Vernal Equinox
March 20th 2139
It had been nearly three months since the unforgettable red dawn of that final battle, the fall of Marcus Augustine and his regime. But Jacob had long-since lost track of the days. Time seemed like such a foreign construct to him now, the days and nights all blending together in one ceaseless blur of thought and study. While his friends and associates had all been quick to lose themselves in the political machinations of the new court, tempered only by the reconstructive efforts to restore their little oasis on the European continent to its former glory, Jake had all but shut himself away, a self-imposed imprisonment – and in Augustine's old quarters no less.
He had barely slept since that morning all those weeks ago, when Margot's ghostly hand – something inexplicably tangible, yet ethereal – had faded from his view, along with the rest of her the moment the sun had finished peaking over the horizon on that new day. A new world.
And yet, still her final words continued to echo in his mind like a siren call from the beyond, his exhausted eyes pouring over yet another ancient text on necromancy, searching for something, anything that could help him answer that call.
"Francesca's work is not yet done," his deceased wife had told him in those final moments as Mariella's magic continued to wane. "But she'll need your help, Jacob."
"Tell me what I must do," he had pleaded with her. "I can't lose you again."
Marguerite's smile would forever be burned into his memory, that seductively delightful curve of lip the only thing that could wake him from a dead sleep at high noon, that drew him from a restless slumber time and again, pulling him back to the ancient tomes and dark magic he had once sworn never to touch again, but had now become utterly dependent on.
In those last few seconds before she had vanished altogether, she had instructed him to revisit the prophecy; that the answers he sought were there. And it was there in Mariella Bernardini's old journals that he had found those very answers.
Indeed, as foretold, the demons had been bound and the lost restored that morning – but the last line of the witch's prophecy remained unfulfilled: through her blood the forsaken shall taste of the light.
It had only taken Jacob a matter of hours to unveil what that meant, to have several centuries of wondering why his previous efforts to restore their fallen loved ones in the past with his necromancy had failed so spectacularly now answered. It wasn't just that the souls of the strigoi and nosferatu had been bound by Lilith's power – that had been just one piece of the puzzle. Necromancy of this sort required sacrifice – usually a life for a life.
But with her blood – Francesca's blood...
It was at that realization that Jacob's hope had turned to ash in his mouth.
There was no way in hell he could bring himself to ask Frankie to sacrifice more than she already had.
For starters, he wasn't particularly keen on facing Dracula's wrath had such a topic even been broached. But the idea of his dear sister-in-law, who was finally tasting of true, real happiness for the first time in her life... he didn't have the heart to interfere with that, to burden her further.
And so Jacob isolated himself, pouring countless hours – days and nights and days – into reading every ancient grimoire and tome he could get his hands on. He scoured through the palace archives, through every scrap of paper, every dark spell and incantation; but after weeks of the same fruitless search, he realized that if he was going to have Margot back in his life again, if he was to have any hope of filling this gaping hole his beloved had left him with, then Frankie was the only one who could make it happen.
And yet, for weeks, he couldn't seem to muster the courage to ask her.
It just felt so selfish.
He had seen first hand what it had been like for her to blood-let in such a way when she had broken the hex on the Dracul Sânge. It had taken every drop within her – and as consequence, it had nearly killed her, had practically severed her blood-bond with Vladislaus, her sire-bond with Lyra.
He could not, would not be responsible for her making such a sacrifice again – especially since there was no guarantee that it would even be sufficient to bring back just one soul, even if that soul was the woman's own sister.
But Jacob couldn't shake that needling feeling in the back of his brain that had only grown all the more persistent the last few nights. It was as if Margot's ghost had taken to poking him, prodding him with her nail every time he tried to push the notion aside, to smother the hope of ever being able to hold his wife in his arms again. He had been able to see her, hear her, and touch her for a little over an hour – it should have been enough. Yet he knew, deep down, it would never be enough. All her return had managed to do was reawaken within him an old and familiar ache; a painful, crushing emptiness that had many centuries ago nearly driven him to madness.
The irony of it was, they had never even been blood-bound.
But her soul and his had been cut from the same cloth, and so her death, those centuries of separation – well, in his mind it was damn near close enough to a blood-bond.
Sitting on one of the steps of Augustine's now overgrown private garden, Jacob buried his face in his hands, elbows propped on his knees as the evening air settled around him – an oppressive, near deafening silence.
He had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't even been aware of her sudden presence until she had sat down beside him on those steps, resting her cheek on his upper arm. Jake pulled back his hands to find Frankie seated beside him.
She was dressed in an elegant plum-colored robe of velvet lined in silk that fell an inch or so below the elbow, her hair pulled back into a thick braid, a tasteful diadem of gold and amethyst woven into place by strands of hair. She looked every-bit a queen to be – regal, serene, poised... and to his eternal chagrin, discerning.
Frankie smiled gently at him with a knowing expression when he met her gaze.
There wasn't an ounce of judgment in her eyes – only love and boundless compassion.
He knew without even needing to inquire that if he asked her to spill her blood on the off-chance that he could bring Margot back, that she'd do it in a heartbeat. And that he was still even considering asking that of her made him feel wretchedly selfish.
Frankie seemed to perceive that unuttered thought as well, because when he looked away to keep his shame from her view, she wrapped herself around his bicep, resting her chin on his shoulder like a curious little child would, her expression one of patient anticipation.
"Jacob," she said, the utterance communicating so much more than he ever dreamed possible.
When did she even learn to do that?
"I can't ask it of you. Dracula would kill me," he replied immediately, still unable to look at her.
Her chuckle was so much like Vlad's in that moment – low and dark like smoke.
"He would not."
"True – he'd probably torture me first for even suggesting it, and then kill me."
Frankie laughed outright that time, giving him a gentle squeeze of reassurance.
"He still would not – and do you know why?" she asked. He gave a mere grunt in response as she straightened a little then, still holding onto him as she caught the corner of his eye, scrutinizing. "Because you're not going to ask. I am going to offer."
Jacob turned to look at her in disbelief, quick to shake his head in refusal.
"Frank – no."
"No? Fine then – as your future queen, I'm going to insist upon it," she announced, still smiling.
"Frankie, this isn't a joke."
She carried on as if she wasn't even listening to him anymore.
"In fact, we're not going to stop with just Margot – we're going to bring them all back... as many as we can."
"Francesca..."
But she had already released him, rising to her feet as she began to make her way back inside.
"We'll bring back Marguerite, then Maman and Papa, of course – Aunt Cece, too; and Hal, Alessia... oh! And the Bernardini's, as well, of course... although Mariella might be a little tricky."
Before she could reach the table in the private dining area of Augustine's old chambers that had since been transformed into Jacob's book depository, the warlock had materialized from the gardens to the entry of the room, blocking her progress.
"Francesca, I can't let you do this!" he exclaimed, his countenance brimming with panic.
"Why not?"
"Because it's too much!" and he gripped her by the arms, ready to shake that de Chacier self-sacrificing nonsense right out of her if he had to. "Do you remember the last time you had to blood-let for a sacrifice? You nearly died!"
"That's ridiculous," she insisted, trying to shake off his grip. "You know I can't die."
"Maybe not before, but we have no idea if that's still the case now that the prophecy has been fulfilled."
That gave her a moment's pause – but only a moment's.
"It doesn't matter," she proclaimed, freeing herself with a little more force that time so she could push past him.
"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" he called out, baffled. "Frankie, I appreciate that you're so willing to try and bring Margot back for me – to bring back everyone else for the sake of the others. Believe me, that graciousness does not go unnoticed. But you can't possibly begin to think that proceeding like this – without even knowing all the risks involved..."
"Don't give me that nonsense. I know that you know all the risks already," she interjected, looking up from one of the books she had picked up to study, that blue gaze of her piercing. "Vesper told me."
Jake paused for a moment, and then the realization hit him.
Vesper had been the only person to consistently check in on him every evening, sometimes without ever even announcing her presence. He had even woken from a restless slumber on more than one occasion to discover her shuffling through his notes during the daylight hours. Jacob swore behind gritted teeth.
"That sneaky little chit... I knew she wasn't just poking around for no reason."
"You know, I'm thinking of having Feng formally train her – her eavesdropping abilities are one thing, but she's got a marvelous knack for spy work, it's a wonder we never tapped into it before," and she plopped the book back down onto one of the mountainous stacks before turning to face her brother-in-law fully. Frankie lounged back against the table, arms folded in front of her. "But back to the business at hand – I know that you've known how to do this from the start – bringing the others back – that it involved me. And while I appreciate the consideration of you losing precious sleep over seeking out alternatives these last few months, I think we both know that there's only one way to do this."
Jacob's shoulders slumped in growing defeat as that familiar poison – hope – started to creep into his veins.
She couldn't be serious.
And he couldn't be seriously considering accepting... and yet...
"If what Vesper has uncovered from your findings is accurate, and if I understand the spell correctly, you need not just my blood, but the blood of the one you are trying to revive – or at the very least, a blood-relation. That's what creates the tether between our world and the beyond. In the case of Margot, I check off both boxes. The only other thing you'd need is some sort of physical conduit to bind her newly resurrected form to this plane of existence as a security measure since we don't want to have to keep repeating the same ritual in case there's an accident or..."
But she paused as Jacob reached into his pocket just then. Upon retrieving whatever it was he had kept in there, he extended his fist to her before slowly unclenching it, revealing an antique gold ring with a delicate ruby centered between two diamonds.
Marguerite's wedding band.
Frankie's voice trailed off as her emotions got the better of her.
He had kept it.
Jacob had kept Margot's ring after all these centuries – had somehow managed to hold onto it, in spite of everything he had endured. He had never lost track of it. And what was more, he had remained true. But this didn't surprise Francesca. If anything, his unwavering devotion to her sister moved her. Watching him the last few months had been a challenge – seeing him so miserable. Even now, it was a challenge – witnessing that wretchedness in his countenance. The entire ordeal, this ceaseless struggle within him – to exist another day, another hour, without the other half of his soul – especially after being only briefly reunited before they had been forced to separate once again... Frankie couldn't even imagine.
Her chest tightened as she beheld the absolute desolation in Jacob's face, his eyes lined with tears.
"I know I shouldn't ask you," he whispered, voice quivering. "I know it's selfish, but I can't..." Jacob's entire body shuddered with emotion. "I thought I had managed to find some way of living without her, but seeing her again, Frankie... touching her, hearing her voice... I know we're not blood-bond or anything, but... but you. You know that I... I can't. I can't live another day without her."
Francesca's face crumpled as she closed the distance between them, closing his fist over her sister's ring before pressing a kiss to his knuckles.
"Nor should you have to," she uttered, the words so low, he had almost missed them. "I knew that morning when I saw them all there in that garden that that was how it was meant to be – that they had always been meant to be there, that we were meant to be together, as a family... all of us." Frankie reached around to hold his nape with her free hand, urging his gaze toward hers. "I know you're scared, Jake," she said softly. "I know necromancy still frightens you, that me having to give even just an ounce of blood after everything I've had to give doesn't sit well with you – and you have no idea how much I appreciate the consideration, my dear brother."
Frankie leaned in a little closer, taking his face in her hands, eyes glistening.
"But there is life in these veins," she whispered. "Life and power over death. I can restore what we have lost, brother, but I cannot do it alone."
"But what if it's too much?" he asked. "What if the magic demands more than you can give?"
"I get to decide my limits, Jacob Šarić. No one else. Not you, not Rémy or Vlad. No one. Only I do. Do you understand?"
She spoke the words with firmness and resolution – like a queen.
Speaking of which...
"Your coronation is in three days," he reminded her. "We can wait until after..."
But she was already shaking her head.
"No. We've waited long enough. We do this now... tonight," and she released him then, oozing with determination. "Make the preparations. Alayna should be here within the hour with what we need to proceed."
"What we need?" he repeated. "What do you mean?"
Frankie sent him a roguish grin.
"You seriously didn't think I came all this way merely for conversation, did you?" she asked cheekily. "I fully intend on a full-blown family reunion before the sun rises, and since I had a sneaking suspicion you'd be fairly easy to convince, I asked her to snag a couple of things from the family vaults before she left just in case..."
Jake scrubbed his face with his hand, not sure if he wanted to laugh or groan in disbelief.
"Francesca..."
"Don't Francesca me. You know you want this... we both do. So get ready, gealach prince," and she winked over at him as she made her way out of the room. "I'm not the only one who gets to realize their full potential. It's high time you realized yours."
----
Vladislaus was situated in the freshly restored courtyard of the palace, flanked by Jack, Ezekiel, and Niklaus on his left, and Rémy on his right. Their eyes were turned toward the skies, the dark purple horizon only just beginning to show those first signs of the pending dawn. The de Chacier clan had begun their descent over Budapest, nearing the main gates of the palace with Armand at the head, Eduardo de Meirás on his left, and the others close behind.
They were one body short.
"Where's Alayna?" Niklaus asked as casually as he could, though the query earned an exchange of sidelong glances between his two elder brothers.
"She arrived several hours ago ahead of my uncle's party," Rémy explained as if it were old news. "Have you not had a chance to see her yet?"
"I didn't even know she was here."
"Vesper nabbed her almost the moment she landed – that may be why."
Niklaus muttered something unintelligible under his breath, but offered no further reply, his brow furrowed over in confusion.
"Perhaps she's grown bored of you already, brother?" Jack teased, but Niklaus was quick to inspire silence, elbowing the man in the ribs.
"I'm surprised the redhead hasn't grown weary of you, yet, Jack," Zeke offered as a counter point, sending a knowing smirk in the way of his youngest brother who in turn offered him an appreciative look.
"Or that Lou hasn't convinced her to kick you to the curb. Two's company. Three's a crowd."
The two men snickered as Jack merely shrugged, his expression turning a little conceited.
"This cock will always be better than any tongue or set of fingers," he announced and all of the men presently accounted for groaned in unison.
"I thought I expressly requested that you keep the details of your sordid relationship with that infernal demoness to yourself," Vlad interjected, grimacing.
"You heard what they were saying! I had to defend my honor!" Jack proclaimed, though he was grinning ear to ear, clearly unbothered.
"Well defend it somewhere else, and where there's no chance of me overhearing anything on the matter," and Dracula sent the man a pointed look.
"Speaking of overhearing..." Ezekiel continued, his expression purely Machiavellian, "is your performance from earlier this evening the reason why we haven't seen Francesca out and about all evening?"
Rémy swore, not bothering to hide his dislike for the sudden change in topic – his slew of profanity earning a series of chuckles from the Dracul Sânge males. Vlad, on the other hand, seemed rather pleased with himself, though he said nothing.
"I'd be surprised if she could walk at all," Jack agreed.
Rémy immediately excused himself, practically sprinting across the way just as his uncle and cousins landed near the gate of the palace. The last thing he wanted to endure was another open conversation about his sister's sex life.
"All jokes aside though, her majesty has been rather scarce today," Zeke added in a low voice. "And so have the girls. I haven't seen hair nor hide of them since Alayna arrived just before midnight."
"You knew she was here, too, and you didn't think to tell me?" Niklaus exclaimed, looking betrayed, but his brother ignored him.
"They're probably just having girl time," Jack offered. "Lyra's been pretty MIA the last few hours, too."
"Ah! Comté!" Vlad called out, stepping ahead of his sons, now desperately trying to keep the curiosity from overrunning his brain as he greeted his guests. "Welcome!"
"Your majesty," Armand replied after releasing his nephew from a hug, offering a bow. "It is a pleasure to see you again."
"The pleasure is all mine," Vladislaus insisted, reaching out to shake the man's hand. After the usual pleasantries were exchanged, Armand skimmed his eyes over those in assembly, his brow furrowing over a little.
"I was hoping to see my niece, though it's clear something has detained her. Some business of state, no doubt."
"Actually, we were just discussing how scarce Francesca has been these last hours," Vlad admitted, instinctually reaching for the blood-bond just to make sure it was still there. It was, though it was notably silent. Not the most unusual of occurrences, but still... it left something to nag in the corner of his mind. He quietly continued to move down the bond toward Frankie's end, helplessly curious, as the others continued in their conversation.
"How is Jacob fairing, by the way, Reynaud?" Armand inquired, falling into step beside his nephew as they made their way toward the palace entry.
"Still isolating himself," Rémy admitted with a sigh. "I'm worried about him, Uncle. Vesper says he's been burying himself in old necromancy tomes, though he hasn't been practicing, as far as we can tell. But I think seeing Margot again really did a number on him..."
Vladislaus suddenly went rigid, his entire body shuddering from head to toe as the realization hit him.
Niklaus was the only one who noticed, his expression growing concerned as his progression waned, leaving him to stand at his father's side with a mounting wariness.
"Father? What is it?"
That seemed to bring the others to a halt, all turning to gaze back at Dracula with looks of interest.
Vlad reached a little further down the bond when he felt it.
Francesca.
She was so distant, the bond unnaturally cool to the touch as if she was fading... as if...
The rest of the pieces came together with the abruptness and intensity of a lightning strike. Powered only by a sudden exertion of will, he erupted into a cloud of billowing mist, materializing himself to the top of the steps where he threw open the front doors of the palace in a sudden panic.
"FRANCESCA!" he shouted, the booming sound of his voice reverberating through the high-ceiling of the grand foyer. He could hear the others shouting behind him, asking what was wrong, but they all seemed so far away as his body moved of its own volition. He was reduced to little more than shadow as he raced through the halls toward the back of the building, toward Augustine's old rooms.
He could feel her there, just beyond his reach, and like a crack of thunder, he burst into the apartments on a wave of icy mist, the tails of his black coat billowing dramatically from the movement. Vlad was only half-aware of the sound of murmured voices as he rushed into the bathroom to find Frankie – pale as death, and reaching into an overflowing tub, her arm submerged almost to the shoulder. The water had gone red with blood.
Francesca's blood.
He could smell it, taste its coppery sweetness in the air.
It didn't take long for him to discern what was going on.
The bloody knife next to her knee.
The ceremonial candles strewn about the room.
Jacob seated at the other end outside the tub with a worn leather grimoire in his hands. The man was muttering softly, eyes fixed on his sister-in-law, but never did his concentration wane.
Dracula took a step forward to put an end to this madness, but Francesca held out her other hand, commanding him to stay put. He could see the barely healed cut running all the way down her forearm from wrist to elbow, the skin surrounding the still mending wound pink and tender. He felt a firm grip suddenly on his arm and he turned to find Louis de Chacier standing behind him – and in the flesh, no less.
Vlad's eyes widened in disbelief.
The man's skin was glistening, hair damp as if he had just stepped out of the shower, and he was wrapped in only a towel around his waist. But his blue eyes never wavered as they lingered on his daughter.
How in the bloody hell...
"Watch," was all the Duke said, and Vladislaus reluctantly looked back to his wife, his heart, as she reached further down into the tub, body trembling from the blood loss even while her expression remained utterly determined.
"Have you got him?" a familiar woman's voice called out from the other side of the room and Vlad had to blink a few times to take in what it was he was seeing.
Mariella Bernardini, also in the flesh, donning a plush bathrobe, her wet curls pulled back into a knot on the top of her head.
"Just barely," Frankie murmured.
"She needs to feed," Louise explained from somewhere in a neighboring chamber. "We need someone to go get Father."
"Uh, no we don't, Lou," another familiar voice replied.
Dracula's gaze broke away from Frankie's form for just a moment, flitting to the source of the voice where he found Alessia standing in the adjacent doorway that connected this bath chamber to another adjoining room, Tempest at her side.
"Why the hell not?" Louise called out in agitation.
"Because he's already here," Alessia explained, smiling a little sheepishly. Louise's head poked out from around the corner, followed immediately by Hal's, Vlad's towering presence confirming what their newly revived sister had just proclaimed. The blonde blanched.
"Shit."
"Don't be mad," Frankie called out weakly, her voice bringing Dracula's attention back to her. She was smiling at him. Smiling and leaning against the tub with a look of utter exhaustion painted over her features.
"Oh, we have gone far past the point of me being 'mad.' Are you insane?" he exclaimed, ready to approach, but her father's grip on his arm only tightened.
"Let her finish," the man insisted. Vlad made a move to free himself, when Mariella let out an exclamation of delight.
"There he is! You've got him!" she shouted. "Hold on, caro mio!" Mariella reached into the tub to grab onto whatever Frankie had caught hold of, the woman quickly motioning for someone to assist. It was Lyra who approached. "Hold her hand tight over his," she instructed. "She's too weak to pull him out on her own."
"What the devil is going on in here?" Rémy exclaimed, but he stopped short when he realized just who was holding Dracula back. "Father?"
"We've got him! We've got him!" Mariella cried out in delight. "Pull, Francesca! Pull! You've got this!" Vladislaus could do nothing but watch as Lyra and Mariella helped Francesca pull Antón Bernardini out of the tub as if they had managed to fish him out of the river Styx itself, reeling him out of the underworld and back into the land of the living.
With the help of the three women, Antón fell unceremoniously out of the blood-soaked tub and onto the floor with a wet smack, a heap of naked flesh and bone, seemingly lifeless.
"The ring," Frankie panted breathlessly, her hand still in the water. It was only then that Vlad could see that her immersed arm had been sliced open just as the other had... and she was still bleeding out. "Put the ring on him, Mariella."
But the woman was already doing it, and the moment the gold band slid onto his finger, snuggly fitted just above the knuckle, Antón let out a great gasp as his entire body jolted with life. Mariella was laughing as she wrapped her arms around Bernardini's neck, showering him with kisses. It was only then that Louis de Chacier finally released Vlad's arm, allowing the man to rush to his wife's side just as Armand entered the chamber.
"What in the world... Louis?"
The Duke smiled.
"Hello, little brother."
The joyous reunions escalated and then spread as Vlad's sons entered the room next to find Alessia and Hal and the Bernardini's returned as well. The bath chamber was soon cramped with bodies, echoing with noise and laughter and tears, but Vladislaus was too distracted to pay any of them much heed. He tried to delicately pull Francesca's hand from the tub, but she stopped him, wearily shaking her head.
"No... there's one more."
"You've done enough," he insisted.
"I told you not to be mad."
He sent her a look.
"Francesca, how could you be so thoughtless..."
"What about Carmen?" Rémy's voice carried over the discordant choir of voices, the question causing the audience to hush as all eyes turned to Frankie. The woman looked to her left toward Jacob and it was only just then that Vladislaus realized that the warlock wasn't alone. A newly resurrected Marguerite was keeping close vigil over him.
Both women looked at one another and then to their brother with an identical sadness in their countenances that Vlad understood immediately. Margot only shook her head, but it was Vesper who stepped forward then to explain.
"She wanted to stay with Ramón," the young dhampir explained. "She said it wouldn't be fair to you for her to come back with him, and she doesn't wish to leave him behind. So she's staying... on the other side."
Rémy said nothing, but even Vlad could see the man shattering internally – though to his eternal credit, he hid it remarkably well.
"She... she had told me as much when we said goodbye a few months ago, but... but I had hoped..."
"I'm so sorry, Reynaud," Frankie whispered, and Vlad could feel the ache in her heart for her brother.
Rémy could only manage a nod in acknowledgement, but no other utterance passed his lips.
Francesca used that collective moment of silence to return her attention to Vladislaus.
"There's still one more," she reminded him.
"You've done enough for one evening," he maintained, reaching for her hand in the water again, but she lifted herself forward, pushing her arm deeper into the tub.
"I said one more."
Vlad looked to Jacob for some assistance, but the warlock continued to stare blankly ahead at the crimson water, muttering the incantation to himself as if still in a trance. Dracula sensed Frankie's attention turning toward the congregants at the door and he followed her gaze to find that she was looking intently at her uncle who already had tears in his eyes.
"One more," she said again, resolutely, and she held his gaze with firmness.
Armand shuddered visibly from a silent sob as understanding flooded over him. He didn't even look at Vladislaus for consent, instantly nodding furiously.
"Do it. Do it, please."
"Then I'm going to need your help. Alayna – yours too," Frankie explained. She looked to Vladislaus next. "And yours, too, my love. I don't have enough blood in me..."
Dracula sent the woman a censorious look, but relented with a huff, rolling up his sleeve.
"Fine. But when this is over, you and I are going to have a very, very long discussion about this savior complex of yours."
She sent him a fanged grin, though it was weak... terribly so.
"I'll consent, but only if you promise me that this very long discussion is clothing optional," she retorted cheekily as he took the discarded knife at her knee and sliced open his wrist.
Her father cleared his throat loudly in disapproval, but she ignored him and the sidelong glance of her uncle. Obviously, this was neither the time nor the place to be propositioning sex from one's husband, but even Vladislaus had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking.
"We'll discuss it later," he said through gritted teeth. "Now feed."
"Yes, your majesty," she hummed against his bleeding wrist before running her tongue across his self-inflicted wound, lapping up the delicious crimson in long, lazy laves.
After a few generous mouthfuls, he felt her body tense and then rise beside him as she lifted up onto her knees and leaned against the edge of the tub, reaching down into the scarlet depths of the water.
"You got those few drops into the water, Lana?" she asked her cousin, the young woman diligently nodding even as she sucked her bleeding finger. Frankie offered a vague gesture of acknowledgment before allowing her eyes to fall over the surface of the crimson water. "Alright, Aunt Cece..." she whispered. "It's your turn."
Armand was already hovering over the edge, looking frantically at the inside of the tub in search of any sign of his beloved wife, Alayna soon joining in the hunt, but Vlad remained where he was, holding fast to Francesca as if doing so would keep her anchored to him, to this plane of existence even as she continued to bleed out.
"I see her!" Frankie's mother, Elisaveta, soon cried out from behind Armand, the woman leaning over the man's shoulder and wringing her hands together in excitement.
Frankie's body tightened as if she were bracing herself, and then she began to nod furiously.
"I've got her. Reach in now and help me pull her out."
Armand immediately had both arms in the water, leaning over the edge with a frantic desperation in his eyes that moved Vladislaus rather unexpectedly. The Comté was soon openly weeping as he gripped onto his wife's forearm, heaving her out of the underworld through the crimson waters and onto the bathroom floor with a wet slop. He was crying out Cecilia's name, holding her lifeless face in his hands as Alayna briefly weaved between her parents so she could slip her mother's wedding band onto her finger.
As it had with Antón, that seemed to be the key to locking the Countess' soul into her newly formed body, as her whole person jolted with life, lungs gasping for air.
Armand's weeping turned into sobs as he clutched his naked wife to him, his whole person trembling, shivering, overwhelmed with relief and joy the likes of which Vladislaus had never seen in another person before.
He could only imagine what it must have been like for the man – to have lost the love of his life, his blood-bound mate, his heart – to deal with that loss, the unfathomable pain and emptiness of it... and then to suddenly have her restored to him. There were no words. There would never be words adequate enough to capture the sheer depth of feeling that had since flooded that washroom. All Vladislaus could do was tighten the hold of his arm around Francesca's waist, clinging to her as they both sat and bore witness.
Alayna managed to slip in between her newly reunited parents for just a moment to cover her mother's nakedness with a towel, which seemed to bring Armand back to the present as he recalled that they were not alone. He struggled to get control over himself, but the tears continued to flood down his cheeks, even as he – with Lyra's assistance – helped pull Cece to her feet before getting her into a robe.
Vlad felt Francesca lean back fully against him in relief as she finished removing her hand from the tub. She then rested her head wearily on Dracula's chest as she watched her uncle and cousins reunite with her aunt. Georgine's reaction was probably the most dignified of the bunch, her tears quiet, controlled – whereas Marceau was very much like his father. He wept like a baby as his mother held him tight, whispering reassurances into his hair.
Dracula took in the faces within that chamber for an extended moment.
Even Jacob was smiling as he returned back to himself, plopping the grimoire down onto the wet bathroom floor unceremoniously as Margot moved to sit in his lap, hugging his neck. Vlad looked down at Frankie to find her eyes slitted with exhaustion, but she was smiling, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.
"The lost restored," she murmured gently, reciting the words of Mariella's prophecy as her fingers curled around his, her eyes starting to flutter shut. "And through her blood, the forsaken shall taste of the light."
"You are extraordinary, iubito," he whispered into her hair, kissing the crown of her head affectionately as he took in the miracles in front of him – her family, his children, his dearest friends... all restored.
"Extraordinarily in trouble?" she teased, almost sounding hopeful. He chuckled quietly, the sound barely even a rumble in his chest as he pressed another kiss to her head.
"If you wanted me to punish you, all you had to do was ask."
"And miss the astonishment on your face? I think not," she sighed dreamily, snuggling closer. "Besides... I couldn't go through with it."
"Through with what?"
"The coronation. Not without them."
Vlad let out a heavy exhale, the coolness of his breath washing over her pallid face.
"I know," he conceded. "I had a feeling when you kept putting it off and putting it off." He pulled her a little closer so he could situate her body between his thighs as he leaned against the wall. "Just promise me something."
"Hmm?"
"The next time you and Jacob decide to resurrect some people – consult me first? Or at least include me."
Frankie smiled, eyes still closed as exhaustion started to take her.
"I'll try to remember."
He pinched her side roughly, earning a weak smack to his chest.
"I mean it, dragă," he grumbled, trying not to draw any attention to them.
"Spank me later and I might just remember those instructions."
He grinned darkly.
"Oh, that's not all I'm going to do to that ass of yours, dragostea."
"Promise?"
"I give you my word. But it'll have to wait. We have some additional guests to tend to, now."
"Damn... I suppose we can't we throw them back in the tub?" she asked cheekily, managing to open her eyes a little so she could see his reaction. He laughed openly that time, catching the attention of some of the others.
"You are shameless."
"That's rich coming from you."
"Seems I've been rubbing off on you a little too much."
"You'll never hear me complaining..." she sighed, even with the thinly veiled lewdness in her eyes. He could have kissed her then.
"Truly."