by Elena May
“Are you in much pain?” Myra asked.
He made no response, but his twisted features were enough of an answer.
She moved the candle forward until the light illuminated his waxy skin. “Is it your wounds? Let me wash them.”
He shook his head, his eyes closed. “No,” he moaned. “My chest.”
“Your chest hurts?” Her eyes traveled over his pallid torso, trying to find something wrong, but nothing stood out apart from the two red spots where Armida had bitten him. “You mean the bite wound?”
He coughed and tried to curl up in a ball, as much as his chains allowed. “Not wound. Inside.”
She frowned. “Why is your chest hurting inside? What is wrong with you?”
His only response was another pained gasp before he tilted his face to one side, resting his cheek on his shoulder. Myra sighed. “Fine, don’t tell me, but I want to help. What can I bring you?”
“My sire’s blood.”
Myra rolled her eyes. “Right. Sorry, but I somehow forgot to ask Vlad to squeeze a bottle of blood for me before he left. Tristan, be serious. What can I bring you?”
“Painkillers.”
She bit her lower lip and looked away. “Tristan, I’m sorry. We ran out of painkillers last year. We never found any more during the recent patrols.”
Wait… why on earth was she apologizing to this creature? It was because of the vampires that they had no medicines, and many of her people had suffered as a result. And yet, seeing Tristan like this disturbed her, and she wanted to help. Myra reached out, brushing a few damp strands of hair from his forehead, revealing his ashen face. His skin was cold and clammy under her fingertips.
“Vlad will kill me,” she murmured.
To her surprise, Tristan grinned and opened his eyes to slits. “No, he won’t. I will tell him you took good care of me.”
“You would do that?”
“Of course. I am a gentleman. Besides, I know you are doing your best to help me. It is no fault of yours that you are incompetent.”
She rolled her eyes and stood up. “Is there anything at all I can do to help you?”
Tristan’s eyes fell shut, and he shivered. Myra stepped closer. “Are you cold?”
He shook his head. “Cold cannot harm vampires.”
“No, but it can still make you uncomfortable, especially if you’ve lost blood.” She reached out to touch his shoulder, but he pulled away.
“You want to help?” he said. “Then get out. I have no use for your pity. I am not broken.”
She stepped back and sighed. “Of course not. You’re in perfect health, which is why you’re moaning, and groaning, and shivering, curled in a fetal position. Fine, then. I’ll leave you to enjoy your excellent well-being.”
She walked to the door but turned back before she opened it. “Tristan, in a few hours my people will come to feed you. You must pretend to be unconscious before you eat. And try to appear as weak as possible—they can’t think you are a threat.”
“Will try,” he said. She left the cell, leaning her head against the metal door as she closed and locked it behind her. Tristan would not need much pretense.
Medicines in the Resistance were scarce, and Zack always kept them under lock and key, to be distributed only when needed. Luckily, Myra was one of the few who had access… and she was now abusing the trust placed in her. She hesitated only a moment before she pulled bottles of rubbing alcohol and iodine tincture, as well as plaster and bandages, out of the metal locker. The rat bite wasn’t bleeding too heavily, but it could still become infected.
Once she had picked all she needed, she returned to her room. The first thing she did, before even sitting down, was change out of her bloody clothes. The relief once the sticky blood was no longer touching her skin was immense, but she still needed to wash the blouse and pants. They had so little clothing in the Resistance, and she could not afford to throw them away.
Weariness spread deep into her bones, and all she wished to do was collapse on the cot. But she could not—the blood would be harder to wash out once it dried. As quickly as her fatigued arms allowed, she finished cleaning and dressing the wound and picked up a clean bucket. Myra left her room and walked to the underwater stream.
What’s wrong with Tristan? she wondered as her feet mechanically carried her along the familiar path. Vampires can’t get sick, and his wounds aren’t so bad. He is drained and starving, but that should cause weakness, not pain.
This was hopeless. If Tristan were to escape, he had to be able to at least stand on his own two feet. Currently, he was in no shape to even keep his eyes open.
Did Vlad know this would happen? He must have. And yet, he let it happen so he would spare me.
She sighed. Vladimir was a bloodthirsty monster, and one strange act of kindness could not erase all the murders he had committed. Still, she felt responsible. Vlad could have easily fed her to Tristan. He had held her in an iron grip, leaving her no chance to fight or run. Still, he had chosen to let Tristan end up in this condition instead of harming her. If Tristan was suffering, it was in a way her fault.
A treacherous thought struck her. After what Vlad had done, could she break her promise to him? Could she go back to her original plan—refuse to help Tristan escape, and give humanity a chance of survival? But would that make her eviler than the Prince himself?
Myra reached the stream and filled the bucket with as much water as she could carry. Her arms ached as she staggered towards the kitchen. She had to stop and take a break every few steps, and her destination seemed nowhere closer.
Lost in thought, Myra yelped when she nearly collided with Lidia.
Her friend laughed. “Another nightly stroll? Your time with vampires has messed up your perception of day and night.”
Myra grinned back. “I still couldn’t sleep. I thought I could do some laundry to make use of the time.”
Lidia raised an eyebrow. “I wish I had your enthusiasm for hard work. Come. Let me help you with that.”
Lidia grabbed the bucket and led on, and Myra followed, gazing at the floor. How many more times would she need to deceive her friends? Vlad had taught her to lie convincingly, but he had never told her how to suppress the guilt.
Once they had reached the kitchen, Myra built a fire, while Lidia poured some of the water into a kettle and let it boil. They sat at the table to wait, and Myra stared at the flames. Lidia is unwittingly helping me hide my crime. This is so unfair.
“Myra, what’s wrong?”
She looked up at her friend, startled. “Nothing is wrong. Why do you ask?”
Lidia smiled. “Come, now. Midnight walks to get a book? Doing laundry when you should be sleeping? Something is up, and if you tell me what, perhaps I could help.”
You’re already helping. “Thanks, but there is nothing to help with, really. I’m fine.” Great. And now she was alienating herself from her friends, from the people who had supported her all her life, and all for the sake of a cruel bloodsucker.
“Are you worried your plan won’t work?” Lidia prompted. “Do you really believe Prince Obnoxious will destroy the WeatherWizard in exchange for the pretty vamp?”
Myra snorted. Oh, he would. He would blow up the Wizard and more, if that meant getting Tristan back. Instead, I’m going to let our prisoner go and demand nothing in return. “He might,” she said.
Lidia nodded. “Well, then, I will support your proposal to keep him alive. Come, the water is ready.”
Lidia walked Myra back to her cellar and paused in front of the door. “Do you need help with the laundry?”
Myra’s breath caught in her throat, but she smiled. “No, thanks. I know how much you love housework.”
Lidia bid her goodbye and left, and Myra entered her room, nearly collapsing on the cot.
Unfortunately, there was no time to rest. With a sigh, Myra pulled out three metal basins from underneath her cot and poured cold water into the largest.
The water for t
he prewash had to be cold, so that the blood would not congeal, but this knowledge did not make it easier on her hands. Myra shuddered as pain spread across her palms and wrists, but she did not pull out of the icy water.
The moment she soaked the garments, red inky tendrils spread from them, until the water turned a sickening pink. Myra resisted the urge to retch and scrubbed at the stains, trying to get the blood out. The more she scrubbed, the more hopeless it seemed. The rusty brown stains stood there, bright and visible against the pale fabric. Myra scrubbed vigorously, on and on, until she had scrubbed the skin off her knuckles. The raw, skinless flesh stung as it made contact with the soapy water, and Myra sobbed. Her bandage fell off and her blood mingled with the rats’.
She felt like a murderer trying to hide the deed. And yet, the crime she was committing was much more heinous.
Myra mixed cold and hot water to continue washing in the second basin, and rinsed the clothes in the third. She would have to throw all the crimson water into the waste pit before anyone saw it.
After she was done, she wrung out the wet clothes and hung them on the chair, then collapsed on the cot, staring miserably at her hands, which now felt painfully dry. The skin was rubbed raw in a few places, and the rat bite would need redressing.
Vlad, the things I do for you, indeed. With a last look at her abused hands, Myra finally fell asleep.
Chapter Three
Unbroken
This is taking forever. Myra watched as if in slow-motion as Zack took his knife and spread the canned tuna over flatbread prepared from decades-old flour. The smell of fish and baked rats mingled, heavy and sharp.
“How should we do this?” he said between bites. “Do we send an ambassador to negotiate with the Prince?”
Thomas put down his rat and frowned. “It’s too risky. The vamps could torture and kill our messenger.”
And more back-and-forth talks, leading nowhere. Myra was glad she had fed Tristan during the night; otherwise the wait would have driven her mad. It was driving her mad anyway.
“I’ll go,” she said. “The Prince won’t hurt me; he knows that if he does, Tristan is doomed.”
Sissi looked up and opened her mouth to speak, but Myra threw her a warning glance before she could say a word. Sissi wanted to volunteer, no doubt, but Myra had no time or patience to indulge her fantasies.
“You place too much trust in this bloodsucker,” Thomas said. “He drank his supposed friend and left him to die, and now you expect me to believe he cares if we harm him?”
“I’m only risking my own life,” Myra said. “I know the Prince better than anyone here. I know what to expect from him.”
“Reasonable,” said Zack. “When do you think you should go?”
“As soon as I’m sure the prisoner will recover,” Myra said. “I can’t negotiate with the Prince unless I know we have something to offer him.”
Zack sipped from his boiled water. “Very well. Let’s finish up here and go and feed him.”
Myra picked at her food but had no real appetite. Watching the others take their time made her fidget in her seat, and she breathed a sigh of relief once the majority of the Warriors finished their breakfast and stood up.
They walked to the rat farm, and Myra watched, wide-eyed, as Andre opened a cage, took out the rats one by one, slit their throats, and dropped them into a bucket with quick, expert moves. I wish I could do that. She scanned the Warriors’ faces, looking for a sign that someone noticed a few rats were missing.
Myra swallowed hard. Would they know? Was anyone keeping track? If they noticed something, would Lidia remember their nighttime encounters and make the connection? Would her friend reveal her secret? Would she blame her?
Myra fisted her hands and silently followed the others towards the prison cell. She would help no one by going crazy with paranoia, but it was stronger than her.
Zack took out the keys to unlock the door, and Myra stared at him, her palms sweating. Would Tristan remember her advice and pretend to be weak and unconscious? If he was obviously stronger than when they’d captured him, would her friends think she had lied to them?
Myra bit her lower lip until she tasted blood. Stop it! Nobody knows anything. Get a grip.
They stepped inside, and she squinted, trying to make out Tristan’s form under the meager light of the candle in Zack’s hand. Zack lit up a torch, and Myra stepped closer, her eyes flying to the chained vampire.
Tristan’s head hung down, his long pale hair concealing his face. He made no move or sound when Zack called for him and poked him with the tip of his boot, and Myra wondered if he was truly unconscious or pretending.
“Looks like he won’t wake up on his own,” Zack said and nodded at Thomas. “Tommy, let’s do this.”
Thomas reached inside the bucket and took out a rat, his hand trembling. “What if he wakes up and bites me?”
Myra snatched the rat out of his hand and with a quick move of her knife skinned a part of the rodent’s back. Swiftly, she made a deeper cut and placed the animal right in front of Tristan’s face. All fell silent.
The vampire sniffed and sucked on it. He drank the rat until there wasn’t a drop left, and Myra reached out for another.
“We have to go on at least until he wakes up, perhaps more,” Sissi said. “Otherwise we risk brain damage.”
In the middle of the fourth rat, Tristan’s head started rolling left and right. He spat the blood on the floor, and his eyes flew open.
“Ew, rat blood,” he choked and looked up. “Oh, hello, Myra. You escape the Palace to return to this place? I’ve always found your taste lacking, but this goes beyond my expectations. Who is the leader around here?”
Myra glared at the vampire. What was this halfwit doing? He was supposed to look weak and disoriented.
Everyone was silent for a few seconds until Zack spoke. “That would be me.”
“Good,” Tristan said. “May I please get a toothbrush? I need to get the taste of rat out of my mouth.”
Zack’s eyes widened. “You’re our captive and are in no position to make demands.”
Tristan leaned back against the stone wall and raised a silver-golden eyebrow. “When Myra was our prisoner, we treated her much better. And we most certainly didn’t deny her a toothbrush.”
“I would be more respectful if I were you,” Zack said. “We can’t kill you, but that doesn’t mean we can’t hurt you.”
“You cannot kill me?” Tristan said, grinning. “And why would that be?”
“The Prince has something we want,” Zack said, his voice tense.
Tristan laughed, and Myra wanted to smack him. Was he insane, provoking Zack when his life was on the line? “If you think you can use me against the Prince, you are dead wrong. His Highness will never lower himself to speak to the likes of you.”
Myra gave him a pointed look, but he simply winked in return.
“You should hope that he does,” Zack said.
“And you should hope you have an unbroken bone left in your body when he is done with you,” Tristan said.
“Tristan, don’t be silly,” Myra said, giving him her best shut-up-if-you-want-to-live glare. “You know very well the Prince would do anything for you.”
“Of course he would,” the vampire said, and for a half-second, she hoped he had gotten the hint. “As long as it doesn’t involve talking to filthy humans.”
Thomas stood up and slapped him, sending his head flying backwards and colliding with the stone wall. “Enough,” Zack said. “Let’s leave him to muse over his current position. Hopefully, he’ll be more cooperative when we return.”
“Zack, we need to feed him at least a few more rats,” Sissi said. “He’s barely alive.”
“That’s his problem, not mine,” Zack said, and they walked out of the door. Once they had put enough distance between themselves and the prison door, he stared at Myra, his face pale. “Tristan? Since when are you on first-name terms with vampires?”
“Everyone is on first-name terms in the vampire world,” Myra said. Of course they were. They had no children, and most of their parents had been dead for centuries. What was the meaning of a family name if they had no families? “They find our idea of placing so much importance on a family name ridiculous and outdated. A person is defined by their individuality, they say, not by belonging to a certain clan.”
“Yes, I would expect vampires to have no understanding of what a family is,” Zack said. “I have to admit, seeing you talking to a vamp as if you knew him was a bit disconcerting.”
“But I do know him,” Myra said. “Whether you like it or not, I talked to the vampires and interacted with them. It doesn’t mean I like them. You saw Tristan. If you spent two months in his captivity, would you like him any better?”
“I see your point,” Zack said. “I’m sorry I doubted you, Myra. It’s just that Franka said some things.”
“I’m not surprised,” Myra said. “The Prince was trying to manipulate me, and she feared I’d fall into his trap. She saw what she expected to see.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Zack said. “I had a hard time believing it myself.” He paused to put out a burning torch as they passed it by and no longer needed its light. “I suppose everything is going according to your plan so far. Let’s leave the Prince to wait for a few days, so that he grows worried and uncertain. Then you’ll go to him and bring him a little token from his friend. I suppose we shouldn’t start with fingers on the first visit. A lock of hair, perhaps?”
Myra winced. “That would make him angry, and when he’s angry, he’s unreasonable. I think the cloak and the pin you took from the prisoner should be enough.”
Zack nodded. “Fine, I’ll trust your judgment.” They reached the door to the Headquarters, and he put his hand on the knob. “I’m meeting Lidia now to go over the patrolling schedule. See you later.”
Myra smiled and nodded and walked back to her cellar as if in a daze. Once she was inside, she closed the door and leaned against it. What kind of a mess had she made? Zack seemed all too eager to start cutting off Tristan’s body parts, and if it came to that, Vlad would never forgive her.