by Elena May
“There is not a word of truth in what you said,” Vlad countered. “Armida loves Tristan dearly. She wanted him to be happy.”
“Right.” Ila rolled her eyes. “And so, Armida turned me, hoping that Tristan and I would become a couple and leave on our own way.”
“She never wanted us to part ways with you and Tristan,” Vlad said.
She snorted. “Armida turned me and, in her arrogance, gave me the name Ila, which in my tongue means ‘companion.’ I was to be a companion to Tristan, nothing more.”
“It’s not your real name?” Myra said, surprised. “Why did you let her decide what you should be called?”
“I didn’t,” Ila said. “At least, not at first. But after I became a vampire, I had to leave my tribe and go out into the world. You see, my birth name is Tukkuyummavungga. I wanted to keep it, to preserve a part of my identity and not let myself be assimilated into that melting pot the world had become. Yet I needed a name people could remember, or at least pronounce.
“I felt uncomfortable choosing my own name.” She threw Vlad a pointed look. “And so, I took the one my sire had given me. It was simple, and it still belonged to my culture. And, whatever else Armida is, she is still my sire.” She looked at Myra and Sissi. “You see, humans, it’s hard for a vampire to separate themselves from their sire. The bond is strong and always remains, whether you wish it or not.”
She tore her gaze from the humans and stared at the dark blood in her cup. Her brown eyes seemed to look somewhere far beyond the thick liquid. “All of this was in vain, of course, for Armida’s plan never came to be. She hoped Tristan and I could be together, but I was not interested.”
“You weren’t interested in Tristan?” Sissi blurted out and turned a deep shade of pink as all eyes turned towards her. “I mean, we’re talking about the same Tristan, right?”
“And why would I be interested?” Ila said. “He was a self-absorbed, heartless bloodsucker. There wasn’t a single thing about him I could like. I am not some starry-eyed schoolgirl to fall for his brooding good looks.”
Myra’s hand flew to the itching bite mark on her neck. Ila had been her age when she had become a vampire, and yet she had been strong and mature enough to resist the lure of darkness. Would Myra have done the same?
Vlad smiled. “You know, many would have killed to be in your position.”
“And I would have killed to get out of it,” Ila said. “But the past is the past. Let us look to the future. You mentioned destroying the WeatherWizard, and I know exactly how we could do that.”
“Please enlighten me, then,” Vlad said. “You dismissed all my suggestions before I had even voiced them, so I assume you have a better idea?”
“My problem is not the actual destruction,” Ila said. “This is a technicality. My true problem was ensuring your support and getting a guarantee that you wouldn’t betray me. And now I have it,” she said, fingering his chains. “You are our prisoner. We will send word to Armida and Tristan and ask for their cooperation. They will do exactly what I want, if they wish to see you alive.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Trust
A peal of laughter spilled from the Prince’s lips, clear and unrestrained. “I doubt they would do that. Once they find out I have been visiting you and the Resistance, I will be lucky if they don’t kill me themselves.”
“They didn’t know you were planning to come here?” Myra asked.
“Of course not,” Vlad said. “Armida thinks I am merely out for a ride. And Tristan—the poor boy was in a bad shape after all your merry gang put him through. He went to bed shortly after he returned, and I left before he had awoken.”
“Bed, really?” Ila asked. “I always thought you and your minions preferred coffins, like good old-fashioned vampires.”
He shrugged. “We are flexible and open-minded. And Tristan is not my minion.”
“And then you wonder why they think you’re being patronizing,” Myra said. “You keep treating Armida and Tristan like children, shielding them from danger and worry, and you take all risk and responsibility on yourself. Do you realize how unfair to them this is? You come here, to the one you call your archnemesis, and before that you walk into the Resistance’s Headquarters all alone? We could have killed you.”
Another burst of laughter threatened to escape him, but this time he stopped it. “You could have killed me? You are joking, right?”
“I don’t think she was,” Ila said. “And neither am I. You claim your two groupies will be unwilling to assist me in destroying the WeatherWizard to save your sorry hide? I guess there is only one way to find out.”
Vlad straightened his back. “You are missing something here,” he said calmly. “Let us say that they agree to help you. Then it is Armida, Tristan, you, and your fighters against everyone else. You are all capable, even if you yourself are somewhat deranged, but you stand no chance. If you release me, you also have me on your side. I am the Prince. People obey me. I am the only one who has the power to stage this. Whether you like it or not, you cannot do this without me.”
“That may be so,” Ila said and stood up from her chair, leaning over the table, “but the problem remains. I can’t trust you not to lead us into a trap.”
The Prince stared at her evenly. “I have no reason at all to lead you into a trap. I could kill you right here and now.”
Vlad’s movements became a blur of speed in front of Myra’s eyes. When and how had he freed himself from his chains? His shackles lay on the table with newly broken locks, and his hands, now free, flew to grab the table’s leg and break it. The table tilted to the side and glasses slid down, thick blood seeping through the wooden floor. He broke the wooden leg once again against his knee so that one end was sharp, grabbed Ila, turned her around and pressed the pointy end against her chest.
“I could stake you right now,” he whispered in her ear. “Or I could use you as a hostage to get away. But I will do none of that.” He released her, pushing the makeshift stake into her hands and pressing the pointy end against his own heart. “Instead, I choose to trust you. It is the same trust that I ask of you now.”
Ila glared at him. “You have no idea how tempting this is.”
“You have resisted the temptation of human blood,” he said. “Surely you are strong enough to resist your desire to stake me.”
“Oh, but this desire is so much stronger,” she said, but she put the stake down. “If this is some trick, I’ll hunt you down and kill you.”
He sat back down on his chair and took a slow sip from his blood and wine—his own glass had miraculously remained upright on the tilted table. “This is no trick. I wish to destroy the Wizard as you do, but you must do as I ask.”
“Of course,” Ila said sourly. “It has to be you making the plans. So what do you want of us?”
“Once the Wizard is destroyed, our enemies will likely slaughter the domesticated humans or use them as hostages,” Vlad said. “We must set them free shortly before the destruction. We need to send as many of your men to as many strongholds as possible. Tell me, can you spare two hundred warriors?”
“If this is some convoluted plan to learn how many vampires I have—”
“It is not,” the Prince said. “I have made a list of the strongholds with the largest human farms. We need two or three of your people in each, so they will free the humans on the day the Wizard is destroyed. I will give them letters of recommendation, so their arrival will not be suspicious.”
The largest human farms… Vlad wished to save as many lives as possible, and he was measuring lives in terms of quantity. Myra thought about all the people trapped in the small and insignificant farms that no one would bother to save.
“What area do you wish to cover?” Ila asked.
“The whole world, if possible,” Vlad replied, his face grim. “I do not wish to leave an entire continent, or even a large island, under vampire rule only. I have checked when the postal ships leave—if your peop
le leave within a week, they should reach the farthest destinations in a couple of months.”
“And how should my people know when you are going to destroy the Wizard? We cannot send any signal once they leave.”
“This is why we need to decide on the date of the Wizard’s destruction in advance,” Vlad said. “I propose the first of March. That should give them all enough time to reach their destinations, and we will have time to prepare.”
“And I suppose you wish to keep your involvement in this a secret from the rest of the vampire world?” Ila said. “You wish to destroy the Wizard, but make it so that no one learns it was you who orchestrated it. Otherwise, both humans and vampires would be hunting you down. Every single creature on the planet would be after your blood.” She paused, waiting for his barely perceptible nod. “You’re a coward. You made this whole mess, and you are not ready to face the consequences.”
“You know very well my death is not what I fear,” he said softly and Ila smiled.
“Ah, yes. Armida and Tristan. If your involvement in this is revealed, they will be targeted too, and you wish to spare them. It might have been touching if it weren’t pathetic.”
“You will help me, then?” he said, taking a piece of paper from his pocket. “Here is the list of farms I wish to cover. Let me know the names of the vampires you wish to send, and I will write the letters.”
The two vampires sat down and continued their discussions while Myra and Sissi watched in silence. Once all was arranged, Vlad stood up and placed his empty cup on the tilted table. “Come.” His eyes darted towards Myra and Sissi. “It is time I take you back to your commander.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Willpower
The road was still bumpy, and Vlad’s ideas about driving safety had not improved, but Myra barely cared. The meeting with Ila played in her mind again and again. A society of vampires that shared the Resistance’s goals, and not for Vlad’s unsavory reasons? To see that there were vampires who battled the darkness within, vampires who would never hurt a human, vampires who worked and created and despised all that traditional vampirism stood for… it filled her with awe and turned her world upside down.
“She’s amazing,” Myra said. “To think that she has resisted human blood for so long.”
“Amazing indeed,” Sissi said. Myra turned back to look at her, and the red-haired girl blushed. “I mean, she resisted Tristan. I still can’t wrap my mind around it.”
Myra rolled her eyes, but she could not ignore her itching scar. Tristan, with his infuriating, arrogant grin that somehow worked with his perma-frown. Tristan, with hair of the palest gold, that somehow caught all the meager light in the room and reflected it back tenfold, even when it was tousled and dirty. Tristan, who had dreamt of a life bigger and richer in knowledge and experience. Could she have resisted, had she been in Ila’s shoes, so long before the horrors of the Nightfall came to pass?
Vlad laughed. “You are right, Sissi—perhaps that was the more amazing feat. Resisting human blood is not impossible. I could do it if I wanted to.”
“But you don’t want to,” Myra said. “Now that I’ve seen vampires can be decent, I hate you even more.”
“Your love for me was never overwhelming.” He winked at her. “But the truth is, Ila wasn’t born to be a vampire. Very few humans are. Even I wasn’t. The only reason I am so incredibly good at it is that I was turned at the right time. If my sire had turned me earlier, when my family was still alive and when I still loved life, I might have become a lousy vampire.”
He released the steering wheel and turned back to look at Sissi. Myra inhaled sharply and stared straight ahead at the dark road. Black and white clouds whirled around and chased each other, painting a gloomy chessboard on the endless sky. There’s nothing to crash into, she kept telling herself, but her heart was in her throat as the car flew on.
“Callisto turned me at exactly the right moment,” Vlad continued, “when I had lost everything. I embraced the life of darkness and turned it into art. That was not the case with Ila—she still had a family and friends and a great deal to live for. Tristan, on the other hand,” he added with a smile, “was truly born for it. I have never seen such talent before. He would have been perfect no matter at what point in his life he had become a vampire.”
Sissi’s eyes were so wide that Myra wondered if they would pop out. “I know,” Sissi said. “Myra told me what a perfect vampire Tristan is.”
Myra’s eyebrows rose so high that her forehead hurt. She was certain she had never said anything of the sort.
A lopsided smile crept upon his lips. “Indeed? What else did she tell you about us?”
Myra’s stomach clenched. What nonsense would Sissi come up with this time?
“She also told me you have a tattoo,” Sissi said, and Myra sighed in relief. Harmless enough.
“I do.” The vampire undid his cuff and stretched his arm backwards. “Want to see it?”
Myra took in a sharp breath. Or perhaps not harmless at all. “Don’t you need both hands to drive?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“I have lightning speed and reflexes,” Vlad said. “We are perfectly safe.”
Sissi reverently rolled the vampire’s sleeve up, her hands shaking. Myra turned back to look, while keeping an eye on the dark road. She now had a better view of the tattoo and saw two parallel lines running alongside the Y.
“Does it mean anything?” Sissi asked.
“It is the symbol of my god,” Vlad said. “My people would put it everywhere for luck and protection. Of course, by ‘everywhere,’ I mean on clothes, saddlebags, and yurts. I myself always loved drawing it on my skin.”
Yes, of course. Every single time Myra had asked any question about the Prince’s past, she had met nothing but impenetrable walls. And now Sissi would ask a single question, and he would blurt out his entire life story. How was that fair?
“But that’s not drawn,” said Sissi. “It’s a tattoo. I can’t imagine you made it while you were still alive. Tattoos of this kind didn’t exist back then, did they?”
“The practice of tattooing had existed in different parts of the world for at least two millennia before I was born.” He returned his hand to the steering wheel, much to Myra’s relief. “The techniques were different at the time, but it was possible, and the results were attractive and permanent. Still, you are correct. I did mine much later.”
Once again, he let go of the steering wheel and traced the Y of his tattoo with his finger. Myra banged her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. She would never get into a car again.
“Centuries ago, I used to simply draw the sign on my skin with ink or charcoal, or scratch it with a knife until I drew blood,” he continued. “Until one day, Tristan told me this was driving him crazy. He claimed that if I spent three seconds every night drawing this, I was wasting three hundred and four hours and twenty-three minutes every thousand years. I told him this didn’t bother me, but he insisted it was time to put an end to this and practically dragged me into a tattoo parlor. We were in Thailand at the time, and a tattoo parlor awaited us at every turn.”
Myra opened her eyes and looked at him sideways. “I can’t imagine you walking into a tattoo parlor and explaining to the artists what design you want.”
Vlad smiled. “And rightly so. Of course, we did it our way.”
Myra shuddered. “Do we really want to know?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Do you?”
“Please, Your Highness,” said Sissi, ignoring Myra’s headshake. “We’d love to know.”
“We entered the tattoo parlor and ate everyone,” he said. “All the artists and all the clients. Then Tristan used the equipment to create my tattoo. He had never done it before, but it turned out fine.” He raised his arm in front of his face and gave it an appreciative look. “Of course, we had to set fire to the studio afterwards—it would appear strange to find a large number of corpses drained of blood.” He sm
iled wistfully. “The world belonged to us back then.”
Sissi’s eyes grew wide. She paled to an ashen grey, and her lower lip trembled.
“You are scared, my dear,” the vampire said gently. “Not what you expected?”
“N-no, not at all, Your Highness,” Sissi said, her voice shaking. “I mean, I still want to be a vampire.”
“Of course you do,” he said with a smile. “You remind me so much of Tristan.”
Right, and I never remind you of Tristan, Myra thought as she watched Sissi turn a deep shade of red. She knew how absurd this was—she had no desire to be compared to Tristan, or any other vamp for that matter. Still, she couldn’t help her annoyance at how many shortcuts Sissi was being given, while she had spent months banging her head against the wall.
The only vampire she would ever wish to be compared to was Ila. Myra’s thoughts turned back to her new acquaintance, and all she felt was shame. Here she was, a human who had grown up under the terror of vampires, whose own family had been slaughtered. But after her first brush with their world, she had felt the lure of darkness—the charm of the beautiful palace, the quality of their music and art and, most shocking of all, the desire to let her blood be tasted, and to taste theirs in return.
And then there was Ila, a young woman turned into a vampire, who had resisted the tempting darkness, even though it was something natural for her kind. It shamed Myra, but it also gave her an anchor, a hope that all was not lost and that darkness was not stronger than the desire to live in light.
“Ila is so different from most vampires I’ve seen,” she said.
Vlad glanced at her. “How so?”
“In terms of personality, it’s obvious. She’s good, and brave, and strong, and everything you’re not.”