“She is my seneschal, the one who runs Castle Csejte and the lands around it. She helps me run the gymnaesium.”
“Does she punish the girls like she punished Jana?”
“Ruxandra, please,” Elizabeth put a hand on her arm. “This is a whorehouse. There are thirty women here who no one would ever miss.”
Just what Dorotyas would think. Ruxandra shook her head. “No.”
“Why ever not?”
Because it is wrong. Ruxandra didn’t say it, though. Instead, she looked at the whorehouse. “Why did the king send you here?”
“Pardon?”
“I know it was meant as an insult,” Ruxandra said. “A way of showing his disdain for you and to put you in your place, but why here? Why this place?”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose. “I did not think you would understand such politics.”
“The nuns taught us a great deal about them,” Ruxandra said. “Mostly as it related to setting a formal table and ensuring we treated all our guests according to their status, but it is the same thing, really.”
“It is. And to answer your question, I do not know why he picked this place.”
Ruxandra nodded. “I’m going hunting.”
“As you wish.” Then she asked, “Where is the girl?”
She doesn’t even know her name. “Safe. I’ll return before dawn.”
A man’s voice shouted a command, and all around them the streets became alive with noise. Dozens of horses’ hooves hit the ground. A hundred boots marched in time. From the front of the whorehouse came shouts of surprise and voices raised in anger.
“Ruxandra!” Elizabeth snapped out the word. “Hide!”
Ruxandra went unnoticed at once.
Elizabeth didn’t wait to see it. She went to the front of the house. Ruxandra watched her go and then ran to the back. Behind the stable and on either side of the yard, a line of houses, side by side, blocked any exit.
It’s a cul-de-sac. There’s no way out.
She ran to the front. Elizabeth was standing before the brothel, facing down a knight astride a tall, black horse.
“I do not know what you are saying,” Elizabeth said. “The girl is not here. I haven’t seen her since that night.”
“She was seen,” the knight said, “in your company.”
“She is not here,” Elizabeth insisted. “You are welcome to search for yourself.”
“No.”
“Then how should I assure you that—”
“We do not require assurances,” the knight said. “We require the girl. You will bring her to us, or you will remain here.” The knight took a letter from his belt and threw it on the ground. “Read it.”
Ruxandra felt her temper rising. Inside, the Beast sensed her rage.
FIGHT.
No. She slipped up beside the knight. There are too many of them.
“The girl is not here,” Ruxandra commanded in a whisper. “Tell Rudolph she has fled. Go now!”
The knight turned his horse, nearly hitting Ruxandra. She jumped out of the way and let him go by. Elizabeth didn’t move until he rode through the ranks of soldiers and headed off into the night. Only then did she reach down, pick up the letter, and walk back inside.
Ruxandra wanted to follow, but the hunger inside her was growing sharper. Instead, she walked away from the brothel toward the city. She went to the areas the gallants had said to avoid, made herself noticeable, and walked through the streets.
She saw the street whores, some waiting on corners, others in the alleys, plying their trade on their knees or against the walls. She ignored them, though the Beast was more than willing to take them. A group of young men, carrying torches and laughing, passed by. She didn’t want them, either.
What do I want? The wolves she ran with killed for two reasons—hunger and threat. Those are the only reasons I kill.
She remembered the old lady in the woods, how much she hurt, and all her pain and despair.
Wolves cut out the sick and the weak from the herd.
Certainly there wasn’t any shortage of dying people around her. While nothing would justify the killing, she could at least make it so she did not take anyone who wasn’t dying already. Or anyone who wasn’t a threat.
She smelled him before he spoke, sweat and dirt and well-oiled metal.
“What have we here?” the bravo said behind her. “A sweet young thing, all alone in the streets.”
Ruxandra turned, but didn’t say anything. He was short, but his muscles were wiry and strong. His black hair was slick with grease, his brown eyes narrowed. He reminded her of a ferret. He put one hand on the grip of the sword at his waist.
“Why is a girl like you is in this place at night?” He swaggered forward. “Let me guess: you’re running away from your master, or running toward your lover. Either way, you would be in a great deal of trouble, wouldn’t you?”
Ruxandra said nothing.
“Imagine what would happen if I dragged you back.” He stepped closer. She smelled his arousal now, as well as the beer and onions he’d had for dinner. “You’re in for flogging, I expect, or turned out without a position. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
Still Ruxandra said nothing.
“Defiant?” He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward one of the alleys. “Do you know what happens to defiant girls?”
He shoved her into a dead-end alley and pulled out his knife.
“Face that wall,” he said, “and raise up that skirt for me, or I’ll cut your pretty face up.”
Ruxandra retreated farther into the alley. The man grinned at her, showing his puny human teeth.
“You think you can run?” He followed her, the knife weaving back and forth. “I’ll fuck you front and back so hard you won’t sit for a week.” One hand drifted toward his crotch.
Ruxandra smiled back at him. “Try.”
His face went red, and the knife came up. “You whore.”
She left his corpse in the alley and walked back to the brothel. The place had gone quiet, the last of the customers gone. Ruxandra slipped in, unnoticeable, and sniffed her way through the building until she found Elizabeth’s room.
Elizabeth dozed in a hard chair by her window, the letter in her lap. Ruxandra slipped up beside her and picked it up. She read it through, her eyes growing wider and her fury growing more with every word. The Beast, sleeping inside her, roused and growled.
“A whore,” Elizabeth said, having awoken, startling Ruxandra. “I am one of his most powerful nobles, and if I do not turn you, and half of my lands, over to him, he will keep me in this wretched place, with no access to my estates, no access to my fortune, no access to my rents. He would rather see me as a whore than a noble.”
“I could stop him,” Ruxandra said. “I could find him and tell him to—”
“I am weary, Ruxandra.” The exhaustion in Elizabeth’s voice stopped Ruxandra’s words. “So very weary.”
“You need sleep.” Ruxandra took Elizabeth’s hand. “Come, rest.”
“I am not tired, Ruxandra. Weary.” Elizabeth stood and leaned out the window. “I hide my age well, but I am old. I have been doing this for a very long time. I have spent thirty years ruling my people, fighting wars, and protecting my family. My sons are old enough to reign in my place. If Rudolph lets me turn everything over to them . . .” She laughed, short and bitter. “Of course he will let me. He will be thrilled to deal with men instead of with me. Not that I will be able to travel, anyway. I am an old woman.”
“If you were not…” Ruxandra trembled, felt her hands shake. She swallowed hard. “If you were no longer old, would you go with me?”
Elizabeth turned away from the window. Her eyes found Ruxandra’s and gazed deep into them. “ Yes. If I were not old, I would travel. And if you would have me travel with you, it would be everything I could hope for.”
Ruxandra squeezed her hands back. Warmth spread through her entire body. Travel. Music. Dancing. Love. There was worry at t
he edges of her thoughts, a faint doubt, but she ignored it. She leaned in and kissed Elizabeth on the mouth. “I am so glad.”
“It is almost morning,” Elizabeth whispered. She let go of Ruxandra’s hands and closed the window and curtains. “Let us go to bed.”
A horn, loud and brassy, pulled Ruxandra and Elizabeth awake. Elizabeth rose first, her naked body pale in the dim light of the room. Ruxandra stayed in the bed, watching the woman put on her chemise and robe.
One of Elizabeth’s ladies-in-waiting knocked. “My lady, a messenger from Rudolph has arrived. He demands that you appear at once.”
“Demands?” Elizabeth repeated.
“His words, my lady, not mine.”
“I will be down presently.” Elizabeth turned to Ruxandra. “Be unseen, my love. Can you watch?”
“As long as I am out of the sun, yes.” Ruxandra rose and pulled on her chemise and cloak.
“Thank you, my love.”
Ruxandra found a shadowy room near a front corner. The bed was large and mussed and smelled of sex and a dozen different men. Three prostitutes lay sleeping in it. None of them heard Ruxandra step in. None saw her open the shutter enough to look out.
In short order, Elizabeth appeared. She wore a rich red velvet cloak over her robe that made her gleam like a rose in the morning light.
“What is it,” Elizabeth said, her voice cold and haughty, “that is so urgent that it requires you to forgo all courtesy when asking for my presence?”
The messenger took out a burlap bag dripping with blood from under his cloak. He reached inside, pulled out a human head, and tossed it at Elizabeth’s feet.
Elizabeth’s expression didn’t change. “Is this supposed to impress me?”
“This is the man you sent back to us,” the messenger said. “The one who said Ruxandra was not in the building. As several of our spies saw her, he was found guilty of conspiracy against the king and was executed.” Ruxandra felt a pang of regret, but stifled it.
It is not my fault the king did not believe his own man.
The messenger, a young man with a lantern jaw and pale eyes, leaned forward on his horse, his mouth tight. “Hand the girl over today, or His Majesty will find it necessary to further restrict your movements.”
“I find that rather difficult to believe,” Elizabeth said coldly, “as it seems my movements are already as restricted as they could be.”
“His Majesty wished me to assure you otherwise.”
The messenger turned and rode back through the waiting ranks of soldiers. Elizabeth was on her way inside before the man was gone. Ruxandra went to Elizabeth’s room and waited.
When Elizabeth came in, she looked even more tired than before. Ruxandra reached for her, held her, and led her back to the bed. She laid Elizabeth down and pulled the blankets over her.
“Ruxandra,” Elizabeth spoke softly. “You should go.”
“No.” Ruxandra knelt beside the bed. “Let me stay with you.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “There are spies watching for you. You must remain unseen and silent. Go down to the cellar. Hide there until night. Once I am rested, I will think of what to do next.”
Ruxandra kissed Elizabeth’s forehead and pulled the blankets over her.
She slipped unnoticed down the stairs, found the cellar, and found a place to lie down. She lay there, not sleeping, as the hours of the day crawled past.
By noon, she had made up her mind.
At nightfall, Ruxandra left the basement and went to Elizabeth’s room.
Elizabeth was sitting in her chair, looking out the window. She didn’t get up when Ruxandra came in but smiled at her, a smile of surpassing sweetness. It made Ruxandra’s knees weak. What is it about this woman?
“Hello, my dear,” Elizabeth said. “How are you?”
Ruxandra’s mouth went dry. Butterflies danced so hard in her stomach she thought she might start shaking. She is beautiful, but so are many women. She has helped me, but I know she is not kind . . .
“Ruxandra?” Worry filled Elizabeth’s voice. “What is the matter?”
“Would you go with me”—the words tumbled out—“if I made it so we could leave tonight?”
“What?” Elizabeth shook her head. “We can’t leave tonight.”
“If I make it so we can leave,” Ruxandra repeated, the words coming out slow and measured, “would you come with me?”
Elizabeth’s head went to one side, her mouth falling half-open. She stared at her. “I do not understand.”
“You will crave blood,” Ruxandra said. “I did. I killed five men—my father and four of his captains. So we’ll need blood. I think—”
“Ruxandra?” Understanding crept across Elizabeth’s face, like dawn rising through the clouds.
“The soldiers,” Ruxandra said. “I will fight them, and you’ll drink them. That will get us through.”
“Ruxandra . . .”
“Then we’ll run and leave the city. I’ll teach you how to hunt and how to find shelter. Then we’ll travel. We will go anywhere we want.”
“Rome,” Elizabeth said. “I have always wanted to see Rome.”
Joy filled Ruxandra. A smile spread over her face.
“Rome,” she said. “That’s a wonderful start.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard. She looked both eager and terrified. “What should I do?”
“You must drink my blood.” Ruxandra held out her wrist. “Bite.”
Elizabeth took a step forward. Then another. On the third step, she was close enough and took Ruxandra’s arm in her hands. She looked at the pure white skin of the wrist, at the barely visible veins.
“My love,” Elizabeth whispered. She kissed Ruxandra’s wrist. “My beautiful love.”
For a moment, Ruxandra’s memory flashed back to the moment the dead thing that had been Neculai sank his fangs into her neck, tearing through the flesh to get at her blood. Then she remembered what had happened to him.
“It will hurt,” Ruxandra said.
Elizabeth raised her eyes. “I will try not to hurt you too much.”
“Not me,” Ruxandra said. “You.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I understand.”
And she sank her teeth hard into Ruxandra’s wrist.
THE PAIN WAS NOTHING compared to when Neculai had torn into her throat. She felt Elizabeth’s lips press hard against the open flesh on her wrist. Then the blood started flowing from her.
Elizabeth suckled hard, nursing on the blood like a starving infant at the breast. Ruxandra had thought it would hurt. Instead, she felt pleasure so intense that it made her knees buckle. Her body shook with it, longer and more intense than any climaxes from her lovers.
Elizabeth fell backward, screaming.
Her back arched so far, it looked ready to snap. Her eyes went wide, the pupils dashing back and forth as if following some horror only Elizabeth could see. Her mouth stretched wider and wider until the skin at either side of her lips tore open. No blood flowed from them. Her hands clenched and unclenched, the nails tearing holes in the palms. Her neck twisted so hard and fast that something cracked.
Elizabeth let out one more long scream filled with pain and despair so great it brought tears to Ruxandra’s eyes. Her body convulsed again and then lay still. Ruxandra stared in horror at the twisted, broken remains of Elizabeth Bathory.
She wasn’t breathing.
I killed her. She won’t turn. She’s dead. Oh God, what have I . . .
Elizabeth’s skin started to go pale.
It began at her face, the blood draining away from under her flesh like water. It spread over her head, the pale skin shining out between the roots of her dark hair. It spread down her neck and beneath her dress. The blood vanished from her hands next, turning them white as snow.
Her eyes snapped open. The deep brown leached away, leaving them pale blue, like Ruxandra’s eyes. Inside her still-open mouth, long fangs tore through the gums. Silver talons pushed out from the tips of her finge
rs.
For a long moment, she didn’t move.
Then she gasped in a breath and snarled.
Elizabeth spun, getting her feet under her and ending in a crouch, moving faster than humanly possible.
But then, she is not human anymore.
Elizabeth snarled again, backing away from Ruxandra, her talons flexing and her head darting back and forth, searching for food.
“This way,” Ruxandra said, heading for the window. “You must feed.”
A boot crashed hard against the door.
“My lady!” Dorotyas shouted. Her boot hit the door again. “My lady, answer me!” Dorotyas boot smashed against it a third time, and the door sprang open.
Elizabeth let out a snarl and charged at the prostitute who Dorotyas held in front of her with a tight grip.
Elizabeth sprang upward, her talons ripping into the whore’s flesh. The woman screamed, short and sharp, her voice cut off when Elizabeth bit through her throat.
Dorotyas ran back down the hallway, moving fast in spite of her bulk. Elizabeth spat the whore’s flesh out of her mouth and sucked the blood at her throat.
“Not the women!” Ruxandra shouted. “The soldiers! We must go after the soldiers!”
Elizabeth dropped the girl and raced down the hall. Ruxandra chased after her. Elizabeth dashed down the stairs and to the main floor. She sniffed the air twice, then spun toward the main parlor. Ruxandra tried to grab her and missed. Elizabeth dashed to the parlor, Ruxandra hot on her heels.
Then the slaughter began.
Elizabeth roared and sprang forward. She was in the doorway—the women’s faces pale ovals of shock—then she was on top of the closest one, her body swift and agile. She lashed out with her claws and tore through her throat before anyone could even scream. Blood sprayed from the ruptured arteries, hitting the walls and upholstery and Elizabeth’s clothes. Elizabeth grabbed the woman and pulled her close, sucking hard at the wound. The other women screamed and scrabbled out of their chairs, dropping teacups and wine glasses. Some ran back against the far wall, looking for escape. Others pressed themselves against the shutters, but they were barred tight from the outside. Three pulled knives, hidden beneath their scant clothing, and lined up together.
Not Everything Dies Page 17