"Taffy," Diyiren said, opening his arms to her. She came once a year in person for her treatments and Diyiren relished every second.
Taffy bowed down. "I hate to ask this of you."
Diyiren laughed. "Not just treatments this time?"
"Banrion Aoibh has changed her name to Anne."
"That's one of her favorites," Diyiren said. Mary, Anne, Louise, Jane, Elizabeth. "Is it Moore, Cuthbert, Edwards or Adams with time?"
"O'Brien."
Diyiren spun to Taffy, exasperation writ on his brow. "That's Irish. Does she have a death wish?"
"It's a mark of solidarity. An author, Anne Rice, has been thrown in jail."
Diyiren rolled his eyes. He took Taffy by the arm, led her to the dining hall. If his blood pressure was going to go through the roof, he needed to at least drink some tea. The servants bumped into each other and shuffled away, all bowing to him.
Taffy continued, "This Rice woman wrote a book, an allegory about her daughter's death."
"And this got her landed in jail, why?"
"The story is about vampires."
Diyiren was laughing, but he was shaking his head. He poured another cup of tea. "Whatever Aoibh wants."
YOU ARE READING
The Lamb and the Gray Battle
FantasyEvie has spent the last 575 years on the North American continent, now called America, the Pure and Clean. She smiles, volunteers and makes cakes and pastries for her neighbors, hiding away her demon blood. She wants nothing to do with her estranged...
