." He cut his lecture short as Alaric raised a hand, commanding immediate silence.
"I welcome the Sects, all which have come to this Gathering." His voice was soft, yet powerful and striking as he was. "The Arcana. The Obdura. The Malic. The Paphic. You are welcome as always to the one realm in this land where nothing can cause you harm, not even the light of the sun. Here, you can walk about freely day or night. You are safe from all threats here in Aceldama, save any you bring with you. I trust you have found our hospitality accommodating."
The Sects murmured their agreement.
Alaric looked to the rear where Orabon and Gile sat. Gile felt as though the azure eyes looked right into his head, sorting through his thoughts and secrets.
"Orabon. You are one of the few without a Sect that I welcome, but why do you test my patience? You arrive with this Aberran in tow, one who disgraces himself with unorthodox practices and an unbound lifestyle. Is there a reason for this, or does Orabon now start a Sect of his own?"
Laughter rippled through the other Sects, which silenced when Orabon rose.