Adele's companion said hopefully, “Perhaps I will see you at the opera in two months. The Macedon is staging The Greyfriar. It will be the jewel of their season.”
“Perhaps,” Adele answered vaguely.
“I will be sure to look for you.”
And I will be sure to wear a completely different disguise, thought Adele, even though the idea of having a friend outside the palace was enticing. If only the consequences of being discovered were not so depressing. If her father, Emperor Constantine, or the prime minister, Lord Kelvin, found out she was roaming the city late at night, they'd have her clapped in irons. Worse than that, her Intended, Senator Clark, would have her dragged to the altar, chains and all, to extract her marriage vows.
Adele had spent the past few months successfully delaying her wedding to the senator for many reasons. First and foremost, she did not love him, not that it mattered; the marriage was for the good of the Empire. Still, she prayed that with time a miracle would occur and she wouldn't be forced to follow in her mother's footsteps and marry for politics rather than for love.
“It's a beautiful night; one can almost see stars,” the Persian noted, her long, henna-painted fingers gripping her burqa as the wind buffeted it.
“At least the breeze is blowing the haze away from the city. Maybe it will rain.”
“Yes, my pomegranate tree is looking quite sad.”
Adele nodded distractedly. They rounded the corner of the theater and, in the shadows of the alley, a cloaked figure shifted, the breeze billowing out his cape.
Gareth! He had come for her!
The figure stepped toward Adele, the buttons on his military tunic glinting in the dim light from the street. His smoked glasses turned toward her, and he reached out to touch her arm. Adele stood transfixed.
“Is that you, my princess?” he whispered.
In that instant, her hopes shattered. This was not Gareth, only the actor from the theater, come to mix with the adoring herd, particularly the ladies. This man was shorter than Gareth's six-foot frame. His nose was squat and his face marred with smallpox scars. Not ugly, but not Gareth. His wiry hair was cropped too close to his head to be her Greyfriar.
Adele jerked her hand away from the imposter, a bit too harshly. He shrugged and instantly began the search of another princess for the evening.
The Persian woman regarded her curiously. “You are the first woman I've seen shy away from the touch of the famed Greyfriar.”
“Well, he's no Greyfriar, and I'm past dwelling in fantasy.”
“Then why do you come to see the plays? I have seen you here before.”
Adele stiffened with alarm. She'd been noticed. How foolish to chat endlessly with this woman and parade her knowledge of vampires and Greyfriar like a smug child. She needed to get away from this strange woman who seemed far too curious. Even though Adele would've liked to linger and listen to the crowd's discussion, perhaps even follow them to their clubs or coffee shops, her evening's adventure must end.
“I hope you'll excuse me. I'm late for another appointment.” Adele gave a polite wave and slipped into the crowd. The Persian woman slowed with silent acceptance and watched the young girl disappear.
Adele neared the promenade of the Eastern Harbor, listening to the waves washing the stone breakwater. She gazed eastward where she could just make out twin obelisks against the night sky. They were affectionately named Cleopatra's Needles, and she paused to stare at them. They were attributed to the ancient queen's desire to honor her doomed lover, Mark Antony.
Alexandria had known its share of tragic love stories, of which hers was just one more.
THE WIND GREW stronger as Adele hurried away from the harbor. Her pace quickened, her booted feet nearly flying over the cobblestones as she headed north taking the long way home, her last bit of defiance.
With only a sliver of moon visible above the rooftops, the evening was a dark pitch broken only by flickering streetlights. Their chemical hiss was just audible over the rush of the wind. Her quickest route home was northeast, but it passed through a notably seedy part of the city.
An open-air tram hummed at a stop just ahead, spewing a cloud of yellow chemical fumes as it idled. Adele dashed for it, grabbing a rail just as it started moving. The smell of the tram's smoke grew thicker as it wound its way northeast through the old Turkish Quarter. Narrow streets crowded with stone buildings passed by slowly, giving Adele a close-up view of their heavy layer of soot coating the nooks and crannies. The white stone had a smudged appearance Adele knew was the stain of progress, but still it saddened her knowing the rails had cut through the ancient city. The tram deposited her at a grimy urban district and moved on. She began to walk the several blocks to the connecting northward tram line.
Adele hurried because the longer she was gone, the more chance she would be missed, not to mention that she wanted to get some sleep before the long, dull day began. Her attendants would rouse her for breakfast at an indecent hour and dress her appropriately for her duties. As much as she would love to daydream during the tedious meetings with her staff and doctors, or nod off during Mamoru's lessons and his endless questions about her time with the vampires, it simply wasn't done. Perhaps doing so, though, would indicate she was still not ready to be declared officially recovered from her ordeal. A great many events were scheduled to take place the moment she was declared to be in good health and sound spirit, the first being her wedding and the second being the start of the war against the vampires. She wasn't sure which she dreaded the most.
A shadow shifted to Adele's left. She steeled herself and glanced casually to the side. Then came a sound behind her. Two men were flanking her in the street. A woman alone in this part of the city was a boon to the likes of them.
Adele continued walking, keeping the one on her left in her peripheral vision as she kept an ear cocked for the man coming up from behind. She slowed her breathing and relaxed her clenching muscles, opening up her senses to the environment around her.
The stench of the men identified them as sailors. Their briny odor was even stronger than the air around them. Adele also smelled the telltale odor of chemicals before she saw a green glow from inside the tattered jacket of the man to the left. He was carrying a Fahrenheit blade, but it was a homemade switchblade version. It might as well have been a bomb. The chemical agents in the crude hilt used to heat the blade were so volatile that it was as likely to blow up in the man's hand as it was to deliver a searing blow to his target. Adele could see the chemicals glowing through the weapon's thinnest parts as they ate away at the inferior metal.
“Hey, girlie. Where you off to?”
Adele did not stop, her breathing deep and rhythmic despite the instinctive jump of her heart. She prepared herself, her hand already slowly rising to her waistband.
“Did you hear me? I'm talking to you.”
“I'm heading home,” was Adele's curt response as the man to her left maneuvered in front of her, blocking her path. A revolver was plainly visible in his belt. She sighed, unable to hide her annoyance. “At least I was.”
The men laughed, closing around her while Adele sidestepped to put her back against a wall. Her face was shaded, but most likely these louts wouldn't recognize the princess of Equatoria regardless. Not that it mattered to her.
“You looking for some action, little girl?” The man brandished his Fahrenheit blade like a new toy. He kept pressing the switch, causing the hot blade to slip in and out.
A small smile curved her full lips, clearly visible to the men under her cowl as she lifted her head. It unnerved them, but only momentarily.
The second man laughed and leaned closer, his yellow teeth flashing as his hand reached for her. Adele grabbed his arm, slipping around his other side, preventing him from bringing the gun to bear directly against her. She spun against him, forcing his arm to the breaking point. Using a well-placed palm of her hand, she slapped him between the shoulder blades and sent him careening. His momentum ca
used the wrist that Adele held to twist agonizingly. He connected with the wall with an audible crack as his nose and forehead slammed painfully into the stone.
The sailor with the knife was trying to process the fact that a slender girl had just taken out his partner. He raised his knife as Adele drew her own Fahrenheit blade, a finely wrought khukri, and moved in a blur to slash him across the forearm. The man staggered back with a cry, but still held onto his weapon. Adele snapped out a rigid hand and connected with a pressure point on the man's shoulder and sprang away, twisting around and drawing her heavy cloak about her for protection. The homemade switchblade dropped from nerveless fingers and clattered to the ground, where it immediately exploded. The chemical spray hit Adele across the back, but the heavy weave of her cloak protected her.
The same could not be said of her attackers. They both screamed in agony.
Adele flung her smoldering cloak away and incapacitated both men with the pommel of her blade. Then she straightened and took in the battlefield. She wasn't even breathing hard.
“See?” she remarked to her now unconscious companions. “There was no banter.”
Her victory was short as she heard the scrape of a sword from a scabbard. There was a third assailant! Without even turning, she ducked the slash of the blade, hearing it pass just inches over her head. Her right leg spun out as she tried to swipe him off balance, but he anticipated her move and leapt over it.
He was too far away to hit with her dagger, giving the advantage to the swordsman. There was only one other long-distance weapon in the fight, and she dove for the revolver lying on the dark cobblestones. She rolled to face her opponent, who raced toward her with sword raised.
Adele's first shot took him high in the chest, and he tumbled to the dirty street and lay still. She rose, the renewed adrenaline rush now causing her to pant slightly. The fight had hardly lasted a minute. She had dispatched all three of her attackers with no injury save to her cloak. Her training was definitely paying off.
She reached for the damaged garment, wondering how she was going to explain that to her maids. She decided not to and found a trash bin, listening to the sizzle as it was disintegrated with an acrid tang.
Adele was just turning around when a figure rushed her with an expression of utter rage on his face. One of the first two sailors had regained consciousness and was holding his partner's sword. His face streamed blood from various wounds on his temple, forehead, and nose.
A flash of steel and a swirl of dark blue blinded her as someone dressed in indigo sprang in front of her. The sailor's head rolled past Adele. She snapped into a defensive stance, but then her mouth fell agape.
Mamoru rose from his crouch, his samurai blade gleaming with dark red blood.
Adele gasped in alarm. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same of you, Highness, and be more justified.” The Japanese warrior ripped some cloth from the shirt of the decapitated man at his feet and wiped his short blade clean. Only then did he slide it back to its rightful place in its scabbard, content that it had been bloodied before returning home.
“Did you have to kill him like that?”
Mamoru looked stern. “What difference does it make? He is dead and you're not.”
“Are you spying on me?” Adele accused him indignantly. “Can I have no peace from prying eyes?”
“You are my charge, Your Highness.”
“I had no idea it extended beyond the classroom.”
Mamoru bowed low. “May I beg to inquire what you are doing out so late, unescorted? And in this quarter of the city? It reeks of low life.”
“They are called the poor. And what I do is my business.”
“I beg to differ. You are the heir to the Empire.”
Her shoulders lifted into a trivializing shrug. “What does that matter? No one here cares who I am. They are wrapped up in their own struggle to survive.”
His hand gestured to the men lying around them. “These fellows were very much interested in you.”
“Because I was a woman alone. And I was more than a match for them.”
“Indeed?” Mamoru's eyebrow rose and glanced at the head near her feet.
Adele's exasperation fell away, though she assumed she would have been able to handle the situation herself. Still, only a fool refuses to accept help when needed. “I'm grateful that you arrived when you did.”
Mamoru's head lowered with grace at her admission. “Now, Your Highness, we should return to the palace before anyone else notes your absence.” He walked over to the groaning man who had held the makeshift Fahrenheit knife and made to draw his katana.
Adele grabbed his arm. “What are you doing?”
“He tried to kill the imperial heir.”
“He didn't even know who I was!”
“We cannot allow him to live.”
“Yes, we can. I order you to spare his life.”
“That is unwise. If he recognized you or even overheard us…”
“So what? Ooh, the scandal.” She mocked in a falsetto tone. “The princess appeared outside her harem. Heaven forbid she walk among her subjects.”
“If you are going to play the populist, perhaps you shouldn't beat and kill the populace.”
She cut him a scathing glance. “They attacked me and I had dealt with them. That does not warrant murdering a helpless man.”
“Your father and future husband would think so.”
“They would, but I don't. Many things will change around here when I am crowned.”
“Of that, I am most sure.”
“Leave that man alone,” Adele said firmly.
“As you command, Your Highness.”
“Let's just go home. I'm tired.”
“I agree. Quickly. You cannot be found here.” Mamoru smiled at her, but not with his eyes. His gaze was always that of a teacher, always observing his student and watching for signs of enlightenment.
“Should we contact the police?”
“No. There are bodies in the streets of this wretched district every morning. These few more won't attract great attention.”
Adele turned briefly to look at the dead and wounded before striding purposefully away with her teacher. She rested a hand lightly on his arm. “Promise me, Mamoru, that you won't tell anyone what I was doing. Please.”
Mamoru was silent for a bit as if contemplating the future, but then he nodded. “Of course. It shall be our secret. Your well-being is my utmost priority, nothing else.”
“Whatever you do, don't tell Senator Clark. He still thinks I'm recovering from my ordeal. If he knows I'm well enough for this, he'll demand to hold our wedding. Not to mention what he'll say about the unseemliness of his future wife cavorting with sailors and commoners.”
“And thugs,” Mamoru added with a subtle smirk. Again her scowl turned his way, so he added more seriously, “I care little for politics and matters of state, Your Highness. I am a priest and a teacher. Thankfully, I have little chance for conversation with the senator. Even if he did find out, we could say this mad behavior is merely an example of your precarious mental state created by your treatment at the hands of the vampires.”
“Aren't you a conniver?” Adele regarded her tutor. “And thank you, by the way. I am very grateful that you are concerned for my well-being.”
“For as long as I shall live. You are the only thing that matters to me.”
Adele nodded, smiling at the samurai. He returned her smile and removed his outer kimono and placed it around Adele's shoulders as much to cloak her from curious eyes as for protection against the wind. Adele burrowed deep into the sensuous warm silk, drawing it up around her neck, grateful for the small comfort.
The Persian woman from the theater stepped from the shadows of an alley, watching Mamoru depart with his young charge. Her eyes closed and her eyelids revealed the henna marks in the shape of eyes that endowed her with inner sight. She smiled, pleased with how things were unfolding. Mamoru's relatio
nship with Princess Adele had been a bit strained since her return to Alexandria. They all worried that Mamoru had lost control over his protégé, jeopardizing the cabal's plans. Everything hinged on the princess, and on Mamoru's control over her.
The last wounded ruffian stirred at her feet. She dropped to her knees, soothingly whispering words of aching poetry.
“Your mistress bids you look upon my ardent flesh.
And hear my call of worship. The flame of desire bears you to my cathedral.
Kneel before me, whisper my name upon thy lips and all will be forgiven.
Utter no more words, for I know thy heart.”
The man's unfocused gaze labored to stay on her face and lips as they moved. Unbidden tears leaked from his eyes as her words flowed over him. Her eyes slipped closed, and she saw he had drifted into her realm, whispering her name though he did not know her. With that she held his head in her henna hand and drew her knife across his throat. He made not a sound as he died.
GARETH WALKED THE crowded streets of Mayfair in London. With the clan lords in session, the city was packed with revelers. The air was pleasantly cool, so activity was high. Even given the absence of lights, he could see quite clearly in the moonlight. Vampires crowded the sky in black parliaments, while others strolled the boulevard, chatting and laughing like humans.
Respectful greetings from vampire passersby turned to scornful snickers behind Gareth's back when they recognized the failed prince. He didn't care; he had long since given up any desire for position or respect within the clan. He almost reveled in their disdain because it distanced him from his kind and made him feel closer to the humans.
There were humans moving about, trying not to stand out or attract attention. Some of them were bloodmen servants of the vampires. Others were craftsmen or farmers simply performing their duties to sustain the empire, toiling under their own rules, but always under the watchful power of the vampires.
Rift Walker, The (Vampire Empire, Book 2) Page 3