by Elena May
“Something else bothers me,” Myra said. “A sire creates a vampire from a human. It’s like giving birth. There is a parent-child vibe to this whole sire-sired thing.”
Tristan nodded. “The sire-sireling relationship is rich and deep. There are many aspects to it, many facets. The parent-child thing is only one of these facets, but yes, I would say it is there.”
She grimaced. “You know, this makes the Vlad-Armida thing really disturbing. Or Vlad-Callisto, for that matter.”
“Sire-sireling relationships are very common,” Tristan said. “After all, if the sire chooses a human, it means they must have liked them. And the sireling’s love for the sire is a given.”
“Speaking of sire and what do you call it—sireling—relationships,” Myra said, “what happened to Callisto? She didn’t die, did she?”
“Oh no, thank heaven and hell, of course not,” Tristan cried. “She is alive and well. Nothing particular happened. I guess she and my lord simply grew apart. They wanted to pursue different paths in life and had different priorities that did not involve each other. She is living in North Africa at the moment, and she and my lord still keep in touch.”
“I see,” Myra said, “And yet, the moral of your story falls flat.”
“Does it?” He raised an eyebrow. “You are the storyteller here. Please explain.”
“You say I shouldn’t fear that Vlad would lose interest in me if I lost my ability to write,” she said. “And you give yourself as an example. You claim the Prince wouldn’t have spent time with you as a human if he had only been interested in your poems, and not in you as a person. But you obviously still doubt his motivations. You believe he stayed with you because of guilt and because of an oath he swore on your deathbed. You wonder if things would be different if you were healthy.”
Tristan stared at her and, for the first time, there was no annoying comeback. “So nice of you to tell me what I think,” he said coldly. “Now, if you do not mind, I wish to rest.”
“Tristan, I didn’t mean…”
His eyes bored into her, stormy and hard, and Myra fell quiet. She stood up, dusting off her pants, and gave him a small, hesitant smile. “Have a refreshing rest,” she said softly and left the prison cell, locking the door behind her.
Chapter Nine
Déjà Vu
Hope. Bravery. Terror. The desire to turn back and stay home forever. The desire to run forward and never stop. Every step Myra took brought back so many memories. Through the caves, through the fields and the woods. Last time she had walked this road, she had been so scared and so excited. Ecstatic and regretful. Naïve. A determined child who’d thought she knew exactly what she wanted. And now she had seen the world outside of her familiar cellars, and she had no idea what she wished for anymore.
Andre and Lidia walked next to her, just as Alerie once had. Would they meet Alerie’s fate? Myra stole a glance at the huge white flag Andre carried high above his head. Not this time. This time, they were not secret assassins on a suicide mission, but ambassadors, seeking peace.
Light grey clouds covered the sky, but there was no rain or wind. Had Vlad ensured good weather to ease their trip? The Palace was merely an hour away now. A knot twisted in Myra’s stomach. When she had run away, she had not imagined returning. Going back to the libraries, ballrooms, and theater halls. Seeing for one last time this world she was fighting to destroy, and knowing she was no longer welcome. Her steps slowed down, and her hands grabbed her backpack straps. There, underneath the food, water, clothes, weapons, and Tristan’s cloak and pin, was something else. A notebook, filled with newly written chapters. She would give it to Vlad as one last gift: his book, almost complete.
Something dark appeared in the field in front of them and Myra froze, raising her hand. Her companions stopped. Lidia took off her backpack, pulled out a pair of binoculars, and raised it to her eyes.
“Vampires,” she said. “They’re approaching on foot. More than twenty of them, and there’s a covered cart with two horses.”
“It was about time we met a patrol,” Myra said. “I expected the Prince to send many to intercept us and lead us to the Palace.”
Andre raised the white flag and waved it high above their heads. The trio waited silently as the vampires approached. Soon, the shapeless spot in the distance became a group of people, and Myra could distinguish their faces. She had seen some around the Palace but had no memory of others. But then, she spotted their dark-haired leader and froze.
Natalia. One of the vampires who had drunk Alerie. Myra closed her eyes and took a deep breath. If she wished a chance for peace, she had to keep this information from Lidia and Andre.
“Greetings!” she called when the group had almost reached them. “We come in peace. We are here on behalf of General Wong to negotiate Tristan’s release. Prince Vladimir expects us.”
Natalia grinned, revealing sharp white teeth against her red lips. “Indeed he does. Follow me.”
Lidia’s hand strayed to the crossbow at her belt. Myra met her eyes and shook her head. She walked after Natalia, followed by her two companions.
Vampires crowded in a circle around them, and Myra’s stomach twisted. If their enemies wanted to harm them, there was nothing they could do. “I must warn you,” she said, “that if we don’t return, Tristan dies.”
“Then we should make sure you return,” Natalia said and stopped by the cart. “Please, get inside, and make yourself comfortable. We will take you to the Palace.”
Myra took a step back. “The Palace is an hour’s walk from here. Thanks, but we don’t need the cart.”
Natalia shrugged. “Prince’s orders. He sent us to look for the ambassadors he expected you would send out and gave us the cart to transport you without delay. We didn’t know how far from the Palace we would find you.”
In her mind, Myra ran through her weapons. A knife and a stake at her belt, and a crossbow and two more stakes in her backpack. Far from enough. The vampires were too many; if there was any trouble, they could do nothing. “But now you found us, and we’re almost there. I don’t mind walking.”
The vampire’s smile faded. “I wasn’t asking.”
Myra froze. In her mind’s eye, she could see Natalia, bent over Alerie and draining her blood. She had assured everyone at the Resistance that the vampires would not harm them as long as Tristan was a prisoner. Lidia and Andre were here because they trusted her.
Her eyes darted towards her friends, and their gazes locked. Lidia’s hand slid towards her crossbow and this time stayed there. Andre’s fingers curled around his dagger’s hilt. His other hand clutched the white flag’s wooden pole.
Myra smiled, trying to project calm and confidence. “Thank you for offering us transport. I know the Prince can misjudge human strength and endurance, and it was very thoughtful of him to send this cart. Luckily, we are fine and believe we’ll reach the Palace even faster on foot. Let’s waste no more time.”
“Let’s waste no more time, indeed,” said Natalia. “This charade has gone on for too long.”
Myra caught movement out of the corner of her eye. The world became a blur around her, left and right. Lidia slashing with a knife, Andre thrusting the flagpole forward, vampires easily deflecting blows with blades or their bare hands.
She thrust her own dagger towards Natalia, but the vampire simply grabbed her wrist and twisted it. Pain shot across her arm and she dropped her weapon with a gasp. “Don’t kill anyone,” said Natalia. Myra tried to wriggle free, but the vampire grabbed her other wrist in an iron grip and twisted her arms behind her. Natalia took a roll of rope from her belt and tied Myra’s hands. Myra kicked at the vampire’s legs, desperately and viciously, but Natalia showed no reaction.
Not again. Not again. I can’t be getting captured on my way to the Palace again.
She looked up, assessing the battlefield—if one could call the scene of the seconds-long fight a battlefield. She gasped, and her heart sank.
No. No.
No. No. Not Again.
A male vampire Myra had never seen before held Lidia, whose hands were now bound just like Myra’s. But Andre…
Andre sat on the ground, his hands pressed against his stomach. Blood soaked his clothes, staining his fingers.
No. Alerie had died because Myra had completely misjudged their situation, and now it was happening all over again.
“What did I say about not killing anyone?” said Natalia. “Should we eat him, then?”
“We can’t save him,” said the vampire holding Lidia. “But if we patch him up, he might survive long enough for an interrogation.”
Natalia nodded. “Very well. Do that.” She pulled Myra towards the cart. Myra kicked and struggled, but the vampire dragged her on. Once they were next to the cart, Natalia lifted the flap and threw Myra inside.
Myra fell on the wooden floor and rolled around. A sound of metal against stone came from her left. Clang. Clang. Clang. She rolled onto her side and lifted her head, straining her neck.
A tall vampire with dark curly hair sat on the wooden bench, sharpening his sword. He looked up to meet her eyes and grinned. Myra froze. She had seen him before—in the Great Hall, at the Prince’s Audience.
“Ah,” he said. “I’ll be damned if this isn’t Vladimir’s pet herself.”
“Casiel, what are you doing?” Myra said, ignoring the hard floor pressing against her ribs as she spoke. “If we don’t return, Tristan will die.”
The vampire left his sword leaning against the cart’s wall and stood up from the bench. He was still bent down, to avoid touching the flap ceiling. “Indeed he will.” He stepped around Myra and walked towards the back of the cart.
She gasped. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? You always wished to destroy the Resistance, but the Prince wouldn’t let you. But if my people kill Tristan, he will.” It all made sense now. So many vampire factions had different agendas; why hadn’t she foreseen it? “You kill two birds with one stone. You’ll torture us for information. At the same time, my friends will think it was the Prince who killed us and will execute Tristan. If Tristan dies, you’ll have the Prince’s blessing and support to go after the Resistance.”
“Correct,” Casiel said, stepping outside. “Exactly what I’ve always wanted.”
Chapter Ten
Player
The cart jumped every time it passed over a bump or a hole on the road—which was every three seconds. Myra lay on her side, her hands bound. Lidia and Andre were on the floor next to her. Andre was still conscious, but sweat covered his pale face. The bandages wrapped around his stomach were already soaked in blood.
The cart passed over a particularly large bump, sending Myra flying in the air before falling back down. She stole a glance at Andre. “Does it hurt you when the cart rocks like this?”
“Let it hurt,” the old Warrior said, his voice surprisingly strong. “I hope it kills me before they do.”
Myra closed her eyes. If it was up to her, no one would die. But even if they escaped, would Andre recover? The vampires seemed to think he was doomed, but she doubted they had any decent knowledge of medicine. Could Dr. Dubois save him? Could Lidia? She glanced at her friend but hesitated to ask the question in front of Andre.
Another bump rocked the cart, and Myra clenched her fists. She had been toying with some plans, but everything seemed desperate. She had tried playing games with vampires in the past, and it had always ended in disaster. But she was not the naïve girl she had been two months ago. And Casiel was no Prince Vladimir.
Where were they going? Some hidden place in the Palace, or somewhere else entirely?
This question, at least, was answered soon. The cart stopped, and Natalia pulled open the flap at the back. Myra peeked outside, and, in between the numerous vampire faces, she saw an old five-story mansion of grey stone that she had never seen before. Black clouds had gathered above, ready to burst into thunder and rain. Wherever they were, it was nowhere near the Palace.
Natalia grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the cart. “I’d like to speak to Casiel alone,” Myra said.
Natalia froze. “Why?”
Myra twisted around to look at her. “I have information I’m willing to offer. Let me talk to him, and he can decide what to do about it.”
The vampire laughed. “In your position, you’d be ready to try anything to escape. You’re not planning to assassinate him, are you?”
Myra snorted. “Seriously? Didn’t you just witness my combat skills?”
Natalia pulled her over the barren, stony ground. “I’m not going to indulge your desperate escape attempts. Whatever information you have, you can share it with your interrogators. You’ll have plenty of opportunities.”
“No.” Myra held the vampire’s gaze. “I speak to Casiel before any torture begins, or I don’t speak at all. Just tell him my offer, and let him decide.”
The vampire laughed. “You don’t speak at all? That’s what everyone says before the interrogations start.” She handed her to a pair of vampire guards, who pulled her along the cobbled path to the mansion.
Their captors locked the three human prisoners in the basement. They left no candles, and as the vampires walked away, the chamber fell into complete darkness.
“Andre, how do you feel?” Myra asked once they were alone.
“Don’t concern yourself with me,” the man said. “Focus on getting away. I see you have a plan already.”
“Yes,” Lidia said. “You wanted to talk to that vamp. What’s that about?”
Myra shifted on the cold floor. Of course, it was obvious to Lidia and Andre that her request was a part of an escape attempt. It had been obvious to Natalia, and to any other vampire who might have heard her. It would be obvious to Casiel if he ever agreed to meet her. How was that ever supposed to work?
“Not a very good plan, I’m afraid,” she said.
“What is it?” asked Lidia.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
Lidia chucked. “That bad? Tell me.”
Myra rested her head against the stone floor and stared into the darkness. “I’ll try to talk our way out of this.”
She heard a snort. “Does that ever work?” Lidia asked.
“Not in my experience,” said Myra. “But there’s a first time for everything.”
A light flickered in the dark corridor, and Myra stood up from the floor. She heard rustling of clothes next to her.
“They’re coming for us,” Lidia said.
Myra’s heart grew cold. Unlike her friends, she had been in this position before—locked in a vampire’s dungeon, waiting for torture. Instead, the Prince had subjected her to a series of twisted tests. But Casiel would take no interest in her writing skills.
The light moved closer, and Myra nearly laughed as she caught a glimpse of dark curls. Casiel himself. She straightened up and met his eyes when he approached. “I see Natalia gave you my message.”
“Desperate humans say anything to avoid death,” he said. “But I’m not Vladimir. You can’t deceive and manipulate me. You’d better make this worth my while.”
“You’re most certainly not Vladimir,” Myra said. That’s what I’m counting on. “Let’s speak alone, and then you can decide for yourself if my information has been worth your while.”
Silently, he unlocked the barred door and grabbed her upper arm in a painful grip. He pulled her out and shut and locked the door behind her.
“You think you’re smart,” he hissed. “You survived in the Palace for two months, and you think it’s thanks to your wits. You’re wrong. You survived because Vladimir was playing games with you. But I’ll play no games.”
“And neither will I,” said Myra as he dragged her on. “I’ll only tell you the truth; it’s up to you what you decide to do with it.”
He never said another word as he dragged her down the corridor and up the stairs, his fingers gripping her arm so hard she could feel the bruise forming. Her hands were still bo
und behind her back, and all she could do was move her feet as fast as possible so he would not pull at her too much.
Once they reached a door on the second floor, Casiel opened it and threw her to the floor. Without her hands to break her fall, Myra tumbled onto the thick carpet and rolled around. She sat up and glared at him.
Casiel closed the door behind him. “Speak,” he said.
She looked around. The room was large and richly lit by numerous beeswax candles, their soft light illuminating thick rugs and carpets, cushioned sofas, alabaster tables covered in golden cutlery, and large paintings on the walls. A poor imitation of the Palace, and yet, something tugged at Myra’s heart at the awoken memories.
“You’re playing a stupid game,” she said. “You want the Prince to allow you to destroy the Resistance after we kill Tristan, but do you think we’re the only ones he’d destroy? After your meeting at the Audience, he told me that if anything happened to Tristan, you’d be his first suspect.”
Casiel snorted. “That is the important information you wanted to share?”
“No,” Myra said. “I wanted to tell you that if you had let me be, I might have solved your problem for you in a more permanent fashion. The trouble with you, Casiel, is that you think small. You wish to manipulate the Prince into doing what you want. Have you never wanted to be the Prince?”
Casiel stared at her, his eyes icy. “If I had let you be, you would have solved my problems?”
Myra scrambled closer to the wall and leaned against it. All she needed to do was make Casiel take her to Vlad. Then everything would be all right. “Do you think I want to live in the Resistance? Do you have any idea how miserable it is? Cold and rat-invested, with no food or medicine, no music or laughter. You fool. I’ve been working to destroy the Resistance from within and finally become what I had always wanted to be—a vampire.”
Casiel laughed. “You’re more desperate than I thought. You seriously expect me to believe that?”