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Eric often wonders why Godric chose this place. Novgorod is a city; not small but not the biggest they've ever been in. It's beautiful but not magnificent, a place of trade but not one of the central markets. The climate is temperate – warmer than Eric prefers but not excessively so. Together he and Godric have seen places so vast, so eclectic, so mesmerizing...
Why choose to settle down here, now?
But, his role is not to ask questions. Godric never hides things from him, he simply has a way about him, a certain mood Eric's gotten sufficiently skilled at spotting, that implies he won't be dolling out answers until he's good and ready. Sometimes it takes a few days, sometimes a century. Eric's still not sure what the incident in Kaifeng had been all about, for example.
Tonight Godric is busy – the Queen of Rus has sent an emissary – and so Eric is hunting with the others. No doubt Godric will have to assure her that no new vampires have been made and no conflicts have arisen among the local vampires. Godric is known as an excellent peacekeeper. Mostly because he vigorously enforces his one and only rule – anyone caught trying to upset the power balance is executed. Torn apart, literally.
Although, the last violator had chosen to meet the sun before anyone could get to her. It makes Eric smile – the memory of finding her progeny weeping next to a pile of ashes. Godric had given orders to spare her, unless she tried to intervene for her maker, but that didn't mean Eric couldn't have his fun. If it had been up to him, he'd have buried her in a coffin for fifty years, just for keeping her maker's plans a secret from Godric, but as it was, he settled for leaving her nearly drained. She'd disappeared the next day. Probably followed her maker.
There is a ball tonight at the house of one of the nobles, located inside the Detinets - the fortress on the riverbank where all the richest nobility have estates. Eric takes Frederik, Stanislav and Elizabeta. They masquerade as a party of visiting nobles – a Viscount, his older sister and her two sons – and spend the evening picking out targets.
Eric takes a stroll by the river with a young man whose name he can't be bothered to pay attention to and kills him as soon as they reach a quiet spot hidden by trees. He continues hunting alone after that, in the dark streets, feeding on a drunkard and a homeless beggar.
He finds he's last to arrive back at the nest. As soon as he comes into what everyone refers to as Godric's throne room, Godric orders everyone but Eric to leave. Eric notes that the large dining table they'd dragged into the room to facilitate Godric's deliberations with the Queen's emissary is still there. He wonders how long ago the emissary left.
"That was foolish," Godric says, after examining Eric carefully.
Of course, Elizabeta was the person Godric trusted most, after Eric; she would have reported the evening's activities by now. "I disposed of the body in the river outside the walls; no one will suspect. He was accompanied by friends; they'll think he drank too much and fell into the water. They'll never find him, and even if they do the mark will be impossible to spot." Eric unbuttons his jacket and throws it on one of the chairs.
"That isn't the point." It's clear something is weighing on Godric's mind. Usually his private talks with Eric take place elsewhere.
Godric rises from his seat and comes closer, his eyes focused on Eric with a kind of contained fury Eric has never seen on him before. Godric is either contained or angry, but rarely both at the same time.
He puts his hand on Eric's shoulder, silently, forcing him to kneel. His hand lifts up Eric's chin, making him meet his eyes.
Eric looks into Godric's eyes, trying to intuit what Godric isn't saying. "I should have taken the others hunting elsewhere," he says.
Godric backhands him so hard there's ringing in his ears.
"That isn't the point," Godric says and waits for Eric's eyes to find his again. "Do you know why the Queen's emissary was here?"
"No," Eric says, still feeling the sting of the blow.
"The woman. Marfa." Godric waits for Eric to recognize the name. The progeny of the would-be rebel. "I told you to spare her, but you didn't. She has powerful friends. Or rather, her maker did, as I once explained to you. News of what's happened has come to the Queen's attention." Godric's tone made it clear that was in no way a positive outcome.
Eric swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Forgive me," he said quietly.
"If you hadn't attacked her she'd have been begging at my door instead of running off. Instead I have to account to the Queen for her maker." Godric sighed. "If you were going to disobey me, you should have just killed her. At least it would have spared me the mess."
Eric bows his head in a gesture of submission. He'd been stupid, there's no question about that. Something like this wouldn't usually send Godric into a rage, but then Eric still has no idea what the Queen's emissary had had to say.
Godric's fingers tangle in his hair, pulling on it, forcing Eric to look at him. The anger is mostly gone from his face, but there's a still a kind of… disappointment. It makes Eric feel like a piece of debris, swept by the ocean.
Godric studies him for a while. "When I was your age, the king of Brittany offered me a province," he finally says, voice tinged with sadness. Eric doesn't know what to make of the statement. Godric's other hand traces Eric's lips. Eric licks the fingers, eyes staring at Godric, willing him to stop wearing that unreadable expression. Eric had thought he was done applying 'unreadable' to Godric after all these years.
"Come here," Godric says, finally pulling Eric up into a kiss. Eric's fangs extend instantly, at the first feel of Godric's tongue. He'd been so stupid, caused Godric so much unnecessary stress. If it had been anyone else, Eric knows, Godric would have punished them severely and publicly. Used them to set an example. Broken limbs, starvation, maybe even exile. Godric's reputation was what kept the treachery and backstabbing in this region to a minimum.
He licks down Godric's jaw while Godric tears his clothes to tatters. He bends Eric over the table in a few quick motions, running his hands up and down Eric's back; possession and anger and lust and something else, something Eric couldn't place, mingled together in Godric's touch. Eric howls when Godric first enters him, snarling, twisting his back and making Godric pin him to the tabletop. Godric holds both his wrists in one hand, pinning them to Eric's lower back. His other hand is on Eric's thigh, helping them both keep their balance as Godric fucks him. It's a game, like many of their games, a familiar pattern to fall into. It warms him against the memory of Godric's gaze, penetrating while remaining utterly opaque.
Afterwards, as they lie on the floor, Godric rests his head on Eric's chest. When his face turns to Eric's, their eyes are closer than before. Godric's expression is open and empty of reproach. "It's very likely that you'll outlive me," Godric says.
The words hit like a punch to the gut, and before Eric can recover enough to protest, Godric silences him with a look. "Don't argue; I've seen enough of our kind come and go to know the odds. One day, you will have many underlings and none of them will have ever known my name." Godric's weight suddenly feels like solid stone, pushing down Eric's chest, constricting him. Godric's eyes continue to command silence. "Why do you think I chose this place?" he says with a quirk of his lips others often mistake for amusement. "Why not Venice, or Kiev or London?"
"Because…" Eric says but can't continue. Because you like it here, because it's where the Queen sent you, because it's a good territory… all the reasons Eric had speculated suddenly seem utterly ridiculous.
"Because one day soon, you will be offered great power. And you will probably refuse, for which I can't blame you," Godric smiles. "But some day after that, you will be weary of travel and will accept the annoyances of power in exchange for its comforts." Godric's hand strokes over his cheek. "This is your training ground. Politics, tedious administration, the delicate art of keeping the balance. Pay closer attention."
Godric gets up, rising to his feet and giving the table – with one leg now cracked and the other broken – a bemused look. Then he looks over at Eric. "I know you're ready," he says in the old tongue of Eric's human youth, a sword through Eric's stomach. "Don't waste this time." He walks out of the room.