by Zan Safra
The gondola bobs on the waves. I run to it. I can’t return to the Shadow Palace, not this way, not bound to those things…
Andreas’ locket. The message. Palaso San Rurico, San Polo.
I unwind the mooring rope and climb into the gondola. The cold lessens as my feet leave the island, but I still feel the filaments stretching from my heart, anchored to a hundred monsters swarming below.
Dhampiresa…
I hear and feel something else as I take up the oar. Words, a captured echo, spoken in a voice not my own. Dragon’s child.
Dracula.
Chapter Nineteen
Belle
YUREI HOLDS MY HAND as we hurry through Venice, hiding us with some strange power. There is no one near, Natural or Unnatural, but he still looks about with panicked eyes. I feel the same.
I press my other hand to my chest. The web of volta is still weakened, but luckily I did not drain myself entirely.
My thoughts fly to Jette. She may be anywhere, but at least Isadora does not have her...
If anything she told me was true.
Dead girl…
“This way?” Yurei whispers, motioning towards a bridge.
The map I committed to memory has guided us to San Polo district, but beyond that I am lost. Grand palasi line every canal and street. In the half-light all seem the same.
We cross the bridge, Yurei’s power muffling our footsteps. Suddenly he cocks his head. At the same moment I feel an odd movement at my waist, a whirring. It comes from the chatelaine.
I unpin it and raise it into the moonlight. A spark like a flame shines inside the stone, forming a tiny alchemical glyph.
I have no time to even begin to wonder before Yurei whispers, “Look.”
He points to a palaso. This one is an odd, tilted building four stories in height, with a trio of round windows that watch us like the eyes of some looming beast. The same glyph shines on the wood of its door.
The Palaso Rurico. It must be.
We run to the palaso. Yurei slips us through the door, into an entrance hall and a cloud of warm light.
I gasp. The Palaso Rurico is a palace without and within. The walls are red-papered and bordered with black-and-silver moldings shaped into whorls of moonblossom leaves. A brilliant chandelier shines on the patterned marble floors and sweeping staircase. In the light the oils of the painted ceiling glow.
Yurei’s hand tightens around mine. “I don’t like this,” he mutters.
A metallic scuttling echoes through the hall. Two automata scurry out of a corridor. They are smaller than any I have yet seen, sculpted of silver and shaped like delicate spiders.
Yurei recoils, pulling me with him. The automata stop at our feet. Both begin to rise, perched on eight legs that elongate like stilts until they reach the height of my face. They stare at us through faceted jet eyes, examining us, and then retreat as though satisfied. They sink to the floor and scuttle away.
A rustle of skirts makes me turn. Ayanda appears down the corridor to my left, skirts drenched in mud, coils of hair standing out from her head. She walks slowly, gazing about.
“Ayanda!”
Yurei runs to her. Ayanda whirls. For a moment I see a flash in her eyes, two glowing discs.
She runs to meet us and halts, staring. Yurei and I are just as much of a mess.
“What happened?” she asks.
Yurei fidgets. I clear my throat. “Well…Yurei rescued me from the fiend and we set the Doge’s Palace alight. And you?”
Ayanda blinks. “Oh. I, um…”
She fidgets as well. “I met two of the Greater Dead and followed them into a lair of vampires.”
Silence descends.
“I…see,” I say. “How was it?”
Her face hardens. “Edifying.”
A voice I know speaks from thin air. “Marvelous. Is it my turn? I tracked Belle to the machineworks, where I and her mercurial friend battled our way past a horde of the living dead.”
Andreas snaps into existence, grinning. “Who wins?”
I stifle a gasp. His eyes and cheeks are hollowed. Blue veins stand out beneath his blanched face. He looks far worse than he did only hours ago.
Has it only been hours?
“Mercurial friend?” I ask. “Jette? Is she here?”
“Of course.”
I wilt with relief. She is safe.
Then I realize what he said. “What do you mean, tracked me?”
He runs his fingers through his hair. “Ah…your chatelaine has many purposes.”
“What?”
He adjusts the griffin-shaped pin on his lapel, the gift from the royal sweetheart. Its sapphire eye glints, just like the jewel of my chatelaine.
I shove the chatelaine at him. “You used this to follow me? You…you sneak!”
He raises his eyebrow. “You seem surprised.”
A new feeling overcomes me. The word from the Before follows it. Hurt.
“Why would you do that?”
“To learn. It’s my profession, after all.” His voice and manner are even, almost casual. “I’d say it’s a rather good thing I did follow you, isn’t it?”
The hurt clenches around my heart and crushes. “You don’t trust me at all, do you?”
Ayanda interrupts, stepping between us. “Where are we, Andreas?”
“The Venetian home of a Muscovian…acquaintance. And yes, I’m here with permission.” He sweeps his working arm towards the stairs. “If you’ll kindly follow me…”
We follow him, up the stairs and into another fine corridor. I cannot bear to look at any of them. Andreas lied to me. He has never seen me as one of them.
Because he knows something of me. All of them know.
And they are hiding it from me.
Dead girl…reanimation…
Look, she isn’t patchwork or rotten…
Stupid. Ridiculous. Lies. All lies.
I am not dead. I am not a corpse. I have never lived before now, and…
Then what is the Before?
My throat tightens.
We go on. More spidery automata skitter along the walls, fulfilling some strange errands. Andreas nudges one away with his foot. “Kirill designed them as a boy. He has a flair for the gothic.”
“Kirill?” Ayanda asks. “The Muscovian prince?”
A red tint rises in the back of his neck. “The family hasn’t visited Venice in over a decade, but you’ll find it’s perfectly operational. The automata take care of everything.”
Ayanda takes one of the spiders from the floor, examining the squirming thing as we walk. The Palaso Rurico is nothing like the Shadow Palace. It is far more ornate, decorated in rich reds, golds, black, and occasional flash of silver. Paintings line the walls, portraits of grim uniformed men and sour-faced women in pearled headdresses. The sight of Isadora and her black pearls darts through my head.
Think of what they have done…you have the courage to fight…you have the strength to end this…
“It’s grand, isn’t it?” Andreas says as we climb a staircase that circles a pillared atrium. “It has everything: a library, an automatical workshop for repairs, and even a small alchemical laboratory. Apparently a member of the royal family was a hobbyist.”
Andreas opens a door into a grand parlor. A long gilded mirror catches the light of the sconces and hearth and casts it about the room. A string of colorful vials dangles over the flames. Jette kneels by the hearth, wrapped in a man’s dressing gown, stoking the flames.
She looks up as we enter. “Belle!”
I run to hug her. Jette stiffens, and then slowly hugs me as well. She is safe. Isadora did not lie about that, at least.
The scent of tea wisps over me, steaming from a whistling silver contraption in the corner. Silver spiders scuttle around it, adjusting a decorated glass below its spout. Samovar, the Before whispers.
Andreas motions towards a velvet chaise and
two armchairs gathered before the hearth. Everyone but Yurei goes to sit. He remains in a corner of the room, arms crossed, glowering at Andreas. “What is this?” he growls. “Who are you?
He grins. “Andreas Greiff. Unnatural. Intelligencer. Dashing rogue. Tea?”
The little automata scurry from the samovar, bearing a platter with five glasses of dark tea. It smells wonderful, of orange and cinnamon. I take a glass, lowering my eyes to the table as I take a sip. I am glad that heat does not bother me as the boiling tea trickles down my throat. It tastes lovely, biting and sweet. In the corner Yurei eyes the tea, but does not approach.
Andreas sits and crosses his legs, looking very proper, though he is as disheveled as the rest of us. Suddenly a flash of pain crosses his face. He presses his bent arm against his chest, his face paling.
Jette pulls her lenses from her bandolier. “Let me see.”
He waves her away. “No need for that.”
Jette scowls. “I suppose you would you prefer a case of rot? That would be far more difficult to treat, as I have no maggots.”
Andreas wriggles out of his jacket. Blood drenches his white sleeve. Jette tears it in half and unwinds a cravat tied into a crude bandage, revealing his bare arm.
The wound has not healed at all. The puncture and burn are inflamed and the skin around them has blackened. Dark tendrils run from the wound, like the tentacles of a cancer.
No one speaks. Andreas grimaces. “As bad as all that?”
Ayanda’s eyes are huge with shock. “How did this happen?”
“It was after my return from Moscow. Five days past.” He rubs his eyes. “I was…oh, damn it to hell.”
He raises his left hand. The golden ring with its engraved X glints, the one I saw the night I arrived. “I’m an agent of the Ten. The Griffin.”
Ayanda raises an eyebrow, quirking a corner of her mouth. The rest of us glance at each other, confused.
I dare to meet his eyes and ask, “The Ten?”
“A secret council composed of the Doge and nine others. Charged with the defense of Venice by any means necessary. They see all and know all, thanks to those of my profession.” A bitter smile crosses his face. “They don’t care whether you’re Unnatural or not, so long as you’re of use.”
“The chief inquisitor insisted on debriefing me upon my return, personally. I ought to have known something was amiss when I found out.” His mouth turns to a hard line. “It wasn’t a debriefing. No sooner had I stepped into the room than a masked man shot me with a crossbow.” He snorts. “A crossbow. How medieval.”
“What sort of crossbow?” Jette asks.
“An odd one.” He glances at his wound and quickly looks away, as though he can barely stand to look at it. “The bolt was glass. There was a black substance inside.”
“And then?” Ayanda asks.
He shrugs. “I removed myself from the room for a process of cauterization and made a daring escape.”
No one speaks. He sighs. “I burned my arm on the boiler and jumped into the lagoon. With any luck they think me drowned.”
His voice sharpens. “What is it? Poison?”
“It’s vampire blood. He meant to transform you into a moroi. A living servant of the fiend,” Ayanda says grimly.
Andreas stiffens. His voice is low, as expressionless as his face. “Am I a danger?”
Jette lowers her lenses. “The burn seems to have prevented further contamination.”
She takes a roll of bandages from her bandolier. Andreas’ eyes widen a fraction. “How would I know if I’ve become some sort of servant?”
Ayanda’s hands tighten around fistfuls of her skirt. “You’d become utterly loyal to the fiend. Everything you’ve ever cared for would be nothing to you. Nothing would exist apart from her will.”
He lets out his breath. “I daresay I’d notice that.”
Another heavy silence. The warmth of the hearth seems to fade, the flames radiating cold instead of heat.
“Dead creatures have this power,” Ayanda says. “The fiend can command her moroi with her thoughts. Even see through their eyes, if she wishes.”
Andreas cringes again, gritting his teeth. “She’s sickened you,” I say.
Jette looks to Ayanda. “Is that a symptom?”
Ayanda shakes her head. “No. The only sign is the blackened veins.”
An idea strikes me, one that fills me with dread. “What if…what if vampire blood is poison to Unnaturals?”
An awful pause.
Andreas sighs. “I’m always so lucky, aren’t I?”
Jette spreads a coating of silver nitrate over the bandage and begins to wrap Andreas’ arm. Yurei speaks for the first time. “She locked us in a prison in the Palaso Ducale.”
Jette looks up from the bandage. “Andreas. You said that we were in the machineworks below the Palace.”
“Directly below,” he says. “It’s clear that’s where she’s hidden.”
I clear my throat. “That was where we spoke.”
They stare at me. “Spoke?” Ayanda asks.
“Yes. She does love to talk.” My hands tighten on the glass. There is so much I cannot say. “She…wants to enslave the Naturals and ruin the world.”
Utter silence.
Andreas lets out his breath. “Ambitious lass, isn’t she?”
Ayanda shakes her head, incredulous. “Why would she tell you any of this?”
The tea turns sour in my mouth. “She wanted me to join her. She wants to use Unnaturals for our abilities.”
Yurei’s growl prickles the air on my neck. “Use us?”
I manage a nod. “She went on about building an army.”
“She already has an army. I saw it,” Jette says. “She has hundreds of vampires, of several different species. I witnessed her methods.”
“Methods?” Ayanda asks.
“She is transforming huge numbers of Naturals into vampires. She has alchemists under her control. They have created a very…” She spits out the next word like the taste of poison. “Efficient system.”
She raises her eyes. Her gaze is hard. “Her creatures are using alchemical equipment to drain some sort of substance from individual creatures. I did not have the chance to examine these processes closely.”
Ayanda leans forward. “Were the vampires of different variantele? Different sorts, I mean?”
“Yes.”
Ayanda nods. “She’s harvesting their ikhor.”
Everyone looks at her. Ayanda blinks, as though she has remembered that she must explain these things. “It’s the substance that carries a Dead creature’s contagion. It’s most concentrated in a vampire’s spittle, but it’s present throughout the body. Ikhor diluted with blood is what allows the Greater Dead to create moroi without killing and transforming them,” she says. “Individual Dead creatures only possess their own particular ikhor. A vourdalak can only create a vourdalak, an ankou another ankou, and so forth.”
“She must have quite a collection,” Andreas says. “She has dozens of varieties. Hundreds of vampires of different sorts.”
“And hundreds of moroi,” Jette adds.
Ayanda jumps to her feet. “How can this be?”
She begins to pace. “How can she control that many? Hundreds of moroi and vampires at once? And now she talks of thousands?”
She stops before the fire and wheels about. “This is unheard of! The most powerful of the Greater Dead can’t command that many without hundreds of other Greater allies. She’s recruited some of the Greater of Venice, but she can’t possibly have enough of them for that! Directing an entire army?”
“Her alchemists must have found a way,” Jette says. She presses her lips together. “She did speak of a wonderful new age.”
Andreas groans. “Brilliant. A modern vampire.”
I take another swallow of tea. “She said…she told me that she’ll act in only days.”
“Mascherata,
” Ayanda says. “She means to attack the entire city.”
The entire city.
The enormity crushes me like a rockfall. The people who fill the city, packing the streets and canals. The fiend’s creatures, the upiri, the drekavac. Those beasts swarming through those crowds, tearing through the Naturals…
They are helpless. They cannot fight back. They have no chance.
The weight of it shrinks me, compressing me to the size of an ant, an insect at the bottom of a vast canyon, one that can be crushed in a second.
Isadora has the Doge. The rulers of Venice. Hundreds of mindless servants and hundreds more vampires. She controls the city.
It is already done.
I thought our escape from the Scholomance was impossible. I was so frightened when we fought our way out. But that was nothing compared to this.
I know how the others feel. I see it in their faces. Even Yurei stands frozen, a jet statue.
The heaviness muffles Ayanda’s voice. Or perhaps it is fear. “Andreas.”
She turns to him. “Tell Madrina everything. She’ll listen to you. Get everyone out of the Shadow Palace and as far from Venice as you can.”
Her voice is expressionless, her face blank, but for her eyes. They are darker than before. “All of you must go,” she says. “I will stay.”
The spell imprisoning us breaks like glass. Jette’s mouth falls open. I nearly drop my tea.
Andreas explodes. “Have you lost your mind?”
“No one else can stop her!” Ayanda balls her hands into fists. “I must kill her before she acts. It’s the only way to free her moroi. It’s the only way to destroy her army. Any Dead creatures that she herself created are linked to her. It’s one of their greatest weaknesses. If their maker dies, they die.”
“I don’t care about vampires and their makers!” Andreas yells. “This thing is too much for you! It’s too much for any of us!”
He leans forward. “So we run. Fine. We’ll find some other haven. And you’re coming with us if I have to knock you senseless and drag you.”
“I’m bound to her. Even if I did leave, she’d find me. Me and anyone with me.” She grips the back of the armchair, her fingers sinking into the cloth. “I can’t explain it, but it is what it is. If anyone can kill her, it’s me.”