Nodding, he watched her leave the barracks and enter the main house.
Latimus pulled him toward the outside opening of the barracks, not wanting Marsias to hear their exchange. “We are most likely going to have to kill him. I see no other way if he won’t consider a truce.”
“I know,” Sathan said, rubbing the tense muscles at the back of his neck. “But let’s not rush things. Keep him secured with four soldiers guarding him at all times. I will work on Miranda.”
“She is too emotional,” his brother said, scowling.
“I don’t think you’re giving her enough credit,” Sathan said. “Her love for her people is vast. She’ll do what she needs to when the time comes.”
“You place too much faith in her,” his brother said, unwavering.
“We need to let her come to the conclusion on her own that her father must die. It’s a tough fate for anyone to accept.”
“Fine,” Latimus said. “I’ll assign the guards. But work on her quickly. She listens to you, even when you think she doesn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“She and I have been working together every night. She has told me on more than one occasion how she admires your ability to lead such a mighty kingdom, especially since you assumed the throne as a child.”
Sathan felt a surge of pleasure at his brother’s words, knowing this was something Miranda would never tell him herself.
“I’ll do my best to push her along.”
“I’m counting on it.” Turning, he went to gather the guards.
Sathan entered the house to speak to Miranda. She would be angry that he wasn’t giving her space, but the stakes were too high and time was of the essence.
Chapter 23
Miranda covered her ears at the pounding on her door. “Go away!”
“We must speak, Miranda. Open the door.”
Yelling in frustration, she threw one of the decorative trinkets on top of the dresser at the wooden door. “Leave me alone!”
The pounding continued until she thought she might go mad. Having no choice, she pulled open the door.
“I hate you.”
“Yes, you’ve told me that many times during our acquaintance,” he said, walking past her as if she wasn’t there. Standing beside the bed, he motioned to it. “Sit down. We have to talk.”
Realizing that it was the only way to make him leave, and get the privacy she was craving, she complied. She sat at the foot of the bed and crossed her legs under her. He perched on the edge by the pillows, facing her. Once again, he was calm as he stared at her. It was infuriating.
“I am not your enemy,” he said, breaking the silence.
She scoffed and shook her head. “At this point, I feel like everyone’s my enemy.” She clutched her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them. “Who will I have if he’s gone? Ken is unreachable in the land of humans and half of my people support my father as ruler over me.”
“No one said ruling was easy. It took me many centuries to feel assured in what I was doing. You will find a way. Over time your allies will show themselves and you will gain confidence in your abilities.”
Her cheeks puffed as she exhaled deeply. “I don’t want to rule without him.”
Sathan’s expression was filled with understanding. “I didn’t want to rule after my parents were slain. It was terrifying. I did the best I could and learned along the way.”
“You want to murder him,” she said, struggling to keep her eyes from filling with wetness.
“I can’t think of a scenario where he lives and we both get what we want. Peace for our people. We are aligned in this, Miranda. He is not. I am open to suggestions if you have any.”
She swallowed, hating that it had come to this. Of course, she had always wanted the best for her people. But she had never imagined a scenario where that meant killing her father. The thought made her sick.
“I need time to think.”
He studied her, his dark irises so deep and brooding. “Unfortunately, the longer we take to act, the weaker you will look. Especially in the eyes of his supporters.”
Miranda picked at a nonexistent piece of lint on her pants, knowing he was right. “Give me the rest of the night. I owe him that. Let me try to think of a way.”
He stood, his body so large, muscles straining from his black pants and tight black t-shirt. Tilting her head back, she gazed up at him as he towered over her. Gently, he lifted his hand and ran it over her hair. Soothing her. It had been so long since she’d been comforted by anyone and she ached to crawl into his big body and let him hold her. Instead, she pulled away.
His eyes narrowed and she sensed his frustration. “I’ll come looking for you at dawn.”
The door closed with a firm thud and she dropped her forehead to her knees. What the hell was she going to do?
* * * *
Miranda spent several hours trying to find a solution to the rift with her father. Surely there had to be something she could do. She thought of sequester or banishment, but he would still be alive. With his many supporters, that would always leave them open to a surprise attack.
She contemplated trying to reason with him and change his mind. If only he could only let go of his hatred and choose peace. Unfortunately, she knew that would never happen.
She even considered maiming him. Making it so that he couldn’t walk or perhaps unable to lift his arms to hold a sword. But for someone like her father, that fate would be worse than death.
Knowing that she couldn’t give up, she walked quietly down to the barracks where he was being held. Upon entering the dimly lit large warehouse, she saw him sitting in the chair. Hands and feet bound, he wasn’t struggling. Four Vampyre soldiers guarded him.
Approaching the soldiers, she said, “Leave me with him.”
They all looked at each other and the one she knew as Bryan spoke. “We cannot, princess. We are under orders from Latimus.”
“I don’t give a crap if you’re under orders from Etherya herself. Leave me with him,” she said through gritted teeth.
“It’s fine,” Latimus said, approaching from the darkness. “Take ten.” The soldiers saluted him and headed out toward the field that adjoined the open part of the barracks.
“Thank you,” she said, looking up at the hulking Vampyre.
“Ten minutes,” he said, his expression impassive. “Don’t do anything stupid.” He skulked off into the darkness.
She turned to her father.
“So, have you come to save me?” he asked.
“I don’t know if I can,” she said, her tone consumed by sadness.
Some of the madness had disappeared from his expression and he seemed resolute. “Untie me, Miranda.”
“You know I can’t,” she said softly.
He seemed to be attempting to communicate something with his gaze. “Untie me.”
Lowering down, she loosened the bonds at his feet and then his wrists behind his back. He rose to his full height and looked down upon her as she came to stand in front of him.
“My life has never been the same since your mother was taken.” He lifted his hand to cup her cheek. “I tried to do the best I could but I was so bitter. So filled with rage. I’m sorry I didn’t do better by you.”
Tears ran down her cheeks and he wiped one of them away with his thumb. “I can’t live in a world where Vampyres and Slayers are at peace. The only thing I understand is war. It’s all I’ve known for a thousand years.”
“You can change, Father. Please. I know you can.”
Wetness entered his eyes as he smiled gently down at her. “You lie to yourself too well, Miranda. You always have. It is a defense mechanism that you must let go of if you are to become the ruler I know you can be.”
“I want to rule with you,” she said, swiping her cheek.
“You are the true ruler. I know that deep inside. Even though I believe it, I will never accept it. And you will never accept it while I’m alive. Therefore,
I must make a choice for both of us.”
His gaze never leaving hers, he spoke into the dimness. “Hand me the Glock you’re holding.”
Latimus stepped forward from the shadows. She gasped, unaware that he had been watching. Stretching out one arm, Marsias grabbed the weapon from him and pushed Miranda into the Vampyre’s chest with the other. Latimus placed an arm over her, holding her to him as she began to struggle.
“No!” she screamed.
Marsias held the barrel of the gun to his head, his hand shaking.
“May the goddess be with you,” Latimus said above the buzzing in her ears.
The loud bang of the gun echoed off the darkened walls and Miranda ran to pull her father’s crumpled body toward her. “No, no, no, no, no…” she cried, rocking his lifeless body in her arms.
She felt Latimus behind her, knowing that he would prevent anyone from entering while she wept. Air heaved in and out of her lungs as she tried to accept that her father was gone. Broken-hearted, she clutched him to her, cursing the Vampyres and the Deamons and Etherya herself. What had any of them done to deserve such pain?
Eventually the tears began to dry. Lifting her head, she ran her fingers down his arm and clutched his hand. She wondered if her heart would ever truly recover.
“We need to bury him,” she said softly. “A ceremony by the River Thayne. I want to make sure he receives a proper entry into the Passage.”
Latimus gave her a nod and she was thankful for his silence. After several minutes she rolled her father to his back and crossed his arms over his chest. “May the Passage welcome you with peace, Father.”
Standing, she looked up at Latimus. “You’ll prepare his body?”
“Yes. I will take care of it.”
Nodding, she swiped the moisture under her nose with the back of her arm. “I need a shower.” What she really needed was to go back and time and erase all of the terrible decisions she had made since the Vampyre woman had washed up on her riverbank. Sadly, that wasn’t an option. Dejectedly, she walked to her room, showered and lay down on the bed, only to break into another bout of tears.
Chapter 24
The next evening’s almost-full moon cast a soulful, dim light over the small group as they marched solemnly to the river. Reaching the riverbank, Miranda lifted the hood from her head. She had borrowed a black dress from Lila. Knee-length on the Vampyre, it fell almost to her ankles. The cloak she wore over it was as black as her mood. And possibly her soul.
Sathan, his two brothers, and Larkin had carried her father’s body on the bamboo stretcher. Lila and Arderin, whom Miranda had yet to run into in the large castle, had decorated the stretcher with white flowers. Her father wore a crown of multi-colored flowers that Lila had banded together.
The six of them, including Lila, stood in silence as the river gurgled by.
“Do you want to say anything?” Sathan asked softly.
She shook her head, unable to think of any words that could come close to honoring the moment. She had nothing left to give. Sathan nodded at the men and they lifted the stretcher. Walking over to the riverbank, they placed it in the water. Miranda’s throat closed up as she watched her father begin to drift away. All of her tears had been shed so she stood resolute as he faded into the distance.
She could’ve sworn she saw a pair of green eyes watching them in the darkness, behind a tree in the forest on the other side of the riverbank. Or perhaps her mind imagined it, in its grief.
“Fare the well, Marsias, King of the Slayers. You were a great ruler and a worthy opponent,” Sathan said.
Slowly, they walked back to the main house. Miranda noticed that Lila held hands with Sathan’s brother Heden in front of her. They must be close. She’d store that away for another time when she was able to experience curiosity again. She felt Sathan’s hand brush hers as he walked beside her. Drawing her arm in close, she ensured that he wouldn’t touch her again. Dealing with her desire for him, with all of the other fucked up things in her world, wasn’t an option.
They made it back to the house and Larkin headed off toward the cabins. Entering through the barracks, the five of them headed to the foyer. Once there, they took off their cloaks.
A female Vampyre bounded into the room, nose buried in a book. Noticing everyone, she froze, her long black curls bouncing behind her. She removed the pair of spectacles she was wearing, tucking them in the ‘V’ of her shirt. “Hi,” she said softly to the group.
It was the first time Miranda had seen Arderin since all the weeks ago when she had left her to free the Blade. God, that seemed like a lifetime ago. She knew the woman hated her but was unable to muster up the energy to spar.
“How did the ceremony go?” she asked, looking at Lila.
“It was very respectful for a great king.” Placing her arm across Arderin’s shoulders, she began to usher her from the room. “Let’s go dig up something to eat. I’ll tell you about it.”
“I’m sorry,” Miranda blurted out.
The two women stopped and turned toward her.
“When you washed up on our riverbank it gave me an opportunity. One that I seized upon. I see now that I made many rash choices and so many have been hurt. Holding you captive was not personal. I just wanted to help my people. I’m sorry.”
Feeling her throat begin to close, Miranda rushed toward the spiraling staircase and all but ran to her room, leaving the Vampyres behind.
Closing the door behind her, she rested her back against it and looked up at the ceiling. How could she possibly go on feeling this empty? It was as if every nerve ending on her body had shut down and she wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. She wasn’t sure she could go on like this. Grief was choking her to death.
* * * *
Sathan watched Miranda flee from the room, hating to see her in such pain. Sighing, his gaze rested on Arderin.
“I didn’t say anything!” she said. His impertinent little sister, always trying to dodge the blame. Fortunately, this time, she had no reason to.
“I know,” he said. “She’s understandably upset. I think she truly feels bad for holding you hostage.”
“Well, she should,” his sister said. Her lips formed a pout. “I mean, I had to slum it with Slayers in a dusty old cabin for days—”
“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Heden chimed in, rushing over to her and Lila and placing one arm over each of their shoulders. “I think I heard something about food? I’m starving.”
“Well, I’m not going to feel bad because the Slayer bitch finally decided to apologize.”
“Enough, Arderin,” Latimus said. Sathan couldn’t believe he was standing up for Miranda. How things had changed. “She said she was sorry. Leave it alone.”
Arderin shot her brother a mean look but was quickly whisked away by Heden as he led her and Lila down the hallway toward the kitchen.
“You should go check on her,” Latimus said.
Sathan studied him. “You have grown fond of her.”
“Don’t make a big deal out of it. I like her, okay? She needs to be tended to. I’m sorry that her father is dead but her kingdom is without a leader. She needs to set that right. She also still needs to kill Crimeous. Her father’s loyalists won’t accept her without that validation.”
“I’ll go talk to her.”
Latimus gave a nod and exited the room.
Sathan walked up the stairs, wondering what he could say that would possibly reach his little Slayer in her moment of grief. Suddenly, an idea began to form in his mind. Coming to face her door, he knocked softly.
She opened the door slightly, looking up at him. So many emotions rested on her flawless face. “I want to show you something. Will you come with me?”
Sighing, she looked down. “I just want to be alone.”
“Please?” He smiled at her and extended his hand. She eyed it warily. “I promise you’ll like it.”
She lifted those magnificent jade eyes to him, hesitating. Moments la
ter, she pulled the door open and took his hand. Clutching her, he fitted his palm to hers and twined their fingers together, giving her support even if she didn’t want it.
He led her to a large room near his office. Walls lined with books surrounded them and he reveled in the glow of her curiosity.
“A library?” she asked.
“Of sorts,” he said, leading her to a bookshelf filled with old manuscripts. Pulling her hand from his, she fingered them gently. “How old are these?”
“Some are from before the Awakening. Others from just afterward. They are the archives of our people, stored here lest we forget our history.”
She pulled out one of the books and laid it on the nearby table. Careful not to harm it, she opened it to one of the pages in the middle and read aloud.
“On this, the twentieth day of the fourth month of the fourth century, our sacred King Sathan has honorably declared that women no longer have to bond with a man to own property.”
“That was a good day,” Sathan said, grinning down at her.
“It took you four centuries to grant equality to women?” His smile grew larger, happy that she was reclaiming a bit of her snarkiness.
“To formally grant it, at least. I had believed that from the time I was small. My mother was a great female who ruled side-by-side with my father. She instilled equality in me from a very young age.”
Miranda looked back down at the weathered book.
“I wanted you to see this,” he said, pulling a large leather-bound book from the shelf. Placing it on the table, he opened it to one of the first pages.
“My parents hired an artist to capture images from all of the blood-bankings before the Awakening. I don’t remember them but they were said to be great festivals of peace and laughter.”
Gasping, she looked at the page he had opened. Staring back at her was Rina, smiling and beautiful. “Mother,” she whispered, tracing her finger softly over her features. Turning the pages, her smile grew with each rendering.
The End of Hatred Page 20