The Reign of Darkness

by Britney Jackson

  Rose giggled between kisses. “Drunk Kara has quite the, uh, personality.”

  “Mm-hmm. Good wine,” Kara mumbled—directly into Rose’s cleavage.

  Rose moaned, as Kara trailed her tongue up Rose’s throat. Kara’s words were so fragmented and slurred, but when she kissed, her mouth moved with the same confidence and certainty that it did when she was sober. “Kara, you need to heal,” Rose said breathlessly, as Kara nibbled at the sensitive skin of her neck.

  “Need to apologize,” Kara said with a low, seductive lilt. “I scared you.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Rose sighed. “If anyone needs to apologize, it’s me.”

  Kara leaned back, gazing up at Rose with dark, hungry eyes. “Okay. You apologize,” she murmured. She tilted her face closer, grinning slyly. “If you want.”

  Rose swallowed at the invitation that burned so visibly in Kara’s ice-blue eyes. She shivered, as heat poured through her, leaving her feverish. “I don’t think there’s ever a time when I’m with you that I don’t,” she paused, blushing, “want.”

  “Rose,” Kara said, her eyes wide, “you can’t say that when I’m drunk.”

  Rose watched her with a frown. “Why not?”

  “Because I might not remember it,” Kara mumbled. She leaned back, her face twisting. She seemed so sad, all of the sudden. “And I don’t want to forget.”

  “Kara,” Rose said with a baffled smile. “What are you talking about?”

  Kara frowned, her head spinning. “This has happened before, hasn’t it?”

  “What? You getting drunk?” Rose said with a laugh. “I’m sure it has.”

  “No,” Kara murmured. “I didn’t want to forget. But I did. I forgot her.”

  Rose tilted her head to the side, meeting Kara’s gaze. “Who?”

  Kara’s light blue gaze darted toward her. “You?”

  Rose laughed a little. “You didn’t forget me, Kara. You’re just drunk.”

  “Oh,” Kara said, blinking. “I’m hungry.” She leaned her head on Rose’s shoulder, too dizzy to sit upright. “Deep, internal wounds. It’ll take days to heal.”

  Rose brushed her fingertips along Kara’s back, frowning sympathetically. “I know,” she sighed. “Let me give you some blood—so you can start healing.”

  “You’re always healing me,” Kara said drowsily, “with blood or not.”

  12

  The First Vampires

  As soon as Rose stepped into the main room of the temple, her stomach lurched. The strange, nauseating feeling seemed to come out of nowhere—much like it had when she’d seen that symbol. She ventured further into the temple, the soles of her old Converse squeaking against the marble floor. She glanced down.

  Even the floor beneath her feet caused a strange coldness to unfurl inside her. She felt as if she’d walked this path before—as if she’d felt this same floor beneath her shoes. It was a rough, off-white marble—just like the walls. It wasn’t much different from the rest of the temple, and yet, to Rose, it felt very different.

  Déjà vu, Rose realized. She’d been feeling it so much lately—ever since she’d entered the Kingdom of Skotalia. But why would she feel déjà vu about a place that she’d never been before? About a place that she’d never even heard of?

  She forced her feet to keep moving forward, even as dread weighed down her stomach, trying to keep her in place. The aisle ended at a platform, surrounded by candles, and on top of that platform, there was a statue—a statue that looked so familiar. Recognition prickled along her spine, raising chill bumps on her skin.

  “Do you recognize it?” Princess Myrinne said, catching Rose off-guard.

  “No,” Rose lied. She’d heard Princess Myrinne’s voice in front of her—where the princess knelt—but Rose couldn’t tear her gaze away from the statue.

  The statue depicted someone with a wide, curvy figure and soft, feminine features. One half of the statue was reflective and bright, glistening as candlelight danced over it. It seemed to be made of some type of crystal. On this side of the statue, the woman wore a light, flimsy garment that revealed much of her body—including her more intimate areas. The other half of the statue was made of solid, black stone—that seemed to suck in light, rather than reflect it. On this side, the woman wore a long, flowing cloak—with a hood pulled over her long, black hair.

  Princess Myrinne straightened, her weight resting forward, on her knees. She cast a curious glance behind her, noticing the way Rose stared at the statue.

  Rose blinked slowly, sifting through her memories. She knew there was something in her mind, something that would make sense of this. But it was too blurry, too confusing—like a long-forgotten dream. She glanced down at Princess Myrinne, suddenly remembering that she was there. “Uhh, why are you bowing?”

  Princess Myrinne lifted an eyebrow. She tapped her fist against her chest, drawing Rose’s attention to her tattooed hand. “I’m worshipping. Not bowing.”

  Rose frowned. “It’s just a statue. You’re worshipping a chunk of rock.”

  “It’s not the statue I worship,” Princess Myrinne corrected, her pale blue gaze shifting back toward it. “It’s what it represents.” Her slender shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Representations, like art, story, and song—they’re not for gods or goddesses. They’re for us. We all try to make sense of the abstract, don’t we?”

  “Yeah,” Rose mumbled. “I guess we do.” She watched the flames dance over the candles, and an image began to form in her mind—Alana, picking up a candle, blowing the flames toward her, like a dragon. The threads of the memory were there—but not woven together. Too fragmented to understand. She felt the princess’s gaze on her again, and she looked at her. “Uhh, you’re still in the floor.”

  Princess Myrinne smiled. “Yes,” she said, as if it had been a question.

  “Am I supposed to get in the floor, too?” Rose stammered. “Or…”

  “I think that would be quite strange,” the princess said, “my Eklektos.”

  “Umm, okay,” Rose said with a frown. There was no good time to breach the subject, so Rose went ahead and barreled through it. “So, your mother is…”

  “My mother is the queen,” the princess cut in. “I won’t speak ill of her.”

  Rose flashed a wry smile. “I was going to speak ill of her for you, actually.”

  Princess Myrinne climbed to her feet, her sheer, blue gown sweeping the floor. She turned toward Rose, dropping her tattooed hand to her side. “I’m sorry that you witnessed one of her outbursts, but that doesn’t give you a right to break into her cell and ask questions.” She bowed, but her blue eyes remained dark with anger. “With all due respect, my Eklektos, my family is none of your business.”

  “With all due respect, princess,” Rose countered, “outburst is an odd way to describe murder.” She lifted her eyebrows. “She slaughtered her own people.”

  “I know that,” Princess Myrinne said, a note of distress in her voice, “but she’s still my mother. She’s still the queen.” She shrugged. “What else can I do?”

  Rose frowned sympathetically. “Listen, I get that you still love her, and I’m sure this is hard for you. But downplaying what happened isn’t the answer.”

  Princess Myrinne froze, caught off-guard by Rose’s sympathy. Her entire body seemed to relax, all of the sudden, starting with her slender, raised shoulders, and ending with her locked knees. “You understand,” she realized. Her voice was breathless with relief. “Of course you do. You lost your family, too. Just like me.”

  Rose shrank back a little, her expression pained. “Who all did you lose?”

  “My father, my uncle, a brother,” the princess said. She’d said the words so softly that they were barely audible. “My mother…is a shell of a person. After the thing that happened with Erastos and my father, she lost her mind. But she’s still alive, at least.” She looked down, a blonde curl falling loose. “She’s still alive.”

  Rose tried to breach the
topic gently—since the princess was clearly in a vulnerable state. “And what…thing…was that? With Erastos and your father?”

  The princess was quiet for a moment. “You’re asking how they died.”

  If they died, Rose mentally corrected—still not sure what to think of her own encounters with Erastos. But she just flashed a small smile and said, “Yeah.”

  Princess Myrinne nodded. “I figured you knew better than to ask that.”

  “I do,” Rose said, “but I also realize that it’s something I need to know.”

  “I know it must seem to you like we’re so different,” Princess Myrinne sighed, “but you and I are a lot alike. You don’t want your power. Neither did I.”

  Rose frowned, surprised that the princess had noticed that. “You’re right. I hate my power. I’ve hurt people with it. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

  “You’ve saved people with it, too,” Princess Myrinne reminded her.

  Rose nodded slowly. “And in those moments, I’m grateful for it.”

  The princess seemed to consider her next words for a moment, but then, with no build-up whatsoever, she just blurted out, “Erastos poisoned my father.”

  Rose straightened, her eyes widening. “Erastos murdered someone?”

  “No,” Princess Myrinne told her. “He did try, but my father survived.”

  “Wait. What?” Rose said with a confused frown. “Your father is alive?”

  With a small laugh, the princess shook her head. “No, no. Of course not. He died later that month.” Her smile faded. “But not because of the poison.”

  Rose stared blankly at her. “So, how did he die, then? I’m so confused.”

  Princess Myrinne sighed. She waved her hand at a long, bench-like seat—off on the right side of the temple. “Have a seat, and I’ll tell you what happened.”

  Rose glanced at the ornate, marble bench in the far corner of the room. It looked more like decoration than furniture, but Rose made her way over to it, anyway. She sat down awkwardly, watching as the princess sat down, next to her.

  This close, Rose could smell Princess Myrinne’s soft, floral scent and the sweet scent of power in her blood. She watched as the princess shifted her body toward Rose, crossing her legs, beneath her blue robes. It was strange, sitting next to someone who never relaxed. Even now, the princess’s posture was impeccable.

  “I trained under Erastos. When I was a child, he served as High Priest,” Princess Myrinne explained. “I asked to be his apprentice, and he saw something in me. So, he agreed. My parents didn’t complain much because my brother was next in line for the throne. Not me.” She looked down, smoothing her fingertips across her sheer, blue robes. “I looked up to Erastos. He was devoted to his work, and he was good at it. Our priests and priestesses are healers, and my uncle healed hundreds of people. I believe some cultures would’ve called him an alchemist?”

  Rose absently played with the Stone of the Eklektos that hung from her neck—not even fully aware that she was doing it. “Like…actual alchemy? Or…”

  “We called it magic,” Princess Myrinne said, “but I suppose your people would call it something different. Science? That’s your word for magic, isn’t it?”

  “Uh, not exactly,” Rose said with a frown, “but sure, let’s go with that.”

  “He invented most of our healing potions,” Princess Myrinne added. She frowned thoughtfully. “I suppose your people call them medicines. Is that right?”

  “Usually, yeah,” Rose said, “unless you’re playing a fantasy RPG game.”

  The princess frowned. “I’m not familiar with these terms you’re using.”

  Rose cleared her throat. “Yeah, that’s understandable. Just ignore me.”

  “Well, he also created deadly potions,” Princess Myrinne said. “Poisons.”

  “Like the one he gave your father,” Rose assumed. She stopped short of asking if it was the same one the Assassins of Light used. She imagined that kind of accusation would shut down all conversation—especially if she were right.

  “Yes,” the princess said, “but he taught me everything he knew. So…”

  “So, you recognized the poison he gave to your father,” Rose realized.

  “Yes,” Princess Myrinne said, “and I knew how to make the antidote.”

  “Did you,” Rose paused, hesitant to ask, “know he was going to do it?”

  Princess Myrinne bristled. “Of course not. I would’ve warned someone.”

  “Right,” Rose said quickly. “You just… You said you were close to him. I thought he might’ve told you something. Did he tell you why he did it, at least?”

  The princess shook her head. “Everyone assumed he wanted the throne. He was next in line for it—at least until my brother came of age. But Erastos was the high priest. His entire career was built on serving, not ruling. He was selfless.”

  “Are you sure?” Rose said. “I mean, he’s not the easiest person to read.”

  Princess Myrinne’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “How would you know?”

  Rose swallowed. “Just guessing,” she lied. “Since he poisoned someone.”

  “Ah,” the princess said—though she didn’t look convinced. “Well, when the truth came out about his affair with my mother, that just made him look even worse.” She sighed. “Everyone assumed he envied my father’s life—wife and all.”

  “And did he?” Rose asked. She frowned sympathetically. “I mean, it kind of sounds like he took on a parental role with you, training you as his apprentice.”

  Princess Myrinne scowled. “That’s what everyone else thought, too.”

  “But is it possible that it was true?” Rose said gently. “Was he jealous?”

  “No,” Princess Myrinne said firmly. She glared at the marble wall, clearly lost in thought. “No, Erastos wasn’t jealous of my father. He had another reason for poisoning the king. I’m sure of it. They executed him before he could tell us.”

  Rose studied her curiously, watching the way candlelight danced across her pale skin. She didn’t look exactly like Erastos. Certainly not as ghost-like. But the similarities were striking. White-blonde hair, milky-white skin, pale blue eyes.

  “He asked to speak before his execution,” Princess Myrinne sighed, her face twisting with pain. “It’s our custom to allow them to speak their last words.”

  Rose’s chest tightened with sympathy. She didn’t trust the princess—and completely disagreed with her choice in keeping the queen alive—but seeing the princess in pain, like this, made Rose wonder how much of the princess’s distant, stoic façade was even real. Because she was clearly feeling something now. “Why would they deny him that? Do you think someone was trying to hide something?”

  “I’m positive my father was hiding something,” Princess Myrinne sighed, “and everyone else realized it, too. A few weeks later. When it was much too late.”

  Something pulled Rose’s gaze, drawing it toward the statue. Without ever choosing to do so, she found herself staring at it. Disorienting waves of familiarity washed over her. It was as if she’d heard this story before, as if she’d been there.

  “He sold you out,” Rose heard herself say. “Your father betrayed you.”

  Princess Myrinne glanced at her. “How do you know that?”

  There was no surprise in her voice.

  No shock. No fear.

  It was as if she’d expected this—as if she’d been waiting for it.

  “I don’t know,” Rose said with a frown. “People died, didn’t they?”

  “Yes,” Princess Myrinne said. “He killed my brother, first. His own son.”

  “For a place of power in an empire,” Rose murmured under her breath.

  “Yes,” the princess said again. “My uncle and brother were in line for the throne. He killed both of them. I was the new high priestess—after Erastos died. And I had no trained apprentice yet. So, I was technically not eligible. We weren’t allowed to serve and rule. My mother’s emotio
nal state had always been unstable, but after Erastos’s execution, she was hysterical. They said she lost her eyesight for a while. I don’t know if it was true or not. My father wouldn’t let me see her.”

  “Blind,” Rose repeated, watching the candlelight reflect off of the statue.

  “But when the nearby empire came for us, we didn’t surrender,” Princess Myrinne said. “My father had promised we would, but my kingdom—my home—doesn’t surrender. Not even when its king demands it. We fought, and we died.”

  Rose turned to look at the princess. “You were the first vampires.”

  Princess Myrinne nodded. “Darkness saved us. She brought us back.”

  “She?” Rose said. “That’s a strange pronoun for something abstract.”

  An amused smile pulled at Princess Myrinne’s lips. “You’re beginning to tap into it. That much is clear,” she murmured, “but it seems you’re not yet there.”

  “Not yet where?” Rose pried, a mixture of frustration and anxiety eating away at her. “How did I know your story?” Her heart raced, as she thought about what had just happened. She jumped to her feet. “What have you done to me?”

  “I’ve done nothing, my Eklektos,” the princess said. “That was all you.”

  Panic swirled inside of Rose, turning her eyes red. “I can’t… I need,” she trailed off, her gaze shifting back toward the statue. “I need to get back to Kara.”

  “Calm yourself, first,” Princess Myrinne advised, “or she’ll come to you.”

  Rose exhaled slowly, pushing the panic back inside. She waited until her heart-rate returned to a steady pace, and then, she turned to leave. “I don’t know how you did whatever you did,” she told the princess, “but don’t ever do it again.”