Some were familiar to me—Hugh, Baldwin, Godfrey, Matthew, Verin, Freyja, Stasia. Many were not.
“Twelfth century. French. In the style of the workshop at Saint-Sever,” Phoebe said, confirming my sense of the age of the work.
“It all started when I complained to Gallowglass about Baldwin’s interference. He told me that Philippe was nearly as bad and that when Hugh got fed up, he struck out on his own with Fernando,”
Marcus explained. “Gallowglass called their family a scion and said sometimes they were the only way to keep the peace.”
The look of suppressed fury on Matthew’s face suggested that peace was the last thing Gallowglass was going to enjoy once his uncle found him.
“I remembered reading something about scions back when Grandfather hoped I would turn to law and take on Godfrey’s old duties,” Marcus said.
“Found it,” Hamish said, his finger tapping against the page.
‘Any male with full-blooded children of his own can establish a scion, provided he has the approval of his sire or the head of his clan. The new scion will be considered a branch of the original family, but in all other ways the new scion’s sire shall exercise his will and power freely.’
“That sounds straightforward enough, but since Godfrey was involved, there must be more to it.”
“Forming a scion—a distinct branch of the de Clermont family under your authority—will solve all of our problems!” Marcus said.
“Not all clan leaders welcome scions, Marcus,” Matthew warned.
“Once a rebel, always a rebel,” Marcus said with a shrug. “You knew that when you made me.”
“And Phoebe?” Matthew’s brows lifted. “Does your fiancée share your revolutionary sentiments?
She might not like the idea of being cast out of Sept-Tours without a penny after all of your assets are seized by your uncle.”
“What do you mean?” Marcus said, uneasy.
“Hamish can correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe the next section of Godfrey’s book lays out the penalties associated with establishing a scion without your sire’s permission,” Matthew replied.
“You’re my sire,” Marcus said, his chin set in stubborn lines.
“Only in the biological sense: I provided you with my blood so you could be reborn a vampire.”
Matthew rammed his hands through his hair, a sign that his own frustration was mounting. “And you know how I detest the term ‘sire’ used in that context. I consider myself your father—not your blood donor.”
“I’m asking you to be more than that,” Marcus said. “Baldwin is wrong about the covenant and wrong about the Congregation. If you establish a scion, we could chart our own path, make our own decisions.”
“Is there some problem with you establishing your own scion, Matt?” Hamish asked. “Now that Diana’s pregnant, I would think you’d be eager to get out from under Baldwin’s thumb.”
“It’s not as simple as you think,” Matthew told him. “And Baldwin may have reservations.”
“What’s this, Phoebe?” Sarah’s finger pointed to a rough patch in the parchment under Matthew’s name. She was more interested in the genealogy than the legal complexities.
Phoebe took a closer look. “It’s an erasure of some sort. There used to be another roundel there. I can almost make out the name. Beia—oh, it must be Benjamin. They’ve used common medieval abbreviations and substituted an i for a j.”
“They scratched out the circle but forgot to get rid of the little red line that connects him to Matthew. Based on that, this Benjamin is one of Matthew’s children,” Sarah said.