“And then Lorenzo would have done this anyway.”
She made no response, only continued to quietly leaf through the old papers.
“Stephen told me he would not live long.”
He frowned. “What?”
“He told me months ago that he felt he was ‘living on borrowed time,’ as he put it. That he would not escape this fate. He was peaceful about it. Stephen claimed that he should have died years ago when Lorenzo turned him. That all this time was only a gift.”
“Because he saw Beatrice again.”
She nodded.
“But you did not see this fate for him?”
“No, I did not see this.”
“Or you did not choose to.”
Tenzin looked at him with guarded eyes. “Perhaps, I did not choose to.”
Giovanni cleared his throat. “Will she… will she join him?”
It had weighed on his mind more than he wanted. As much as Beatrice loved him, new immortals were impulsive and irrational, and he clearly remembered his own sense of despair hundreds of years before when he had murdered his own sire. Despite Giovanni’s loathing for him, there was a gaping hollow where he felt Andros’s loss.
“Gio, you know her better than that.”
“Do I?”
Tenzin frowned. “How can you ask that?”
“She is the same to me, but more. Surely you can see it.”
His friend placed her hand on his arm, squeezing slightly. “She is… exactly who she will need to be, my boy.”
He took a deep breath. “Beatrice is as much your daughter as she was Stephen’s, Tenzin. Please, don’t disappear.”
Giovanni saw her grey eyes shutter. She slipped away and went to sit by Stephen’s body again, and in his heart, he knew she was already gone.
Two nights later, a solemn procession slipped down the steps from the monastery. Giovanni walked ahead and lit the stone lanterns on the path before four of Zhang’s men, who carried Stephen’s body. Tenzin and Beatrice followed them. Lu’s water vampires had arrived the night before and stood near the edge of the river, watching the procession in silent respect.
The four wind vampires carried the body to the edge of the river where Tenzin and Beatrice, both dressed in white robes, held out their hands and cradled Stephen between them, waiting until the water claimed its own.
He felt a flutter of wind and looked to his right to see Zhang light on the stone steps and walk to him. They nodded toward each other.
“Giovanni.”
“Zhang.”
“How is your wife?”
“Beatrice will be fine. She is very strong.”
He heard a slight hoarseness in Zhang’s voice. “And how is my daughter?”
Giovanni paused. “She will be fine.”
“The elder has been executed. Lu carried it out himself. The whole council was displeased by his actions.”
“He broke their trust.”
“And sacrificed a sacred place of learning for a human.”
Giovanni couldn’t help but think that he would have done the same if the human had been Beatrice, but he remained silent.
“Does your son have Beatrice’s book?”
“Yes. She saw him take it.”
“You will retrieve it. The book was given to Beatrice as a scribe of Penglai; it is rightfully hers. If the council of the Eight Immortals can help you, we will. We do not care to have our will averted.”
“It is the Seven Immortals now, isn’t it?”
Zhang was silent for a moment. “Surely you must know that the council is immortal. There will always be eight.”
“But—”
“Elder Zhongli is more than the vampire who wore his name.”
Giovanni nodded in understanding. So, another Elder Zhongli Quan would be chosen. Giovanni wondered how that would come about, but chose not to ask, knowing he would receive no answer. He wondered if Zhongli had been the original vampire of legend, or whether he had been a replacement himself.
“Of course, Elder Zhang. Continuity is important.”
“As is balance.”
“Yes.” Giovanni looked to his mate. She stood proud and solemn across from his oldest friend. He thought of Beatrice and Tenzin. Of Carwyn and himself. Water, wind, earth and fire.
Balance.
Four elements.
Always four.
His eyes narrowed and he glanced at Zhang, who only looked at him with a slight smile.
“Balance,” Zhang said again, “is the key, Giovanni Vecchio. The wisest of immortals have always understood this.”
A thought began to bloom at the back of his mind. A path in the darkness began to grow lighter.
Balance.
He nodded at Zhang a little more deeply. “Of course. Thank you, Elder Zhang.”
Giovanni turned back to the river; he could feel the change in the air. Beatrice’s heart began to beat more rapidly, and he and Zhang stepped closer as the air became charged.
It was only a ripple at first. The solid shroud of Stephen’s earthly form seemed to shudder in the current. Then, little by little, it grew thinner. The strips of cloth that had bound his feet came loose, curling in the water as the river teased them. Then, as if by silent command, the white cloth slipped away from the women’s grasp, unfurling like a silken cocoon as the pure white linen was washed away in the stream. He watched it spread, a silver web scattering in the curls and eddies of the Nine-Bend River, washing down the mountain and into the sea.