Shattered Circle

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Giovanni Guistini sat rigidly before the fireplace in his private rooms, teeth clenched, seething.

Franciscus Meroveus and the Excelsior had made a damned fool of him.

He squeezed his hands into fists so tight that his fingernails pierced his own flesh.

Yes, I agreed to assume the Quartermaster’s duties; I took what glory had belonged to Menessos, just as Menessos once took my throat.

His pride had gotten the best of him; he saw that clearly now.

As an advisor to the Excelsior he was a man of wise counsel, accustomed to rank and privilege. He was not a bureaucratic nanny meant to settle childish quarrels between subordinate vampires who should be able to resolve a land dispute on their own. He was not accustomed to preparing paperwork, writing reports, or dealing with the many petty matters of managing a haven, let alone overseeing the havens in a quarter of the nation. It had become swiftly evident that the Quartermaster’s position was one for a businessman, not a warrior.

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