by Elena May
“You might have a point,” he said. “And I admit I did not handle things well. I asked Callisto if she could find it in her heart to love him. She was not happy.”
“Can’t imagine why,” Myra muttered under her breath.
“Tristan told you that she and I grew apart,” he continued. “And, in a way, we did. After that night, nothing was the same between us, though I believe even without Tristan, this would have happened sooner or later. I loved Callisto. I still do, but something else stands between us that neither of us can change.” He stood up, turning his back to her, and approached his desk. “You have heard what you wanted to hear. The guards will take you to your room and will bring you food for the day. Give this to him,” he said, turning back and handing her a bar of chocolate. “It is his favorite.”
Myra nodded and accepted the chocolate. She turned towards the door but stopped, her eyes drifting to the chessboard and the discarded black queen. All was not lost for the black. If only she moved that bishop, she could do a check. Would that show him how much she had learned? Smiling, she reached out and moved the piece.
The Prince snorted behind her. “And what exactly did you hope to achieve with this ridiculous move?”
She turned around. “Check.”
“And isn’t the point of the game a checkmate? This move brings you no closer to victory.”
He walked to the board and returned the piece to its previous location. “Do you know why all your plans keep failing?”
“No,” Myra said. “But, please, enlighten me. I know you love monologuing around chessboards to make your ramblings sound deep and wise.”
He smiled and picked up the black bishop once again, rotating it in his fingers. “And does that work?”
Myra shrugged. “Theatrics or not, your advice is sometimes decent.”
“If by ‘sometimes decent’ you mean ‘always impeccable and life-changing,’ you are correct,” he said. “I have told you many rules about playing the game. Think a few moves in advance. Predict your opponent’s strategy. Adapt yours accordingly. But all these are rules you could sometimes break and still win. There is just one rule you can never break.”
He placed the bishop down and moved a black pawn. “You must always know your final goal. Every single move you make should bring you closer to it.”
“And I don’t?”
“Never,” he said. “You keep changing your mind—first, you want to kill me, and then you don’t. You want to escape, but you don’t. You want to capture Tristan, but then you want to set him free. Your plans can never work. Even if you have the most foolproof plan to kill me, it will never succeed unless you really mean to do it and stick to your decision.”
Myra took in a deep breath and walked to the door. He was right. That was why her plan with Casiel had failed—she had thought her final goal was to get Casiel to let her speak to Vlad. In fact, it should have been all that and keeping her friends safe. Shuddering, she placed her hand on the doorknob.
“What is your final goal, Myra?” he asked. “What do you really want? You don’t have to answer me, but you need to answer to yourself.”
What did she want? She wanted the Resistance to succeed. But she did not want Tristan, Vlad, or Armida to die. She wanted the world to belong to humans again. But she did not want all vampires to disappear. She took in a shuddering breath and pressed down on the doorknob.
For the first time, her thoughts took shape in her mind, and they horrified her. She wanted humans and vampires to live in peace. How perfect it would all be—helping each other instead of fighting. She had seen Vlad operate on Andre, so quick and precise. How much good could vampires do if they wanted to help? But what would they ask in return?
These thoughts were naïve, childish, ridiculous. She could no longer live on the edge between two worlds. It was either humans or vampires, and she had to make a choice and stick to it.
Myra fisted her hand, stopping it from reaching to the spot on her neck where Tristan’s bite still burned. She looked straight at Prince Vladimir’s narrowed eyes, bright like glowing embers.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Myra said and opened the door. “For the first time after meeting you, I finally know what I want.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sacrifice
Zack looked about to explode when Myra told him the Prince wanted to think on their proposal and requested another meeting in a week’s time. To her surprise, it was Andre who came to her defense. He spoke about the Prince being a reasonable man and said that he believed the Resistance could negotiate with him.
Zack had decided to invite Franka to the council, and Myra kept trying to catch the old woman’s eyes. Every time she did, Franka glared daggers at her. At the end, Zack agreed to wait, and Andre retired to the healing quarters, where Dr. Dubois would supervise his recovery.
After Zack dismissed the council, Myra hurried after Franka. “I need to speak to you,” she whispered. “Alone.”
Franka looked back and glared at her. Myra sighed. “I know you’re angry at me, and you have every right to be. I promised to help you get your revenge on the Prince, and I never did. But I won’t fail you next time.”
The old woman rolled her eyes. “Fine. Come with me.”
They reached an empty cellar. Myra lit a candle with one of the torches in the corridor, and they walked inside, closing the door behind them. Franka crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Speak.”
Myra could barely discern Franka’s silhouette in the darkness and saw nothing of her face. She took a deep breath. “I have a confession to make. The Prince was still in the cave when I got there. I let him get away.”
Franka snorted. “Why am I not surprised?”
“That’s not all,” Myra continued. “I promised the Prince to let Tristan escape. He never planned to negotiate with us in the first place.”
Franka was silent. Myra could see nothing of her expression in the darkness and waited in silence, her heart clenching. A weight formed inside her stomach, dragging her down. She felt as if she was about to throw up.
“Why are you telling me this?” Franka said at last. “You don’t expect me to justify your decision, do you? You know I’m the last person to do that.”
“But I do need you to justify my decision,” Myra said, voice shaking. “I’ve decided to betray the Prince. I won’t let Tristan escape. I’ll help keep him here, as a bargaining chip, and will use him to force the Prince to destroy the WeatherWizard. I need you to convince me I’m doing the right thing.”
Even in the murky darkness, she could see Franka throwing her hands in the air. “Why on earth would you need justification for that? It’s so obviously the right thing to do, I’ve no idea why we are even discussing this.”
“You don’t understand,” Myra said. “The Prince had the chance to hurt me and feed me to Tristan so they could both escape, but he didn’t do it. He allowed us to capture Tristan to spare me, and I promised him to let Tristan go. If I betray him now, then I’m worse than him. I’m worse than a vampire.”
She squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of Franka’s expression, but her eyes could not penetrate the darkness. “I’d lose what makes me human,” she continued. “What’s the point of winning if we lose our humanity? Then, even if we destroy the Wizard and win, the world will still be ruled by monsters. Only this time, the monsters will be us.”
Franka snorted. “Your self-absorption never fails to astound me.”
Myra raised the candle closer to the old woman’s face, trying to make out her features. “What do you mean?”
“If you betray His Evilness, people won’t lose their humanity,” Franka said. “Only you will. It’s called making a sacrifice. People of the Old World did it all the time.”
Franka grabbed the candle from Myra’s hand. Her blue eyes were pale under the flame, and wisps of white hair framed her wizened face. “Soldiers fought to protect their loved ones,” she continued. “And, suffering from post-trau
matic stress disorder after all the horrors they had seen, many couldn’t reintegrate into society. But their people were safe. If you do this, perhaps you’ll indeed lose what you call your humanity. Perhaps you won’t feel like you belong with your community. But you’re doing this for your people.”
Tears came to Myra’s eyes, and she blinked them away. “Thank you,” she said softly. “This actually helps.”
Myra stood inside her cellar, holding Vlad’s book in her hands. Perhaps she had to burn it, like she had burnt that story long ago, to avoid the temptation to change her mind. But Vlad’s words drifted back to her. Do you know what kind of people, historically, burned books? No, no matter the final goal, burning books was never the answer. She simply had to stay strong.
She tucked the book underneath her blanket and laid down on the cot. Her mind reeled. This was it, then? She would betray Vlad and give up her humanity, but would hopefully give the Resistance a chance. A week from now, she would have to face Vlad and tell him her decision. But first, she had to face Tristan.
Her hand flew to the bite on her neck. She could still feel his teeth, piercing her skin. She felt her blood flowing inside his body as they became one being. And now she would face him, give him the chocolate Vlad had sent, and tell him she had no plans to help him escape.
Sleep came and went that night. Myra woke up over and over again and then drifted off once again, dreaming of blood.
“Get up! Now.”
Myra blinked, staring at Zack’s blurry face, illuminated by the torch he was carrying. “Zack, what’s happening?” she asked as she crawled out of her cot. “Is there an emergency?”
To her shock, he approached her and grabbed her by the collar. “Did you do it?”
She was fully awake now, but it did nothing to alleviate her confusion. “Did what? Zack, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
“Don’t tell me you had nothing to do with this,” he yelled. “Where is he?”
“Where is who? Zack, please, start from the beginning.”
He froze, looking at her carefully, his head tilted to the side. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” he asked and sighed when she shook her head. He released her collar and watched silently as Myra massaged her bruised neck. “The prisoner is gone.”
Chapter Sixteen
Gone
Myra was fully awake in a second. “What do you mean he’s gone?”
“He’s not in the cell,” Zack snapped. “When was the last time you saw him?”
Myra’s heart hammered. “Before I left for the Palace.”
“Lidia went to feed him shortly after you returned, and he was still there. This morning he was gone. Come.”
Myra followed, her thoughts running wild. Sissi had found a way to release Tristan. But how? And why had she said nothing? How had Tristan gotten past the guards? Or had he? Was he still around somewhere?
Soon they reached Tristan’s cell, where a small crowd had gathered. Franka was there, staring at her. Myra averted her eyes and briefly met Sissi’s gaze before looking at the empty hanging chains.
Thomas reached out for the chains and scratched them with his thumbnail. “I see fresh nicks around the edges of the keyhole,” he said. “Someone has picked the locks.”
“All Resistance members have easy access to the keys,” Zack said. “No one would have needed to pick the locks. Unless, of course, the culprit wanted to throw us off the trail.”
“Don’t look at me,” Myra snapped when she felt Zack’s gaze on her. “I don’t even know how to pick locks.”
“Tommy, are you sure they’ve been picked?” Zack asked. “Perhaps someone used the key and then tweaked them to look like this.”
“I’m no expert,” Thomas said. “Someone has messed with these locks, but I can’t say whether it was done before or after they were unlocked.”
Zack’s eyes remained fixed on Myra. “Then all possibilities remain open.”
“Wait,” she said. “All right, someone released the prisoner. But even then, he was barely able to stand on his feet. How did he get past the guards?”
“We’re still investigating if he got past the guards at all,” Zack said. “We’re searching the entire caves. We’ve doubled the guard, but so far they’ve seen no one pass. As for the prisoner not being able to stand on his own feet, I’m no longer sure. Perhaps he was pretending.”
Well, Myra was sure. Tristan had been in no shape to escape.
“May I ask a probably stupid question?” Sissi said. “My people have killed very few vampires, and I’ve never been around when they did. What happens to vampires when they die? They don’t turn to dust or just disappear, do they?”
“Oh no, there is a body left behind all right,” Zack said. “They simply die, and the body starts decomposing like any other, but they don’t disappear. No, Sissi, I don’t believe anyone killed our pretty boy.”
“If the vamp never went past the guards, he may still be around,” Lidia said. “We may have a vampire at large inside our hideout. And what if he did get out? He must have been conscious when he left, so he knows the way in. Does the spell work on him anymore? Can he return? And can he now bring others, or do they need to be led by a human? How does that work?”
Myra’s breath caught in her throat. Honestly, she had never thought of that when she had planned to release Tristan.
“Let’s go to the Headquarters and discuss how to proceed,” Zack said.
Myra could not understand what difference it would make whether they held the discussion in the “Headquarters” or here, but Zack was obsessed with protocol and there was no use arguing. As she followed the others down the corridor, Franka approached her.
“What the hell?” the old woman said in a hiss. “You said you wouldn’t let him go.”
“And I didn’t,” Myra whispered back. “I’ve no idea how he escaped, but I’ll do my best to find him.”
Franka snorted. “You expect me to believe that?”
“If I planned to release Tristan, why would I come to you?”
The old woman shrugged. “Honestly, your mind has been changing directions like a leaf in the wind. I wouldn’t be surprised if you meant to betray His Evilness when you talked to me, and changed your mind five minutes later.”
“I had nothing to do with this,” Myra said. “I swear.” But she was not completely honest with Franka, was she? She knew exactly who had released Tristan, but she could not betray Sissi just to save herself. The girl was guilty of nothing more than extreme naïveté.
“I give you an hour to return the vampire,” Franka said. “If he’s not back in his cell, I’ll go and tell Zack exactly what you told me.”
Myra’s blood ran cold. She stopped in her tracks and stared at Franka, shaking. “I didn’t do it. I have no idea where Tristan is.”
Franka narrowed her eyes. “It may be so. I won’t tell Zack you did it. I’ll only tell him that you planned to.”
Myra’s heart dropped to her stomach. Her knees felt week. Perhaps she could talk to Sissi to find out where Tristan was hiding and bring him back. He was still weak; maybe she could overpower him by herself if she needed to. “I don’t know where he is,” she said once again, “but I’ll do my best to find him. I can’t do it in an hour. Please, give me a day.”
Franka laughed. “A day? Are you serious? In that time he can get to the Palace and back, and bring others.”
“And what will you gain if you tell Zack?” Myra whispered. “He’ll detain me, and you’ll lose an important ally who knows Tristan well and can help find him. Give me a day.”
“Six hours,” said Franka. “And not a minute more.”
Myra pressed her lips together and nodded. She slowed down, letting Franka walk ahead of her, after Zack. She spotted Sissi walking a few paces behind and caught her eye. Sissi reached her and fell in step with her.
“How did you do it?” the red-haired girl whispered once all the others had passed them by.
Sissi’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “Then who did?”
Great. Sissi had no reason to lie to her; she considered her an ally. Now she had no starting point in her search, and she needed to find Tristan before Franka talked to Zack. What would Zack do to her? Banish her? Imprison her? Execute her? One thing was certain—she would never again be able to look him in the eye.
Myra bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Tristan could not have freed himself. Someone had let him go, and that someone was neither Sissi nor she. Only Resistance members had access to these parts. Some Resistance member had freed the vampire or, more probably, moved him and hidden him somewhere else, for their own ends. But why? Was someone trying to strike a secret deal with the Prince?
A thought came to her, and she gasped, fighting a sudden wave of nausea. Thomas. Perhaps he’d wanted to keep his plaything and had decided to hide Tristan somewhere only he could find. But would Thomas risk their only chance to destroy the WeatherWizard, only to satisfy his sick urges?
And yet, Thomas had never believed the plan would succeed. He had been certain the Prince would refuse their offer, and they would have to kill Tristan. Perhaps he had decided he would rather keep his source of amusement.
The thought was sickening, but it made too much sense to ignore it. Thomas was the one behind this, she was certain of it. But if that was true, they had to find Tristan as soon as possible. If she tried to accuse Thomas, Zack would not hear a word of it. No, Sissi and she had to do this on their own.
Breakfast was a tense affair. The rest of the night had passed in quick meetings and discussions. Guards had come to report the results of the search, but the answer had always been the same—the vampire was nowhere to be found. Every single cell in the hideout, every niche, every upper and lower level had been searched again and again, but to no avail. The guards at the entrance had seen no one come in or out. Tristan seemed to have disappeared into thin air.