Strigoi

by Tony-Paul de Vissage

  “It has long been known all twins, even those not duplicates of the same person, share certain thoughts and feelings. Therefore, we accept your testimony as being from both of you and will not cause your brother to appear.”

  “As you will.” Vlad’s reply was stiff-lipped. He nodded, adding as in afterthought, “sir.”

  “Tell us how your brother attained his place as head of your family.”

  Vlad explained about Marek’s anomaly, János’ murder at the hands of Mircea Ravagiu’s men, their abduction, and rescue. “He gave up his wish to become a scholar to raise us.”

  “You accompanied him when he went away?”

  “When he was exiled, you mean?” Vlad didn’t raise his voice, but it seemed he shouted. “I had to accompany my brother. You ordered his family banished along with him. Or have you forgotten?”

  The darkness beyond the light became murky and tinged with red.

  “Vlad, don’t anger him.” Concern for his brother made Marek grasp the railing despite the pain it caused.

  It took several seconds for him to realize there was no reaction to his words, and a few more to understand Vlad couldn’t see or hear him.

  I’m visible only to the Domnitor and the Confastuire. He released the bars, rubbing his stinging palms against his thighs.

  “Watch what you say, Vlad Strigoi. Answer my questions and nothing more, or…”

  “Or what?” Vlad peered into the dark. “Will you arrest me, too?”

  “You do not wish to know what I will do, young Strigoi.”

  Vlad fell silent, the threat in the words too apparent. He bowed slightly. “Forgive me, Maiestate.”

  “Did your brother tell you he planned to continue the sânge ravensa?” The prince sounded mollified by his apology.

  “Yes, Maiestate.”

  “And you agreed.”

  “We took the oath, also. How could we not?” Vlad seemed surprised the prince would ask.

  “Where did you go when your brother and his family left Carpathius?”

  “Everywhere. No one would take us in. They were too afraid. Finally, we went to Austria, to Marek’s accesoriu parinte. He—”

  “The witness is dismissed.” A hand waved in Vlad’s direction, interrupting whatever he was going to say. Vlad faded from sight. “Summon Karl-Josef von Blitzensturm.”

  Karl-Josef took Vlad’s place, his face dark with emotion he made no attempt to conceal.

  “Stop this farce, Ciprian!” He glared at the shadows. “I spent seven years at university with you. I know what a bully you are and how you hold a grudge. Don’t make Marek a scapegoat for something not his fault. Forget your wounded pride and try him only for what happened at the ball.”

  “You will not speak to me with such disrespect!” the prince thundered. “You invite punishment.”

  “You don’t frighten me.” The Markgraf took a deep breath. “It’s time you put aside your faults and became fair and just, as a Domnitor should.”

  “Because we are old friends, von Blitzensturm, do not think it absolves you from castigation. Sectiuni aren’t immune from punishment, though they seem to think so. You may still be condemned for your part in this. Curb your tongue.”

  Karl-Josef’s expression changed, as if realizing he’d gone too far. He bowed. “My apologies, Maiestate.” He took a deep breath. “What do you wish to know?”

  “Tell the Council of your exchanges with the prisoner.”

  Bowing again, Karl-Josef explained how Marek appeared on his doorstep that rainy night.

  “You were aware of his wish to hunt down Mircea Ravagiu after he was ordered to discontinue his search?”

  “I was.” The admission was reluctant.

  “Did he confide his plans on carrying this out?”

  Karl-Josef’s explanation of Marek’s search through Vienna’s dens, and his meeting with Viktor and the valet’s murder, was lengthy. As he finished, the Prince asked, “What did you do?”

  “I offered him the use of my coach and gave him a Letter of Introduction to the Sectiune of Paris.”

  “We will tend to you later, von Blitzensturm. Call the next witness.”

  His own safety still in jeopardy, Karl-Josef disappeared into the darkness. In his place stood Céline, looking so small and helpless Marek, in spite of his present precarious state, wanted to rush to her and take her in his arms. She was nothing like the imperious and seductive woman he’d first met. Her skin had taken on a sallow tone, dark curls hanging limply, her eyes hollow and shadowed.

  “You are Céline duCharne, widow of le Marquis Robert duCharne, presently, at your husband’s death, Sectiune of Paris and all of France?” The Domnitor’s tone indicated he still resented her attaining that position.

  “I am, Maiestate.” She dipped a graceful curtsey, though as she straightened, she wavered slightly.

  “Tell us of your meeting with the prisoner.”

  In a tremulous voice, Céline narrated how Marek arrived with the letter from Karl-Josef and of extending him the courtesy of using her men to search for Mircea Ravagiu.

  “Did he find the one he sought?”

  “No, my lord, and we—he decided to double his efforts, and do a more thorough search including the entire country.”

  “Ah.” There was a slight sound of surprise as she said this. “The prisoner was a guest in your town home during this time. You and he formed an intimate attachment?”

  The delicate muscles in her jaw tightened as she refused to answer the prince’s question.

  “When the prisoner was apprehended, you stated you and he were mates,” the commanding voice persisted. “Did you exchange vows with Marek Strigoi?”

  “I did, Maiestate.”

  “Have you and he consummated this marriage?”

  Scarlet slashes stained her pale cheeks. “That’s a personal question, and not worthy of you to ask.”

  “Answer, Madame. Have you and the prisoner shared a marriage bed?”

  There was a brief silence, as if Céline were trying to decide how to give her reply. “We made our vows moments before the ball began, Maiestate. There was no time for that to happen.”

  “Thank you, Madame.”

  There was movement in the darkness. Marek thought he saw the prince nod.

  “You are dismissed.”

  “Marek, mon cher.” Céline looked around desperately. “If you can hear me, I love you.”

  And I love you. He didn’t dare say those words aloud.

  The next witness was Latrec, looking frightened out of his wits, but at the same time oddly defiant. His first words established his position.

  “Sir, I’m a blood-thrall to la Marquise, and I wish to go on record as saying I think this trial a travesty. Le Marquis is a good man. He didn’t cause the murders.”

  “Your position is duly noted, thrall.”Ciprian’s dry answer were sarcastic. “Forthwith watch your tongue and your manners while in this Council’s presence.”

  “I’m not aventurieri, sire,” Latrec answered. “Don’t force me to bear witness against my mistress’ mate.”

  “A commendable and loyal plea, but totally useless in this case, human servant.” Latrec’s words angered the Prince. “Be circumspect. Tell us what you know.”

  Obediently, the domestique spoke, words spilling out as if he wanted to rid himself of them. “Le Marquis searched the city and found nothing. My mistress gave him old maps, showing hiding paces not on newer ones. They started in the north, covering the entire country, stopping only for my mistress to attend to business, and matters of the Sectiune’s ball. She informed me of their plans to marry. The ceremony was held just before the ball. That night…” He looked up, eyes searching the darkness. “M’sieu le Marquis, forgive me, sir.”

  “Never mind his forgiveness, thrall,” Ciprian said impatiently. “Speak.”

  “I saw him standing in a terrace doorway looking across the ballroom. The girl Diana was at another door with the man we later learned was her
husband. She shouldn’t have been there. The ball’s only for unmarried young women.”

  Even now, he appeared bothered by this breach of etiquette.

  “Go on.”

  “You know the rest, sir. Please don’t make me repeat it.”

  “Continue, thrall.”

  “Le Marquis told me to alert the guards, and I ran to do so,” Latrec grudgingly went on. “We don’t keep many of Madame’s soldiers in town, because it’s always been thought the countryside would be a better place for an attack. I’m not quite certain what else transpired. It was total chaos.”

  Latrec paused for breath.

  “The man called Ravagiu was subdued, and Le Marquis disappeared with Madame Diana. We found them in the doctor’s office. He came with the soldiers without protest.”

  “Dismissed.”

  “M’sieu le Marquis.” Latrec’s eyes searched the shadows. “Please forgive me.”

  He, too, was swept into darkness, his words hanging in empty air.

  “We will now read a statement dictated to the aforementioned witness, Gaston Latrec, by the person known variously as Stephan de Ravage, Stjpan Trecator, and Mircea Ravagiu.”

  “Dictated?” Marek spoke up. “You aren’t going to force him to face me?”

  “Silence.” Ciprian flicked away Marek’s protest as he might an insect upon his sleeve. “The statement of Mircea Ravagiu.”

  One of the Consfatuire got to his feet, a single vellum sheet glowing in the dimness.

  “I, Mircea Ravagiu, do make this statement of my own free will, and swear it to be true.”

  “If Ravagiu made it, how can it even be considered true?” Marek interrupted.

  “Silence, prisoner.”

  “I won’t be quiet.” Forced to listen unseen and unheard to all that was said, Marek was goaded beyond endurance. “Karl-Josef’s right. You’re…”

  He got no further, as the prince’s hand stabbed in his direction and a bolt of power flung him against the dock’s opposite wall. For a moment he lay there gasping, breath knocked out of him, then crawled to his feet. Staggering to the bars closest to the Consfatuire’s chairs, he forced himself upright.

  “You will remain silent.” There was no room for disobedience in the order. Ciprian spoke to the standing member of the Consfatuire. “Continue.”

  “I, Mircea Ravagiu, do make this statement of my own free will, and swear it to be true. I have no knowledge of the crimes of which Marek Strigoi and his brothers accuse me. In the year 1793, I came to pay my respects to my brother, Mihnea, only to find him and his entire household slain by János Strigoi, Your Majesty’s Taietor. I here acknowledge my brother’s sins but swear I had no part in them. Thirteen nights later, my own fortreasta was attacked by Strigoi soldati. Though I may be considered cowardly, I released my followers and fled for my life. I later learned that through Strigoi testimony, I had been declared a renegade by Your Majesty and my titles and wealth within Carpathius forfeit. Rather than protest this, I deemed it prudent to make a life for myself in Europe. I have not been back to Carpathius since and know nothing of subsequent attacks upon the Strigoi household or their kinspeople. Since some of my thralls were involved, I can only assume they acted on their own, in a mistaken attempt to show their loyalty to me.

  Claiming holdings my brother had owned outside the Decebral Valley, I eventually settled in Vienna. Along the way, I became guardian to the daughter of a friend. Because my ward was frail as a child, I had to refuse several invitations to meet a visiting countryman, given by Graf Karl-Josef von Blitzensturm, Sectiuna of Vienna and all Austria. It was only later when I learned who that countryman was, that I fled Austria. I left my valet to close up the house and when he never joined us in Paris, I supposed he had chosen to take the money I gave him and find other employment. He had mentioned to me his dissatisfaction in working for me so I was not surprised.

  Upon arriving in France, my mistress, tiring of our continuous moving about, left me. My ward and I were married a short time later. In the meantime, I heard rumors of a stranger in Paris who was searching for me, and thought I knew his identity. I discussed it with my wife and we decided to appeal to the Sectiune, asking that she use her influence to make him give up his plans of vengeance toward me. We went to Paris with the intention of affecting a peace and in the following tragedy, I acted only in self-defense, and to protect my wife.

  I swear the preceding is true and beg Your Majesty’s indulgence by accepting this statement in lieu of my spoken testimony since I cannot return to Carpathius and would fear for my life should I be forced to appear in Marek Strigoi’s presence though he be imprisoned and restrained.

  I remain Your Excellency’s faithful and obedient subject,

  (signed) Mircea Ravagiu

  (His signature affixed, May 10, 1811, transcribed and witnessed by Gaston Latrec, domestique personnel to Céline, Marquise duCharne.)”

  “If you choose to believe that drivel over the truth, you’re a fool!”

  “Not as big a fool as you, Marek Strigoi, who do not know when to keep quiet.” The voice boomed around him, swirling inside the dock, battering him with sound. “Do you wish your death to come sooner than it will?”

  Putting his hands to his ears, Marek crouched in the center of the dock.

  “We have also considered the testimony of Diana de Ravage, and decide not to force her to appear.”

  “Please, Maiestate.” Marek threw himself at the railing. “You have to let her testify. She heard what Ravagiu said to me.”

  “There is no need to subject that frail young woman to facing one who threatened her so.”

  Again, the hand waved in his direction. Marek stumbled backward as if buffeted by a strong wind. He regained his balance, mouth opening to scream at the Domnitor. No sound came out.

  Pounding on the bars, he railed and shouted.

  In total silence.

  Gods, he’s made me mute. He’s stolen my voice. He could only stand there, quaking with unspoken fury as the deep, hollow voice continued.

  “We have considered all the facts in this case with due deliberation.”

  Liar. You had my fate decided before this trial was begun.

  “…and a wish for true justice.”

  How can there be justice if you let Ravagiu go free and kill me in his place?

  Would the prince charge Cézar to carry out his execution? His cousin had survived three years as the Domnul’s taietor. Slaying a kinsman would mean nothing. In that instant Marek truly wished there was an Intamplare to not only take Ciprian’s throne from him, but kill him as well.

  “Of the attempted molestation of Diana de Ravage, we determine…”

  “I could never harm Diana.” It was a moment before Marek realized he hear himself actually saying the words. “I can’t harm her.”

  “What’s this? Can’t harm her?” The prince’s voice held mock surprise. “Are you implying you have some physical impairment preventing the ravishment you wished upon the girl? Impotence, perhaps?”

  “Of course not.” Marek put as much scorn as he could into his answer. “I mean, I could never do such a thing to her.”

  “You abducted the girl. It appears to this Council you were attempting to.”

  “For the gods’ sakes,” Marek blurted. “She’s my sister, damn it. I couldn’t do that to my sister.”

  He fell silent, gripping the bars so tightly his fingers felt as if they’d snap, not feeling the pain as he realized what he’d said.

  “Your sister?” This time there was true astonishment in Ciprian’s reply. A murmur came from the Consfatuire.

  “Yes, my lord.” Voice trembling, Marek averted his gaze, looking at the floor of the dock.

  Have I put Ruxanda in danger? After all his struggles to keep her safe, a slp of the tongue had undone everything?

  “If that is the case, who is the girl having a place in your home all these years whom you call sister? How did the female Diana de Ravage come to be in Mircea
Ravagiu’s company?”

  “He abducted her the night my father was killed,’ Marek said.

  Will he let me finish before silencing me again?

  “Until the night of the ball we thought her dead.”

  “And the child you call Ruxanda?”

  “Ravagiu replaced our sister with a deomi child.”

  “A changeling? You let it live?”

  “She was a baby. Her parents were dead. She had no one.” He looked into the darkness. “It’s not against Principiu to have deomi in a household.”

  “As servants.”

  “I made her our thrall. That’s acceptable. My brothers were witnesses.”

  I’ll take all the blame. Ciprian’ll never know they and Dan gave their blood, too.

  “Ask them.”

  “We shall, Marek Strigoi.”

  Again, Vlad appeared, looking shaken to find himself once more in the witness box.

  “You will tell us about the changeling Ruxanda.”

  Looking around wildly, Vlad said, “Brother, what should I do?”

  Tell him, Vlad. Marek answered through his brother couldn’t hear. Tell him the truth.

  “Did Marek Strigoi enthrall the child?”

  “Yes, sir. He did. We all did.” Vlad studied the floor. “We each gave our blood.”

  No, Vlad, damn it. Maraek wanted to scream the useless words. Don’t condemn yourself, too.

  “You raised her as aventurieri? Ignorant of her true species?”

  The boy nodded, shoulders slumped in misery. “Later he did tell her. As soon as Ruxanda was old enough, he made her aware of what she is.”

  “I see.” There was a long and thoughtful silence. “Our decision is made. We find you innocent of the attempted rape of Diana de Ravage.”

  The four figures below him raised their hands. Four sharp gavel-raps sounded upon flat surfaces. Marek sagged against the bars, forehead resting against the cold iron base.

  “However, for hiding the true nature of the human child, there is a price to pay.”

  “No.” Damn it, I’ll beg if I have to. Nothing must happen to Xandi. “Mercy, Maiestate, don’t harm her.”