Page 43 of Caller of Crows

Altair raised an eyebrow at his friend. "You couldn't get anyone to talk?" He found that hard to believe. Mordyn was excellent at charming people, at getting information out of them. He had a knack for making himself appear trustworthy and harmless, something Altair himself never bothered with.

Mordyn shrugged. "People are scared, I guess."

"There's something you're not telling me." And Altair could guess what that was too. There was only one vampire Mordyn didn't want to mention in Altair's presence. Nephariel. Altair's brother. The only vampire he'd ever sired.

His greatest regret.

"It'shim, isn't it?" Altair's voice turned as cold as his heart.

Mordyn hesitated, still, but Altair didn't need him to speak.

"I'm running a club that acquires large quantities of all kinds of blood from all sorts of vendors in this city," Altair said. "Yet you're telling me there's someone out there selling cheap mortal blood, and this someone has never approached our coven. That doesn't make sense unless this vampire has a good reason to avoid me."

"It might not be him," Mordyn offered.

"But you think it is."

"What are you going to do about it?" Mordyn countered.

Altair considered the question. There weren't many options for what he could do. His brother was too powerful, and his coven too entrenched in the city's crime scene. They'd taken over the Black Spades, the city's largest underground organization. Altair could try to fight them, but it would be an expensive venture, and his coven wasn't prepared for war.

Besides, a confrontation would do nothing to alleviate the tension between him and his brother.

No, the best course of action would be not to escalate this.

At least, not unless his brother forced his hand.

"Keep looking," Altair told Mordyn. "See if you can get anyone to talk."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I don't want to provoke him without cause. Try to find a different buyer somewhere the Black Spades don't sell."

Mordyn nodded, looking relieved. "I'll do my best."

Altair sighed, sitting back in his chair.

"One more thing," Mordyn said. "How much blood are we expecting our mortal to produce? I need to know what quantities I'm selling here."

"That depends on how frequently we draw blood from him."

"And how often are we planning on doing that?"

"Not every night," Altair said, considering his options. If Sven was just any mortal they'd managed to catch, if Altair was the ruthless coven leader he was supposed to be, he should be milking Sven of every drop of his blood that he could sell. But Altair couldn't bring himself to do that.

It would break the mortal.

"Once a week should be enough," he said.

"That's hardly a profit," Mordyn observed.

"It's enough. We can always increase the frequency if we have to."

"As you wish, then." Mordyn rose to his feet, straightening his coat. "Is there anything else, my lord?" Mordyn's tone was light as he used the title as if he didn't really mean it. Altair didn't comment on it, though. Mordyn was always like that.

"Nothing else. You may leave."

Mordyn nodded and got up but stopped on his way to the door.