by Elena May
“And do you seriously think any human who has seen your world wouldn’t want to be a part of it?”
The vampire sat down in an armchair and swung one leg over the other. “So, you’re claiming you and Vladimir secretly worked on destroying the Resistance, and he promised to make you a vampire in return?”
It was Myra’s turn to laugh. “Don’t you know the Prince? He loves the Resistance. And he would never turn me. Don’t you know why he kept me alive? He wanted me to write stories for him. I was only valuable to him as a human, and he would have punished anyone who thought about turning me. That’s why I found vampires who opposed him, and we secretly planned to destroy him and the Resistance. Then, I could be one of you.”
“It’s hard to believe Vladimir chose you, of all people, to make up stories for him,” Casiel said. “You can’t even come up with a convincing lie.”
“It might be unconvincing, but it’s the truth,” Myra said. “You want to know the true reason why I want this? I have a vampire lover. He has drunk my blood. I’ve tasted darkness, and I wish to keep tasting it until the end of the world.”
“Not getting more plausible,” the vampire said.
“We kept meeting in secret after I escaped the Palace,” she continued as if Casiel had never spoken. “We devised a plan. I would go to the Prince, pretending to negotiate Tristan’s release on the Resistance’s behalf. I would send him to a place to meet the Resistance’s leader. But instead, my lover and his coconspirators would be there to take his life. If you’d left me to finish my mission, you’d have no Prince to worry about.”
“I’ll take you back to your cell,” said Casiel. “Your lies aren’t even entertaining.”
“I have proof,” Myra said.
The vampire laughed. “Proof?”
Myra looked him in the eye. “Pull my collar down.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
Casiel closed the distance between them in two long strides. He held her collar, and Myra tensed when she felt his fingers at her neck. He held the cloth and pulled down.
The vampire gasped. “You’ve been tasted? This is recent.”
Myra turned her head around to pull away from him. “I told you. My lover and I kept meeting after I escaped. We devised the plan to assassinate the Prince.”
Casiel stood up. “And your friends at the Resistance? You would let them die?”
“They’re not my friends,” Myra said. “I don’t care what happens to them, as long as I get what I want.”
Casiel ran a hand across his face and turned around. “I see. We will do this, then. I will deliver you to Vladimir. You will say nothing of our little adventure and will pretend to negotiate Tristan’s release, and, as per your original plan, you will send Vladimir to his death.”
Myra’s heart beat so fast she thought it was about to explode. Was this happening? Had she really succeeded in fooling a vampire?
“In the meantime,” Casiel continued, “we will execute your two companions. Since you’re helping to bring down the Resistance, we no longer need their information.”
Myra’s heart stopped and she stared at Casiel, the blood draining from her face. He raised an eyebrow. “You said you didn’t care what happened to them, didn’t you?”
Myra’s thoughts swam around her, and she felt as if she was drowning. How, how, how had she thought this would ever work? How had she managed to make this into an even bigger mess? And how was she ever going to fix it?
The colors blurred around her, and Casiel moved across the room as if in a dream. His voice was coming from far away, outlining the plan, asking questions. But there was no response she could give that would turn back time.
The door burst open.
Chapter Eleven
Dance of Death
Myra raised her head, heart hammering. There, at the open door, stood Natalia, holding a loaded crossbow, pointed at her. Wooden bolt. Why would the vampire shoot her with a wooden bolt? Myra blinked, her eyes taking in the handful of vampires across the door. She caught sight of knee-high dark red boots. Her gaze moved upwards, along black leather pants, a long unbuttoned red trench coat that matched the boots, a chocolate-brown knitted blouse, long burgundy curls.
She gasped and rolled on the floor. “Armida.”
Casiel stood up straight and froze, still as a statue. “What is the meaning of this?”
Natalia moved her crossbow, the bolt tip pointing straight at his heart. “Sorry, boss. Whenever my superiors are at odds, one person’s orders take priority over all others.” Her eyes darted towards Armida.
Casiel followed her gaze. “This is your doing?”
Armida’s red painted lips curled. “I wish I could take the credit, but it was all His Highness. Your impending treason has been obvious for some time, Casiel. Still, the Prince couldn’t go against you without proof.”
Casiel snorted. “How noble. He set me up?”
“He assigned you this task of intercepting the Resistance’s ambassadors coming to negotiate Tristan’s release and escorting them to the Palace,” Armida said. “He was certain you would use the opportunity to capture and hide the ambassadors yourself, in an attempt to destroy Tristan and the Resistance in the same strike.”
Casiel stared at her, motionless. Then he burst into laughter. A chill ran down Myra’s spine. “I see,” said Casiel. “I wish I could say I’m surprised. He uses the capture and mortal peril of his supposedly dearest friend to spin his webs and play his games. How very Vladimir-like.”
“Come,” Armida said. “Natalia will escort you outside.”
Casiel put up no fight and walked out, head held high. All the vampires followed him, except Armida, who stayed behind and bent down to undo Myra’s ropes.
“Thanks,” Myra said. “But I had it under control.”
Armida laughed. “Indeed. You wished to single-handedly defeat Casiel. I apologize for stealing your thunder.”
Myra smiled. “I’m happy to see you.” And she was. Her eyes ran over the vampire—she looked strong and well. Had Vlad read the story Armida had planned to present as her own? If he had, he would know Myra had written it. And that would lead him to the obvious conclusion—that Armida had been the one to help her escape. Of all the things she had done, leaving a clue in that story had been the most selfish, and Myra was glad to see Armida had so far suffered no consequences. But did Armida know she had set her up?
“You know,” Armida said, “I meant to tell you something, but I couldn’t do it back in the cave. We were lucky we met William of all people on the way out as you escaped. Sadly, your performance didn’t fool him—he recognized you were a human.”
Myra froze. “You didn’t get in trouble because of me, did you?”
“Not at all,” Armida said. “He told me he figured out what we were doing and kept silent as proof of his goodwill towards me.”
Myra’s eyes narrowed. “Why would he need that?”
Armida helped her to stand up from the floor, and the cut ropes fell down. “This is court, dear. If you think being a noble vampire is all music and dances and blood and chocolate, you are mistaken. This is a dangerous place, and one needs powerful friends to survive. Now tell me, how is our darling doing? Is captivity agreeing with his complexion?”
Myra dusted off her pants. “Honestly, I’m worried we’re not providing the comforts he’s used to.”
“Don’t worry too much about comforts,” Armida said. “Just bring him back to us in one piece. We will take good care of him and make sure he recovers from any unpleasant experiences. Come.”
Myra followed Armida down the corridor leading outside. “Do you really want him back? I mean, you said he disliked you. Perhaps you’d feel safer without him around.”
Armida raised an eyebrow. “And what if I do?”
“I promised the Prince I’d bring him back,” Myra said, “but you’re the one who helped me escape. If Tristan’s presence in the Palace threatens you in any
way, setting him free would be a poor repayment of my debt to you.”
Armida stopped in her tracks. “Are you saying that, given the chance, you would choose my side over the Prince’s?”
Honestly, Myra found the notion of choosing any vampire’s side ridiculous. And yet, Armida had helped her, and she had returned the favor by compromising her in the eyes of her beloved. “This probably sounds silly, but I think you’re less evil than the Prince. I’m not sure this is a compliment for a vampire, but I mean it as such.”
Armida laughed and resumed her stride down the corridor. “Compliment taken. You keep failing to get this—we don’t consider ourselves evil. It is humans who give us this label. But there is no need to choose sides—I do want Tristan by our side. Bring him back.”
They walked outside, and Myra stared at the sky, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. Night had almost fallen, but the thick clouds had not yet dispersed to reveal the stars as they did every night. The only illumination came from two rows of torches along the paved path that led to the mansion’s front entrance. She and Armida stood at the top of the front stairs, a position that gave Myra a good view of what was happening in the field below.
Casiel walked away from the building, flanked by Natalia and the other vampire fighters. He was unbound, but his captors had pointed multiple crossbows at his heart. Where were they taking him?
Myra’s eyes followed the narrow paved path. There, out of the darkness, a figure emerged. A lone horseman was approaching, and as he drew nearer, Myra saw that the steed was a large white stallion. The torch flames rose and fell, playing on the rider’s face. Myra’s breath caught in her throat. Vlad.
He was dressed in a dark burgundy tunic, with a black vest on top, and a black cape waving behind him. His black leather pants and tall boots stood in stark contrast to the horse’s luminous silver coat. He was wearing his crown—a golden circlet with a single red ruby.
Casiel laughed and accelerated his pace. “Ah, Vladimir. You’re probably glad Tristan was captured, so you could play this little trick on me. I won’t be surprised if you tell me you staged his capture yourself.”
Vlad slid down his horse and walked along the path towards Casiel. “Is this what you want?” He removed his crown, holding it up in the air. “Come and take it yourself.”
Casiel stopped. “You’ll let me fight you?”
The Prince stopped as well, about fifty paces away from his opponent. “I know how much you’d like that, and my subjects’ wishes are always my priority. Your weapon of choice is a sword, no? Natalia, find him a sword.”
Casiel accepted the blade Natalia offered him and swung it in the air, making a sharp swishing sound. “This is a farce,” he said. “Your henchmen will shoot me as soon as you’re in danger.”
“They will not,” said Vlad. “And if you defeat me, or even kill me, you will not only go unharmed but also receive this.” He raised the crown up in the air and then placed it back on his head. “You will be the next prince. These are my orders.”
Myra watched as Armida’s hands clenched into fists. Casiel stepped forward and swung his blade. “It’s hard to believe even you are stupid and arrogant enough to gamble your kingdom like that.”
“It is not a gamble,” said Vlad, drawing out his own blade with a metallic swoosh, “if you know the outcome.” He threw his sword to the side, and it flew away, landing on the stony ground.
Casiel snorted. “I see. You make this whole show of giving me my weapon of choice, but then provoke me to throw it away and fight you barehanded, where you believe to have an advantage.”
“Not at all,” said Vlad. “I hope you keep your sword. I can still defeat you with my bare fangs.”
Armida bit her lip and looked away. Casiel made a wide swing with his sword and walked forward, closing the distance between himself and his enemy. “If you’re bluffing and hoping to play on my pride, you’re mistaken. I’m a pragmatist. You gave me the option to use a sword, and I’ll use it to cut off your head.”
“I did give you the option to use your sword,” said Vlad. “But the second part of your statement is incorrect.”
All blood had drained from Armida’s face, and she looked at the ground, clutching her left hand in her right. Myra’s heart clenched as she looked at her, and she reached out to place a hand on the vampire’s arm. “Interesting,” Myra said. “I was unaware that undead men could succumb to testosterone poisoning.”
That, at least, brought a smile to Armida’s lips, though her brow was still furrowed. “Some more than others,” the vampire said, her voice a shaky hiss.
“That’s ridiculous,” Myra said. “Why risk his life? Casiel is defeated.”
“If you ask the Prince,” Armida said, “he’ll tell you it is a necessary show of strength. In some ways, vampires are a very primitive community—we like to follow a strong leader. If he defeats Casiel with his bare hands, he cements his position.”
“And if I ask you?”
Armida snorted. “Then I’d tell you he just likes showing off. Perhaps Casiel won’t kill him tonight. But I might.”
Myra’s eyes went back to the fighting vampires. They had closed the distance between each other, and Casiel raised his sword for a slash. He swung down his blade, in a powerful move meant to cut Vlad in two—from his right shoulder, diagonally down to the left side of his abdomen.
Vlad leaned to the side, avoiding the blade by a hair’s breadth. Casiel swung again, and Vlad moved out of the path, his movements a blur in front of Myra’s eyes. It reminded her of all these operas and ballets he had shown her. He danced like a panther, like a wounded swan singing its last song to the world, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, like a forest spirit, like an angel. A deadly dance, where one false move would mean the end.
Casiel’s sword thrust and swung, meant to pierce, to sever, to decapitate. Vlad twisted and turned and sidestepped, bending at impossible angles, swift as a blade of grass bending under a hurricane. Miraculously, his golden circlet always remained on his head. Myra watched as his hand flew into the air, taking a strange, twisted path, avoiding Casiel’s blade as if by pure magic and grabbing his crown. He raised the golden ring, caught the sword in it, and twisted, clutching at his enemy’s arm at the same time.
Casiel dropped his sword, and the Prince seized him by the head and drew him close. Myra watched Vlad’s teeth pierce his enemy’s neck. She could almost feel the blood leaving Casiel’s body and entering the Prince’s, the two vampires connected in a dark, twisted version of blood-sharing, one not of love and trust, but of domination and power.
The Prince released his opponent, and Casiel collapsed to his knees. “Your Highness,” he said, his voice soft and wheezing. “Forgive me.”
Myra walked down the stairs, trying to get a better look at Casiel’s face. She remembered what Vlad had told her—that drinking your enemies’ blood could bring them to their knees and make them obey you. Did the blood drinking indeed affect one’s mind?
“Can you walk?” the Prince said.
Casiel tried to stand but collapsed back to his knees. “I can crawl.”
Vlad turned his back on him and walked towards the house. “Then crawl. Follow the path to the end. You will find several carts waiting. Tell the guards to lock you up and wait for me there.”
Myra stepped on the path, barring Vlad’s way. “Your Highness, we all have a lot to do, but there’s something we must address first. I came with two companions. They are locked in the basement, and one is badly wounded.”
Vlad strode past her, without looking at her, and climbed up the stairs. Myra followed as he entered the house and took the stairs leading to the basement. Armida and a handful of guards walked close behind.
The Prince took a torch from the wall and stepped into the moist, sticky darkness that was this mansion’s basement. He raised the flame, letting the light fall on the cell and prisoners. Andre lay on the floor, deathly pale but alert. Lidia looked up, freezing as she
saw the Prince.
Vlad winked at Lidia. “Ah, you. I remember your taste.”
Myra gave him an incredulous look. Not a good thing to say if he wished the Resistance to treat Tristan well. But Vlad ignored her glare, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.
“Don’t fear me, old man,” Vlad said. “I have come to examine your wound.”
Andre raised his head and looked at him with blurry but determined eyes. “Who are you?”
“He’s the one who bit me,” Lidia said with a hiss. “The Prince of Darkness himself.” She looked at Vlad. “Stay away from him.”
He ignored her and crouched next to Andre, cutting through his makeshift bandages. “I said stay away from him,” Lidia said, her voice low and hushed.
“I am helping him,” the Prince said.
Lidia looked away. “I’ve seen his wound. You can’t help him.”
Myra’s eyes widened and she stared at Lidia, surprised she would say this in front of Andre. Had her friends discussed Andre’s fate while she was talking to Casiel? Or was this a surprise to the old Warrior? Andre’s face was still as stone and betrayed nothing.
Vlad ignored the comment and continued prodding and examining Andre’s injury. To Myra’s surprise, he undid his black cloak and swiftly cut it into strips, which he used to rebandage the wound. “Put him in a cart and take him to the Palace,” he said, turning to his guards. “Be very careful.”
“Why can’t you just leave him alone?” snapped Lidia. “Let him die in peace. I’m a healer, and I can tell he’s bleeding inside. Such a wound can’t heal without surgery.”
“This is correct,” Vlad said and stood up from his kneeling position.
Myra gasped. “So he’ll die?”
“I never said that,” the Prince replied and exited the cell, leaving them behind.
Chapter Twelve
Remnants of a Lost World
Myra raised the cloth flap that covered her cart’s window and looked at the night sky. Familiar constellations had emerged from behind the dissipating clouds. The stars looked down on her, twinkling, laughing. She had a feeling that there, far away, was an ocean of light. The night sky was just a dark flap to hide it from view, but someone had pierced numerous little holes into it, and the light leaked through the tiny dots.