Rataver? When I heard that, I wanted to vomit. Rataver was a small duchy in Tevarr, right on the border with Radenor. Was there any profit in such a marriage? I doubted it. The duke had four sons, so the best dowry we could hope for was a dish set. We would never gain any land, and improving our relations with the Tevarrians was fundamentally impossible.
But the girl, they said, was a rare beauty. There was a portrait, too—a gorgeous blonde with hazel eyes. The spies said that in real life, she was even better.
So, no surprises there. Love! The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Andre was just like his father.
“What do you need from me, then?”
“You’ll be the head of delegation.”
I nodded and started making arrangements for the trip. At least I wouldn’t have to see Carlie for a while—a blessing.
Tommy came with me, and I convinced Rene to stay.
Oh, and I also put on chainmail under my doublet and intended to wear it at all times. No, I wasn’t suspecting an assassination attempt; I was sure it would come.
***
Andre took along such a swarm of toadies, that I couldn’t understand why he would need me as well. During the first three days of our journey, we had seen each other only twice, and it never really changed.
Nobody was going to try and kill me. A few times, strangers attempted to join me and Tom, but I quickly brushed them off.
The baroness, by the way, accompanied us in the prince’s retinue, and loitered around me so much that even my horse started to bite—which was quite understandable, really. I’d bite her myself if I wasn’t squeamish.
The lady was constantly dousing herself with some saccharine perfume and staring at me, confused. She probably thought that I should have long since dragged her into bed, but I had not an ounce of desire to do that; I would rather have raised a zombie, really. Ugh.
We were riding across the greatest country in the world. With each day, it became more and more clear to me that Radenor was worth everything—and more. It was worth blood, dirt, and pain, mine as well. Those majestic pine forests, the dunes, the sea, the skies, the cries of the seagulls; those cliffs and coy groves, almost hiding behind pines, their big and strong older brothers; golden sand and emerald grass, crystalline rivers and cocky fish, roaming around the horses’ hooves...
Our trip was peaceful and unperturbed. We sang songs and listened to the minstrels’ cheap jokes, the ladies constantly smiled, we hunted, danced at the balls thrown in our honor...
Had I gone mad? I couldn’t help but wonder how it was possible. How could they be calm while seeing all that poverty, sick children, and snotty nobles. What the Argadon? The purse hanging on the prince’s belt could feed an entire village for a year—yet the people were starving. The people were dying. How could it be?
That contrast became especially obvious in one of the villages on our way. The baroness suddenly wanted some fresh milk, and we separated from the main procession. There were five of us: me, Tom, and three more men of the sort that Tommy had dubbed “weathercock nobles”. They seemed harmless, at first. All they wanted was some entertainment, glamour, and a pampered life. Could they really be dangerous? Absolutely.
Such people could corrupt all around them and lead others astray. Why would they study, work, aspire to anything, when they had everything given to them on a platter? Why, when life was easy, simple, and fun. They looked down at everyone and asking, “What for? I have everything you could wish for right here.”
There would be no people like this at MY court.
I didn’t think all of them should be put to work, not really. Some people were simply unfit to do anything, rubbish that brought more trouble than they were worth. But Rick, Martha, and Henry had all raised me to become king. I loved them, and I was grateful to them. And I clearly saw that those nobles weren’t living right.
But what was the right life? Was it mine? I was far from a shining example of honor. I was pretty much a dick. I wasn’t humble, patient, merciful, or anything else the thralls kept preaching about. For them, the perfect man was an uncomplaining all-forgiving pushover who could be shaped into anything they wanted.
What about me, then? I didn’t know, but something burned deep inside me, hungry and thirsty, driving me to new horizons, to study, to move forward, to climb the next step, and when I saw the people who had quenched that flame inside them, or indeed had never possessed it at all...
“What are you thinking about?”
Tom moved closer. I looked at my friend sadly.
“Tom, why do we live? Or them? Or her?”
The young threesome had conveniently started to show off before the “baroness,” giving us the opportunity to exchange a few words, even if it wasn’t exactly the time for such conversation. But thoughts never ask you if they should come. They simply appear.
My friend shrugged.
“Alex, there is no reason to our lives. It’s mostly defiance. You shouldn’t have been born, and I should have died. Yet we’re alive, and that means that someone, somewhere, wants us to be.”
I didn’t really like that answer. Someone? Somewhere? Name and address, please. But we were already about to enter the village, and we couldn’t keep our talk secret for long anyway.
Really, is there at least one well-fed village in this entire bloody kingdom? That one clearly wasn’t. The peasants humbly bowed, while the few children still playing outside darted off as soon as they saw us.
“Come on, Alex, get me some milk!” whined the baroness petulantly.
I nodded and glanced around. Who could I ask? Seeing as the village was all but dead, they hadn’t expected anything good from the lords. Fair enough, really.
Still, I didn’t have to look for long. A middle-aged man popped out from behind a corner and flopped down in the dirt right under my mount’s hooves. I barely held the animal back, so I wouldn’t have to clean its horseshoes from peasant brains.
“Master! Have mercy!”
Imbecile! A peasant, that sums it up. Shouting right below the hooves of a pedigree stallion, really?
“Have you lost your mind, dear sir? If this horse steps on you, no necromancer will ever raise you from the dead!”
“Have some compassion, I beg you! Don’t make my children into orphans!”
Ugh!
I jumped off my horse, threw Tom the reins, and pulled the man from the ground by his collar.
“Shut your mouth.”
“Ma-a-aster...”
Judging by the horror on his face, the nobles had been terrorizing that place. What were they doing? Killing half the village and raping the other?
“Do you know if I could buy some milk around here?”
It took a few minutes for the villager to grasp my words, after which he started to nod aggressively.
“Yes, master!”
“Then bring me a jug of milk.”
A silver coin appeared in my hand.
The elder shook his head, like a sick horse, and ran somewhere.
“Your Highness, why are you beating around the bush?” One of the noblemen was surprised. “Just give him a few lashes, and he’ll rush to do whatever you want in no time.”
I sighed. “Don’t you have anything better to do than soil your whip in his blood?”
Oh, how I longed to use that tool on that impudent fellow. But I couldn’t, not yet.
“Murderers!”
I turned around.
A woman was walking down the street, slowly, as if she was blind. Yet her dark eyes stared right at me—and through me.
“Curse you, you murderers! Seven children I had, and now, I have none! My husband, my parents, my siblings! You, murderers clad in silk!”
She was short, dark-haired, dressed in tatters. And still, I took another look at her, that time round, as a necromancer. A short curse passed my lips.
Neither here, nor there. The pain from her losses was so great that the woman was half-dead. She wasn’t alive anymore,
she simply existed. Physical death would only conclude her spiritual demise. Or maybe become a relief for her.
Was she crazy? No. She was simply living on the edge.
“You!” one of the young nobles shrieked.
“No!”
I lifted my hand, but not in time to stop him. A lash fell on the woman’s shoulders, but she didn’t even notice that, as if nothing had happened.
“Curse you all, murderers!”
“Go away, Hilda!”
The village elder came running back with a jug of milk. He tried to position himself between us and the woman, but nobody spared him even a look. I raised my hand.
The curse was getting stronger, I sensed it. It happens sometimes; if someone was already one foot into the netherworld, they could channel power that even I, a half-demon, couldn’t handle. And they think that demons eat the souls of the dead. Yeah, right.
When that woman cursed us, her curse started to pull us over the edge, where she was. If I didn’t do anything, we would be doomed. Maybe I could survive. I didn’t care about the others, but Tom...
A few steps forward, and I was standing right before the madwoman. Maybe I could have fought that curse, but my friend would die. And that meant there was only one way out. I waved my hand.
The woman croaked and collapsed on the ground, scarlet blood gushing from her throat. I wiped my dagger with a batiste handkerchief. The curse curled up, like an angry snake, and crawled away, dissipating, leaving us together with its mistress.
“Alex...”
Tom looked at me, a question on his face. I shrugged.
“There is an old way to remove the curse. Kill the witch before she finishes casting it.”
“A curse?”
Tom knew I was a necromancer, and I nodded, confirming his concerns.
“She would have killed us.”
Despite himself, my friend shivered. Behind me, somebody sobbed. I turned around and sighed; the way the baroness looked at me didn’t leave any room for doubt. Now she would never even approach me, much less enchant me. Poor stupid thing. She had been trained to hunt a rabbit, but she got a wolf.
The elder trembled and hiccupped. I carefully took the milk jug from his hands.
“Here, take it and give her a decent burial.”
Half the village could be buried for the money I gave him. Oh well.
We didn’t say a word on our way back. I was lost in thoughts. How was I different from that madwoman? She had been trying to avenge her family, and so was I. She had been cursing everyone she met, as long as they looked like murderers. I even knew what had happened—just another noble amusement, it didn’t matter whether it was a war or a hunt. The important thing was that everyone in her family had been killed, and she had survived...and she had wanted revenge.
And what was I doing? Who would stop me? I didn’t like the direction my thoughts were taking. So...maybe, I just shouldn’t think at all?
The usual cold apathy fell upon me, separating me from the world around. And why does Tommy hate it so much, pray tell?
***
I didn’t have to torture myself for too long. This, that, and the other... I still had that nagging feeling inside of me, like a pulsating splinter, but at least it didn’t fester, right? When it starts to, I’ll get rid of it. Were spirit wounds different from physical ones? Not really. And that meant that I would survive it eventually.
The neighboring land disappointed me as well. Or maybe it was the closeness to the border? The same wretched villages, destitute peasants, haunted looks...
I wondered if there were any kings who understood that power wasn’t given to them to have fun and live in style; that they ruled for their people, and not for themselves. Or was I just a deranged lunatic?
But my grandfather had thought the same, even if it was his reign which had given start to the whole mess. I didn’t have any strength left to judge him, though. A family was a team. While the husband provided for the wife, the wife was to raise the children, right?
But why is it that Michelle, whose birth had cost my grandmother her life, had grown up a queen and suffered so many hardships, only to become stronger? She had done the only thing she could by giving birth to me. While Rudolph, who had been brought up by a loving mother, had cracked, caving in to Abigail and her relatives.
How could I explain that? Why did one of them break, and the other bend? Maybe it’s just that some people were rotten from the get-go? A good apple would never rot, but if it was already damaged... But how did it manifest? I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything. No answer.
***
Andre’s potential bride really was as gorgeous as expected. Even a painter couldn’t make her better—no way to go but down.
Lavinia Rataver Alare. A real beauty, pretty as a picture. Golden curls, huge brown eyes with golden sparkles just a tiny bit darker than her hair, plump lips, a snub nose, cute as a button. As for her figure, well, judging by the parts we saw, everything else was all right as well. At least, Tom was admiring her openly. I even had to remind him that he had a girl back in the capital.
“Alex, but look at her! Isn’t she mesmerizing?”
I shrugged. Perhaps. She had no flaws on the outside. Yet I would never marry someone like her. She had something in common with Abigail—something rotten.
I told that to my friend. Tommy shrugged, but the look of awe in his eyes seemed to fade.
Outwardly, everything seemed wonderful. The duke bowed, his wife flashed a welcoming smile, and their sons were showing delight in every way possible. Yet inside, I felt an alarm bell ringing, urging me to add greaves to my chain shirt, and a few shields to boot.
Danger!
Danger!!!
DANGER!!!
“Let’s take turns sleeping,” I warned my friend.
“Aren’t you overreacting?”
“More like underreacting.”
“Alex, may I introduce you to my fiancée?”
“Your Highness...”
The girl curtsied the way that only women can, without tearing her eyes away from mine. I bowed as well and raised her hand to my lips without touching the skin.
“My lady. Before meeting you, I had no idea there was such perfection in this world.”
I was saying some empty worlds, smiling, trying to match everyone’s excitement, but...inside that lovely girl, something wicked was hiding.
***
“You know, Alex, I think you’re just transferring your feelings about Andre to Lavinia.”
Tommy was standing next to the ballroom wall, and I was hiding behind a pillar. Receptions, balls, dancing, flirting... Everything in honor of His Highness Prince Andre! After all, such suitors were nothing to sneeze at!
A betrothal was considered a done deal, and only the issue of the dowry remained unresolved. Still, Andre was ready to take Lavinia even without any of that—and in all positions. I, however, had a growing dislike for her.
With each passing day, I felt more and more disgust. It’s as if I was a cauldron with a burning hot soup bubbling inside, ready to boil over.
“No. I think I’ll take a walk into the garden, get some air. Be careful, Tom, all right?”
“I promise.”
The garden was dark and quiet. The smell of freshly cut grass was everywhere. I often remembered that smell afterward: wild, savage, furious...
I leaned against a tree and sighed. Below the hard bark, tree sap was flowing, barely audible. I thought that being such a tree could be nice. They couldn’t think.
“Your Highness...”
I raised my eyebrows. Lavinia stepped out of the shade, like an apparition. In her white dress, she was ethereal, mesmerizing, entrancingly innocent, only once scarlet rose in the buttonhole.
“My Lady?”
“Would you accompany me on a walk in the garden?”
Was it a request or an order? I smirked.
“Why can’t your fiancé do that?”
“Ah. He’s b
usy.”
She shrugged lightly, shaking her breasts. Ostensibly, I was supposed to stare at her. Maybe admire her, get blown away, yet I felt only cold indifference.
“I wouldn’t want Andre to be jealous.”
“He wouldn’t. We won’t tell him,” she tried to calm me down. It just kept getting better and better.
“What are you trying to achieve, My Lady?”
The girl slid toward me, put her hand on my chest, and spread her fingers a little.
“A-alex...”
She parted her lips, licking them seductively, and her breath quickened, as she drew closer.
“You’ve caught my interest immediately. But you’re so...unapproachable...”
The next minute, she planted a kiss on me, hard, ravenous, unexpected...and tempting. And I could swear that the tongue which slithered inside my mouth was forked.
After that, my body acted on its own. I grabbed her by the neck, tore her away, and pushed her back.
“Who are you?”
Lavinia didn’t seem to be the embodiment of innocence anymore. Her brown eyes were shining yellow, her lips twisted in a smile, baring sharp fangs, and her forked tongue slid out of her mouth.
“I-s-s-s?”
I took a closer look, using my other sight.
Nope, her aura was normal. But why?
Idiot!
“An amulet,” the words slipped out. “You’re hiding your aura...but you’re no demon.”
“And who are you? You’re not human either!”
Lavinia calmed down. Her fangs disappeared, and her speech sounded human once again.
I smirked.
“Not your business. Still, I can venture a guess. You’re not a vampire, you wear silver, but there is something of them in you.”
I was seeing her in a different light then. Yes, she was beautiful, yet she was attractive in another way, too.
She was stunning, alluring, magnetic...but not like a human. So, who are the masters of charming and seducing?
“Are you a half-succubus? Am I right? Or, rather, your father was an incubus.”
Half-Demon's Revenge Page 24