Page 81 of The Serpent's Bride
TWENTY-THREE
Smile.
Patience.
They’d all be dead.
Eventually, if notsoon.
That was what Nadi kept telling herself as she sat there at the table underneath the blackened glass panels of the enormous greenhouse that Lana owned. The decorative structure had its doors wide open to allow the fresh air to come through. Well. “Fresh.” As fresh as any air in the metropolis could really be. Even as far out on the edges as Lana lived, it was still nothing compared to what it was like in the Wild.
And it was suitably bedecked in fake plants, trees, and shrubs of all sizes. Some glass, some paper, some metal—meant to represent plants from everywhere on Runne. Meant to lookexoticandstrangebut of course,tamed.Anything they had that was real was ringed in iron to keep it under control.
Some of the fake plants were so delicate they were works of art in their own right. But instead of leaving her feeling in awe? Nadi really rather just wanted to be sick. Instead, she had to quietly watch Lana and the rest of the Nostrom family and friends banter and gossip with each other.
Even the mayor of the metropolis was there again, schmoozing and laughing, trying to drum up support for the election. She didn’t pay much attention to politics—that was just the showy surface-level nonsense. Simply the cover for the dealings in the back, which were the true workings that she was more interested in. Just the cover business for the dealings in the back.
The focus on her was luckily over—and for that, she wassomewhatgrateful. She was now just the temporary human attachment to Raziel. Something that would be violently sorted within the week.
Just like Lana’s three ex-husbands, if Raziel’s story was right. There were about thirty people seated at the table—the closest friends and family from the wedding that had been rather spectacularly interrupted. Though, now it was Volencia sitting at the head, not Raziel and “Monica.” Mael sat beside her at Volencia’s right hand. Lana at her left. And Raziel beside Lana. And Monica beside him.
The seating was quite clearly sending a message: Raziel was third in line. He wasn’t even the spare son behind the first-in-command.
She’d almost find it insulting on his behalf if she didn’t find it so damn funny.
She had hoped to use the day to try to talk her way into the clan. But now that her original plan was dashed, she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to bother withtrying.
Her new plan was far more likely to succeed. And maybe more fun, to boot. Or at least, she was trying to convince herself of that.
But, she reminded herself in an annoying counterargument, Monica wouldn’t have a plan to murder Hank, then Ivan, then Raziel. Monica’s only road to survival would be the approval of the family.
So there she was.
Smiling.
Laughing politely at everyone’s terrible jokes.
Taking Volencia’s insults aimed at her in stride.
And picturing in her head the violent and terrible ways she was going to kill them all.
“So,” one of the vampires seated across from her began during a lull in the conversation. He was a cousin. One low-born enough that she didn’t know his name, but to judge by the way he was wrinkling his nose at her like she was a spoiled tin of sardines, he was itching to put his name on her kill list. “I hear you were at the slaughter of the Iltanis.”
“I was.” She reached for her glass of wine. “They saw fit to involve me in the family business, so I saw fit to return the favor.”
“Mmhm.” It seemed he wasn’t impressed with her answer. “The Nostrom family is the oldest and most revered vampire clan in the metropolis. We can trace our lineage back to?—”
“She does not need a history lecture, Alberto,” Raziel interjected, rolling his eyes. “Get to the point.”
“Ourfamily businessis not for a human to beinvolved in,is my point.” Alberto grimaced, baring his fangs. “And is far more dignified than killing vermin in an infested den below grounds. That a weasel thinks to even be seated at the table is?—”
“Which one of us are you calling a weasel?” Nadi was the one to interrupt that time. “Him, or me?” She smiled. “Sorry to interrupt. I want to make sure I don’t commit anysocial blunders, I am from the country, after all. I’d hate to open my fat mouth and take an insult the wrong way.”
Azazel, a few seats down from the direct family, was hiding his laughter in his napkin. She knew he’d lied to her the first time they’d met—or at least played her sympathies—but against her better judgment she still rather liked him.
Raziel was glaring a hole in Alberto in silence.
And Alberto looked as though he was suddenly regretting his decision to speak.
