by E. M. Knight
Sudden horror takes me. Have I been so transparent? Are my desires really so evident? “No!” I gasp. “No. Please. Don’t.”
“Your wish.” She shrugs. “But back to Eleira. It would be better were she to be fully on our side. Things would be so much... simpler. I also have a way of making that happen.”
She claps her hands again, and the illusion of the stars disappears. But the light from them remains, and it fills the whole of the room.
Beatrice motions behind me. I turn—and once more, find my jaw on the floor.
Standing there is a large, crystal throne, shimmering in the light. It gives off a menacing sort of radiance.
That was the source of vibration I felt in the air.
“A near-perfect replica of the torrial protecting The Haven,” she tells me. “It has taken years to create. But I think, finally... it’s nearly complete.”
“You made it?” I say, my voice full of awe and wonder. “How?”
“Not I,” she says. “But I have found a way to fuel it, to imbue it with power. It is the lesser twin of the other, but, given the right situation, very, very powerful.” She beams at me, proud as a mother showing off her child. “And Riyu? If I can be made certain that our visions for the future of the world align... I will offer it to you.”
Chapter Forty-Two
BEATRICE
THE CRYPTS
“So? How did he take it?”
I glance over my shoulder at the King. He is lounging half-naked in bed, his powerful chest exposed by the throw that comes up just to his midriff.
“It was too easy,” I say with a casual shrug, and return to studying my reflection in the mirror. My, but how fascinating it is that so many years have passed, so many things have changed, and yet my face has always—and will, forevermore—remained exactly the same. “He did not suspect anything was wrong.”
“You give Riyu too little credit. He’s sly, always has been. Can you be sure he took the lie?”
I give an exasperated sigh and turn around. “I am one of the few vampires he trusts,” I emphasize. “Riyu fashions himself remarkably clever, but it is a form of arrogance. He thinks his desires are hidden from the world, but you know as well as I do what they really are.”
Logan makes a disgusted sound. “That is why he is not fit to be acknowledged as my blood.”
“But he will have to be, at the proper time. You know that.”
“I know only because you insist on it,” the King growls.
I slowly rise and make my way seductively to the bed. “Do you know why I insist on it?” I ask, swaying my hips as I walk. Logan’s eyes go immediately to my curves; he’s never been one to hide his appreciation for me. “Because Riyu...” I sit down and trail a finger up his strong leg, “...is but a pawn. A pawn for you to use to get what you want.”
His breathing deepens as my hand finds its way under the cover. “He is a pawn in the great cosmic game. We all are, my King—except for you.”
A smile of languid pleasure comes over Logan’s face. My hand starts to move in a rhythmic motion beneath the sheet. “You have ruled here long enough. The time has almost come for the rest of the world to know your power. The time has come for you to rise and to take command of all those vampires rightfully below you. You are a King--,” I grip him tighter, “--but with me at your side, I will turn you into a God.”
Logan’s eyes glaze over as a rush of ecstasy takes him. I can see him imagining what that will taste like—what it will be to rule, to truly rule, and be feared and respected by vampires and humans alike.
“The transfer of magic,” he says. “It will work? You are sure of it?”
“The elemental forces are tricky things,” I hedge. “They can be unpredictable. I am not a true witch, so I could not tell you. To claim otherwise would be a lie. But I can guarantee you this—if anyone can survive, it is you.”
He sits up, pulling away from me. “You gave me your assurance before. If I let you lead Riyu on this merry little game, the end result--”
“Will be worth it, still, I swear, my King. A little bit of patience, that’s what we need.”
“You taunt me,” he says. I can feel him growing angry. “You promise one thing, over and over, but when it comes time to deliver you tell me it’s over the next hedge.”
“Such is the way of what you’ve tasked me with,” I tell him sweetly. “Some things can be expedited by sheer will. Others cannot. Unfortunately, this is one of the latter.”
I stand up. “Eleira and Raul are waiting,” I say. “We need to give them a showing unlike any they’ve seen before. For the girl to come over to our side—we need her to be fearful, yes, but we also need to claim her respect. It will be a delicate balance between the two. She cannot be forced into anything, as you know.”
Logan makes a deep, disgruntled sound of disapproval. “The things I concede for you,” he grumbles.
He rises. The blanket completely falls away. He turns back and strolls for his robe. I cannot help it—my eyes go immediately to the strong muscles of his body. As he drapes his many layers of jewelry on, I allow myself a self-indulgent smile.
The most vital adornments on his body are those that no one else will ever see: the red marks, from my nails, all over his back.
Chapter Forty-Three
SMITHSON
THE HAVEN’S STRONGHOLD
Perhaps I had overestimated my degree of influence with Phillip.
The moment I suggested The Hunt... something changed in his eyes. A rage the likes of which I’d never seen came over him. I expected human feedings to be a prickly subject for him, but I never thought he’d react this harshly.
He’d raged at me, then, and in his fury, struck out. It took all the training I’ve ever received to stop myself from fighting back. Only the knowledge of my greater purpose, and cognizance of how easily that could be betrayed were I to lose control now, kept me from defending myself.
As it was, things could have turned out to be worse. Phillip could have completely reneged on his word and sent me back to the dungeons.
Instead, he just commanded me to leave, and to not speak to a single member of the Elite while I was gone.
It galls me, the ease with which the boy assumes superiority. The change overcoming him is apparent even to me. The feeding his Mother forced him to take really did alter his whole persona.
But it’s not like I have to be completely complicit in my exile. After wandering through the barren underground halls for a good hour, and finding no one following me, I quietly slip into Carter’s rooms.
I discover them empty. That’s irritating. Where could the vampire be?
But I don’t have to wait long as a secret latch comes open and Carter walks out from behind a bookshelf.
His eyebrows go up when he sees me. “I thought I sensed someone,” he murmurs. “Though I did not expect it to be you.”
I eye the opening behind him. Carter was the one who originally informed me of this stronghold, back when I first arrived in The Haven. It would make sense that he would know more of its secrets than most.
“Hiding?” I ask. “From whom or what, I wonder.”
I don’t try to tone down any of the discontent in my voice.
“Mmm, more like, taking inventory,” he says. He closes the secret passage, and it blends seamlessly into the wall. “It’s always a good idea to have full control of your possessions.”
“Are these possessions any you expect to be going anywhere?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Odder things have happened. How is the Queen?”
“Unfortunately, that information is beyond my current status,” I say.
“Mm,” Carter nods. “That is unfortunate. How the mighty have fallen.” He looks me over. “But then again. You’re not in chains. Things could be worse.”
“And they could be a hell of a lot better,” I say. “I made the suggestion you proposed.”
“Did you? And?”
“And, what do yo
u think?” I growl. “He did not take it well.”
“So the boy is still soft,” Carter nods. “Interesting.”
I wouldn’t exactly call him ”soft”, I think.
“You made sure to frame it as your idea?”
“I’m no idiot,” I say. “I know I cannot link it back to you.”
“Even if you talked,” he chuckles. “I would deny it. And everybody knows I would never go against the Royal Court.” A thin smile forms on his lips. “I am one of its most distinguished members.”
“That’s not what I came for,” I say.
“Then why did you come, Smithson? I thought my instructions were clear.”
“They were,” I say. “Except for one or two small details.”
“How small?”
“Oh, miniscule,” I deadpan. “Such as the complete lack of trust you exhibit in me.”
“Have you given me reason to trust you, Smithson? Really given it?”
“Look,” I say. “I’m risking a lot by being here. If all you want to do is mock me--”
“Need I remind you that you came to me?” Carter asks. “Your feet brought you here for a reason. What could that be?”
I fight down the surge of anger that threatens to take me. The smug, complacent fool, I could crush him! If I so wanted, I could destroy him, just as I destroyed James, just as I--
I stop that line of thinking with a harsh shudder. It seems the control I once exhibited over my thoughts has more or less abandoned me.
At least my actions are still within my hands.
“I came to ask if there’s been any word—” I lower my voice, “—from Beatrice.”
“From who? Carter cups a hand to his ear. “You must speak louder. I could not hear you.”
“Beatrice,” I say again.
“Ah.” He smiles at me again. Then, he shakes his head. “Unfortunately no. I presume your ex-wife is much too busy in The Crypts. A woman of her beauty, after all, must have a bevy of options available with which to occupy her time—”
“Watch it,” I growl. I take a step forward. That anger continues to beat against the barriers I’d erected. “If you’re not careful, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Carter scoffs. “I am your only true ally here, Smithson. The others have already exhausted their use of you. You brought us prominence in the aftermath of the attack, but the Royal Court quickly forgets its debts. It’s never had to answer to them, you see. And once your rank was stripped from you, you became… dispensable.”
I can rip your heart out with my bare hands, I think. I could strike so fast that you’d be dead before the next word leaves your lips.
But I temper the temptation. Soon I will have my revenge, not just on this pompous, blown-up fool, but on all vampires. All vampires, everywhere.
I’ve waited centuries already. What’s a little bit more patience now?
So I look away and adopt a look of subservience. “You’re right, of course,” I mumble.
I turn around to leave.
“Smithson?” Carter calls. I stop. “Look at me.”
I turn my head back over my shoulder.
“I noticed that a certain something was missing from your side. In the aftermath of the castle’s fall. So, I took it upon myself to… well, let’s just call it an extension of good faith.”
“What are you talking about?” I grumble.
“If you’ll come with me?”
He walks away without waiting to see if I will follow. Seeing that I have no choice, I start after him.
He takes me through a small back door in the very depths of his room. We go down a long, narrow chamber. Torches are lit at regular intervals along the walls. They seem an unnecessary addition.
As if having read my thoughts, Carter explains, “These passageways are typically reserved for human servants. The fires are ever-burning. An old spell, simple, really, cast by our Queen when this place was first constructed. It holds to this very day.”
I expand my mind, testing for the presence of any others, and find that we are alone.
The earth starts to slope downward. Carter continues to lead. Eventually we come to a heavy, iron door.
It’s already ajar. Carter appears to have no problem with that. He pushes it the rest of the way open and steps inside.
I follow him and discover a treasure room.
It’s cluttered with arrangements of all sorts of strange sculptures, carvings, and contraptions. They line the walls, piled high upon each other on the shelves. None look particularly menacing. In fact, to my trained military eye, none seem to be anything more than toys.
Carter kneels behind a small pile of such things and picks something up.
When he stands, he’s holding Witchbane.
My mind reels. Witchbane, my old sword. How did he get it?
It must be a replica.
He waits for my reaction. I keep my face purposefully blank and my thoughts entirely to myself.
“I hope you’ll forgive me,” he says after a moment. “This must seem awfully presumptuous of me. But I knew how important this weapon was to you. And I could not bear the thought of you going without it.” He hefts it in his hands. “I recovered it in the aftermath and made some improvements to the steel. You’ll find it stronger than before. Perhaps next time, it will fare better against a Narwhark attack.”
He offers it to me. With an unsteady hand, I take it by the hilt.
It’s weighted perfectly. The blade is completely repaired. Some of the more obvious marks on the hilt have been mended, but this is my sword, returned to me, through and through.
“How?” I marvel.
Carter’s eyes glimmer. “Do not presume, dear friend, that all ancient knowledge is lost. Oh,” he adds, entirely as an afterthought. “You asked if a message came from Beatrice. It did not. But there was one, just this morning, from The Vorcellian Order.”
Chapter Forty-Four
JAMES
OUTSIDE THE HAVEN
The blazing bonfire rages high above the tops of the trees. Every vampire in the vicinity of The Haven should be able to see it.
The heat it gives off is immense. I revel in it, watching as the flames go higher and higher, swirling and twisting on themselves in an effort to reach the very stars.
My group of humans is clustered around me, equally enraptured by their creation.
“Fire has a very primitive power to it,” I proclaim. “It has the power to destroy, to overcome, to overwhelm. Few things in this world are as dangerous as fire. Vampires have a natural aversion to flame, because it is one of the only ways to guarantee our destruction.
“But Nocturna Animalia will be a new sort of coven, a new sort of clan! All those who join must first be cleansed by the flames. Only then will they be deemed worthy! Only then will they be given the infusion of blood!”
A rabid sort of madness has come over me. I do all I can to embrace it.
“Who puts their fate in the Dark God first? Who trusts in me to rescue you, to revive you, to bring you life only after you’ve known death?” I spin around, laughing, drunk on the blood I’ve already drunk. “Who amongst you will be the first to walk into the flames?”
In truth, nothing like this has ever been done before. Not that I know of. But if these humans are mad enough to follow me with this, I know they will be mad enough to follow me to the very ends of the earth.
And loyalty, unquestioning, absolute loyalty, is what I require above all else.
I half-expect Wanda to step forward. She is their leader, after all.
But instead, it is Norman, the tall and slender man I first spied talking to her, who breaks out of their midst.
“I’ll go,” he says. He locks eyes with me. “I put my faith in you, vampire.”
And then, as if in a total trance, he simply walks into the flames.
A second passes. The wind howls. The world is still.
And then his clothes catch fire, and he begins the most terrible, agonizing
scream.
He runs out of the blaze, a moving wicker man, yelling and yelling as the flame consumes his flesh. He falls struggling to the ground, desperately trying to swat at the fire to abate the heat. His ragged screams continue on and on for what feels like eternity…
At the last possible moment, I grab the huge bucket of water and throw it over him. The flames sizzle and die. The stench of raw, burned flesh is heavy in the air. It is a disgusting smell, paired with a revolting sight of the blackened body of this paltry man.
Silence. The group waits for me to move. Norman moans on the ground, seconds away from death…
I leap onto him. I sink my fangs right into his neck. But, instead of drinking, I bite down and inject the poison, the serum, the mystic sustenance, whatever the force is that sustains us, into his vein.
And then I drink. His blood mixes with my own in my body. It forms a link between us, and as I drink, I pump it back. His body is primed to receive it thanks only to the serum injection—without which, my blood would merely heal, but only give a small chance of a successful transformation.
We stay locked like that, together, two lovers in a heavy embrace. I take his blood, and I give him mine. I take his blood, and I give him mine. I feel his skin start to heal, feel the raw, blistering wounds start to close, and I know—I just know—that this one will survive.
I stand. Norman gives a feeble cough.
Then he closes his eyes and goes absolutely still.
His body has recovered, but the ordeal has just started for his mind. He looks like a perfect corpse. He does not breathe. His heart does not pound. There is not a shred of life left in him.
No human life, that is.
“It is done!” I pronounce grandly. The heat of the fire beats against my back as I turn to the Fang Chasers. “Let it be known that Norman was the first made! The very first of the Nocturna Animalia, he who risked fire and death to achieve eternal glory!” My eyes are wide with triumph as I take the humans in. “From henceforth he shall be First amongst you, the first vampire made, the one closest to me, because of his bravery, none shall surpass him. May the night cradle him and grant rebirth!”