The picture of Alexandra consuming into charcoal underneath that bizarre sun didn’t please him; however this was, he advised himself, a round of her plan—in any event, fitting her personal preference—and she had convinced him to participate in it. As upsetting just like the possibility of her demise, the possibility of his own disturbed him even more. At the point when he had completed, he got three jars of the undiluted medication into an internal pocket, an adequate inventory, he assessed, for quite a long time of security against the light—it is possible that he would get an opportunity to run if things turned out poorly, and he would not like to be restricted to night travel. He likewise took a knife from the cabinet of the work area. Then, at that point he rushed to the steps, gotten up to speed Giselle in his arms, and—went before by Paulina—advanced along dull and untraveled sections toward the core of the palace. As he went he attempted to disentangle the skeins of contention and compulsion that had driven him to this pass. It was an incomprehensible undertaking. However, he accepted that whatever individual impulses and political intrigues were in play, they were all by one way or another subordinate to the discussion as of now captivating the Family. Interestingly he contemplated whether, when remaining with Agenor and Dolores in the incredible corridor the evening of the homicide, he had just been parroting his guide. Presently, cut off from Agenor’s impact, he was not exactly so firm in his perspectives. Who realized what stupefying possibilities the East may hold? Maybe there were obscure risks there more unfriendly to the Family than those known ones they looked in Europe. Maybe they could attempt an adjustment of Europe, become more wicked and careful in their activities, and that by itself would guarantee endurance. However at that point it is possible that drenching in the East was the solitary strategy that would permit them the time important to adjust to such a change. Eventually, he understood, the entire inquiry would doubtlessly be chosen by the essentials of a plan or game that none of them totally comprehended, with the conceivable special case of the astonishing animal whom he was trying to meet. It very well may be close to the inescapable aftereffect of some activity of destiny, similar to the one whose presence he had detected recently preceding gathering Vlad, on hearing the tune of his blood, the weaving of an inconceivably huge embroidery arriving at its determination, a thready mark thinking of itself in the base corner. Alexandra had been correct: he was a pawn. However, along these lines, for all her cleverness, was she. The most that they may want to learn was whether they were of a shading, pushing together in all cases toward the chance of higher position, or then again on the off chance that they had been set one against the other, a minor commitment that would have some fringe importance regarding a definitive result. The passageway to the Patriarch’s chambers was an adit that prompted a secret entryway. Beheim laid Giselle down at the mouth of the adit and stooped next to her, attempting to distinguish some adjustment of her that would flag her impending recuperation. However the glinting of Paulina’s light loaned her bogus shading, her heartbeat stayed inconsistent and the edges of her mouth were downturned, as though she were in awful torment. “What in damnation’s name would he be able to have given her?” Beheim said, smacking the level of his hand against the divider. “Laudanum, maybe.” Paulina shook her head sullenly. “Vlad had many medications, many toxic substances.” Beheim couldn’t decide whether to hazard making a decision about Giselle, to take the risk that she would endure judgment, or to never really trust she would recuperate all alone. Finally his hesitation convinced him that the time was not ideal for judgment. He would perceive how things stood once he got back from his crowd with the Patriarch. In the event that he returned. There was no reason for harping on that. “Stand by with her,” he told Paulina. “Show restraint. I don’t have the foggiest idea what amount of time this will require.” She made no answer, however he required none to affirm her constancy. He recalled how it had been following he had surrendered to Agenor. He had not had the option to take his eyes off the man; he had inventoried his every jerk and propensity: how Agenor’s snicker plummeted into a raspy, broken laugh; how he at times would toss back his head in a practically ladylike motion prior to talking; how he would crease his right arm across his chest when in a profound report, supporting his left elbow on the right hand, his left hand held open as though to get the substance of his idea that was expected at any second to be spat forward from his temple. Paulina was, as Beheim himself whenever had been, absolutely enamored, enchanted, gazing at him with unmodulated veneration.