Blood Legacy: The Story of Ryan (41 page)

“Victor was too Old to Change Ryan,” Abigail said simply. Abigail was thoughtful for a long moment. “The politics of Sharing are complicated beyond belief, and the power amongst our Kind is determined by many things, the most important being who created you.”

Abigail took that moment to cast a significant look at Ryan before she continued. “The older the mentor at transformation, the more powerful the Young One will be. However, after a certain point, we are no longer capable of reproducing because as we age our blood becomes too powerful for humans and is toxic to them.” She shrugged. “So although the Old Ones would create the most powerful of our Kind, they are completely barren. The task of procreation is left to those who survive their infancy but who are not yet Old Ones. The very Young cannot reproduce because their blood is not powerful enough and the very Old cannot because their blood is too strong.”

Abigail paused to impart another significant glance toward Ryan. “Again, this is in theory.”

Edward took this opportunity to stand. “Then how could Victor have possibly created my client?”

A heavy silence hung over the courtroom. Abigail’s eyes did not leave Ryan. “That is what we all want to know.”

Ryan rolled her eyes as Edward took his seat. “That was a marvelous move. Thank you.”

Edward felt no regret over the question; Ryan had brought this upon herself by not giving him all the facts. He realized there was much beneath the surface of this trial.

The prosecutor stood, turning his attention back to Marilyn. “Madame de Fontesque. Now you stated you felt Ryan possessed an unnatural power for her age. Were there any other incidents where you were again struck by this ‘power’?”

Marilyn nodded, her eyes on Ryan. “Yes. It was shortly after Ryan had the pleasure of meeting the Borgia Pope.”

Ryan’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, but Marilyn saw it. Her pleasure at the reaction was evident in her tone. “It was the first time I saw the extent of Ryan’s temper.” She turned to Abigail, speaking conversationally. “Oh, I had seen it before. Ryan could be quite deadly when angered. She once cut a man in two, springing to defend my honor.”

Susan was surprised to see that Ryan actually looked embarrassed at this revelation. Abigail nodded in agreement, as if this incident did not surprise her. Marilyn continued.

“But Rome was the first time I had any premonition of how powerful she was,” Marilyn paused, growing more serious, “and how powerful she would become. Even fully bled her body was heated by a fire that had no source.”

For whatever reason, many in the courtroom turned their attention on Ryan, as if trying to see what secret her physical form could reveal.

Ryan was staring at Marilyn, an enigmatic expression on her face. In a seemingly purposeless gesture, she raised her hand and stroked her chin. She began tapping her teeth with her fingernail, as if deep in thought. But her eyes were clearly focused on Marilyn.

“Ouch,” Ryan said softly, her hand jerking away from her mouth. Her attention was now focused on her index finger, which she slowly drew away to look at.

A single drop of crimson rolled down the edge of the finger towards the palm. Ryan gazed at the drop with a slightly concerned expression on her face.

Susan felt the tension in the room increase a thousandfold. Every eye in the great hall was now riveted on the tiny drop of blood rolling unchecked down Ryan’s hand. Even Edward turned and physically moved himself away from the wound.

Ryan watched the blood continue its downward descent as she held her hand upright in front of her face. She appeared bemused by the injury, as if uncertain how to care for it. She looked past her hand to Marilyn, who had frozen at the sight of the blood. Marilyn tore her eyes from the scarlet to look at Ryan, but the blood was still between them.

Ryan held Marilyn’s gaze, the slightest trace of a smile about her lips and a knowing look in her eye. She very deliberately moved the finger to her mouth, touched the red to her lips, and began to gently suck the wound.

It was too much for Marilyn, who turned away.

Ryan turned her attention to Abigail, who was as aroused by the scene as Marilyn. She knew how close Marilyn was to being completely out of control, because she herself was as near. She was also aware of the considerable unrest in the room.

“Dr. Ryerson,” Abigail in a dry but strained voice, “would you please attend to your patient?”

Susan glanced around the room, then picked her purse up from the floor. She retrieved a large Band-Aid from the back of her wallet, then turned in her chair. She knew full well the game Ryan was playing, but she wondered if Ryan knew how close these people were to attacking her.

She took Ryan’s hand in her own, staring at her across the short distance. Ryan gazed at her with cool amusement.

She knew.

Susan quickly and efficiently bandaged the finger, wiping the excess blood with a gauze pad and shuttling the pad immediately into her purse. She snapped the latch, never having known a handbag to attract so much attention. She settled back into her chair, smoothing her skirt.

Ryan turned back to Abigail, highly amused over her little triumph. Abigail, as always, was more entertained than displeased by the child’s antics.

Marilyn, however, was not the least bit amused. Her fury was evident.

Susan glanced at her friend. It seemed Ryan did not have the good sense to mask her relish of the situation. Ryan gazed at Marilyn, fairly taunting her.

It appeared the prosecuting attorney was not immune to Ryan’s considerable charm, either. He stood at a loss until Abigail gently reprimanded him.

“You may continue, counselor.”

The prosecutor shook his head to clear it. “Yes, of course. Umm, Madame de Fontesque…” He trailed off, then gathered his thoughts. “Can you describe the next time the defendant demonstrated her formidable temper?”

Marilyn’s words were icy. “Why yes, yes I can. I believe that would have been the night Victor was murdered.”

Ryan stiffened as if stabbed, and all traces of amusement disappeared. Marilyn settled back in her chair, pleased at the control she had regained.

“And could you describe the events leading up to that night?”

Marilyn nodded. “But of course. I have recounted them for the council on several occasions.” Marilyn turned her attention to Ryan.

“It was in the early part of the 19th century. Ryan and Victor had established quite an estate in the northwester United States. I came to visit them on numerous occasions.”

The prosecutor nodded. “And did you sense anything between them, any strife?”

Marilyn shook her head. “Not at first. Everything seemed well between them. They always thought, acted and moved as one. They fit one another as if they were two parts of the same whole.”

Marilyn continued to stare at Ryan icily as she spoke. Ryan swallowed hard and looked away.

“But I began to sense something between them, a type of tension, and I didn’t know what was at the root of it.”

“And did you ever have occasion to speak with Victor about the tension?”

Marilyn shook her head. “Not directly. Victor was ever one to keep his own counsel and I was wont to question him.”

Susan noted how Marilyn, much as Ryan did, slipped into an older version of the language at times. Marilyn continued.

“But Victor did once refer to the growing distance between he and Ryan.”

The prosecutor leaned forward. “And what did he say?”

Marilyn looked at Ryan, even now her interest evident. “He said there were things Ryan did not know, and he feared the day she discovered them.”

Abigail raised an eyebrow as she looked over at Ryan. Ryan stared resolutely forward at nothing, her posture unyielding.

“And did you ever find out what Victor referred to?”

Marilyn again shook her head. “No.”

The prosecutor stepped back, looking over his shoulder at Ryan. Ryan’s eyes flickered upward to him, and he stared at her a long moment before he spoke.

“And can you describe the events surrounding Victor’s death?”

Ryan’s eyes flickered to Marilyn. Marilyn held Ryan’s gaze and for once there was no game playing, no layered meanings. Marilyn spoke simply and clearly.

“I was not at the estate the night Victor was killed. I was hundreds of miles away, yet I felt it as if he died next to me.”

Ryan bowed her head slightly, closing her eyes, but Marilyn did not see the gesture. She seemed lost in her own memories for a moment, as if seeking a way to describe the magnitude of the event. She spoke in a rare and quiet reflection.

“A volcano erupted in the year 1832, many years after Victor’s death. It was such a tremendous explosion you could hear the sound of it as it traveled around the world several times.” Marilyn turned to Abigail, who nodded in remembrance. “That was how Victor’s death was among the Others.”

The prosecutor paused respectfully for a moment, then continued. “And what did you do when you felt this, this mental shock wave?” the prosecutor asked.

“I normally traveled by whatever convenience was available; I rarely if ever traveled by foot. But that night I ran, knowing I could cover the distance quicker on my own.”

Susan could feel the tension in the room growing once more as the prosecutor asked his next question.

“And what did you see when you arrived at the estate?”

“I saw a great fire in the night sky, and I knew the manor was burning, even from a distance. As I ran up the road, I could see a figure standing in the opened gate.”

The prosecutor’s voice was almost a whisper. “And who was the figure?”

“It was Ryan, and she was covered in blood. Not just covered,” Marilyn corrected herself, “but drenched, as if she had bathed in a river of blood.”

Susan flinched at the account, but Ryan did not. She stared woodenly forward as Marilyn continued.

“I asked her what had happened, and she said ‘You know what I’ve done’. I said, ‘It’s not possible, you could not have killed Victor.’”

“And what did she say?” the prosecutor said.

Marilyn stared at Ryan. “She said that many things were impossible, and now she had done them all.”

“And what was your reply?”

Marilyn seemed momentarily at a loss. “I was in shock, I could not comprehend that our leader was dead. I told Ryan she would have to take his place.”

The prosecutor did not seem surprised at this seemingly contradictory revelation. “The law of succession,” he said.

Marilyn nodded. “Of course. It was the one thing she could have done to at least mitigate an unforgivable act.”

“And what was her reply to you?”

A strange look passed over Marilyn’s face. “She told me I didn’t understand what she had done. I told her, of course I understood what she had done. She had killed our King.”

This, apparently, was unfamiliar territory to the prosecutor. He wrinkled his brow. “And what did Ryan say to you?”

Marilyn stared at Ryan, as if she could will the girl to explain the phrase that was now 200 years old. She hesitated, although she could not possibly forget words that had baffled her for two centuries.

“She said: ‘No, I have done worse than that’.”

The enigmatic statement hung in the air, and again, many eyes turned towards Ryan. But Ryan sat stiffly, her expression unreadable, her unblinking gaze forward looking at nothing.

The prosecuting attorney let the words linger a few moments longer, then he bowed to Marilyn. “Thank you, madam.”

Marilyn stood as if to step down, but she was stopped by a clipped, British accent. “Not so quickly, your Honor. I have a few questions to ask the witness.”

A ripple of surprise went through the courtroom and Abigail herself raised an eyebrow. She fingered her gavel. “Why certainly, counselor, it is your right.”

Marilyn had obviously not expected this. She gazed at Edward with barely concealed contempt as she sat back down. She made a great show of settling in, then turned her icy gaze on him.

“By all means, counsel, ask your questions and be quick about it.”

Edward gave a mocking show of confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought our Kind were never in a hurry.”