“My old friend,” Serina said. “Have you done as I asked? Do you have her, the niece of Stron?”
She wore a rich gown, with furs over her shoulders, her blond hair tightly braided in the style of her people. They stood in a curved wooden chamber, nearly dark, with only a single candle to provide light. The walls creaked, the floor rocked, water slapped against a hull. She’s on a ship, then, as I suspected. Coming here, coming to me, coming for the girl…or something else?
“Why do you care so much about this woman?” he asked, meeting her red gaze.
In person, she could snap his spine in a heartbeat. But this was only a dream. Besides, in this dream, he was young again, his youth emboldening him. Perhaps this was why he slept so much, so that he could be young once more.
But this was only a dream.
If she were to keep her word, if she granted him immortality, turning him into a blood fiend like her, he’d still be old, he knew. But he was also a master of the necromantic arts, as fine a sorcerer as Serina had ever been—or nearly so. He had managed to keep himself alive all these years. With immortality, he could make himself young again. He was certain of it.
“Do you hold her or not?” Her voice carried a promise of retribution.
Kalishni’coor shivered but inhaled deeply, facing her down.
I am her equal.
“Yes. I hold her.”
She stared at him for long moments, waiting for…something else.
What is it? he wondered. What have I missed?
“What is it you want?” she asked in a soft voice.
“Only that you keep your word. We had a bargain.”
“And you were to keep something safe for me. You did not do so, nullifying our bargain.”
“It’s not my fault your heart didn’t come to me,” he snapped. “I gave you the blood gems you needed to cast the spell. I kept my word.”
“I have been trapped for decades.”
“Not by me.”
She stared at him for long moments, opening her red lips and letting her tongue flick across her fangs. “All things are yet possible.”
“Give me your gift before it’s too late.” He heard the pleading tone in his voice.
Serina must have heard it as well, because she smiled as she reached over and picked up the solitary candle, holding its flickering flame before her tattooed face. “My blood thrall comes for the woman. Give her to him immediately, and we shall see. You’re almost out of time, old friend,” she said and then blew out the candle.
Darkness surrounded Kalishni’coor, and it was some moments before he realized he was back in his chambers in the Rose Palace, propped up on cushions.
What was that pounding noise?
Bright light stabbed into his eyes as his bedchamber door was suddenly thrust open. A figure stood in the doorway, holding a candle. Kalishni’coor scowled, covering his eyes with his forearm, feeling every bit of his hundred and eight years of age. Everything was so hard now—even with the spells that prolonged his life, his body was failing. Simple sacrifices to the Dark Master no longer were sufficient. Now, to stave off his own death, he had to sacrifice entire families—and even that was becoming less effective. Serina is right—I am running out of time.
The servant approached, shading the candle with his hand. “I’m sorry, master. A thousand apologies for waking you.”
Kalishni’coor’s mouth was so dry, his throat raw. The long conversation he had held with the Dain woman had exhausted him. Looking around his bedchamber, he saw the boy he used as a flesh-vessel standing in the dark, his mind long gone. He willed his consciousness into the boy. “What is it?”
The servant hesitated, his eyes darting fearfully to the boy before returning to Kalishni’coor. “A…a ship, master.”
“A ship? So what?”
“A Fenyir longship, master. It sailed into the harbor. Those aboard claim they are expected. Master, they mentioned you by name.”
Panic welled within Kalishni’coor, set his withered heart beating painfully. She’s here? Already? No, he realized a moment later. In his dream, she had felt as if she was still far away. He could always sense distance when she used a Sending. It must be the servant she spoke of, her blood thrall.
“Those aboard are to be treated as honored guests—the most honored!” he snapped. “They are to be welcomed and brought here. Tell my idiot great-grandson he is to treat them like kings.”
“Yes, master,” said the servant, bowing deeply, backing up, and closing the door behind him once again.
He remained there in darkness; the only sound was the soft rhythmic breathing of the white-haired boy. Serina had always hated the Dains, but that didn’t explain her insistence on capturing some woman, even if she were the last of her line. He was missing something, something key. He needed to force the woman to talk before Serina arrived, but so far, the Dain woman had proven unexpectedly…difficult.
It’s time for drastic measures. Time for red-hot irons.
Then she’d talk.
Or die… as Serl had died.
Damn that woman’s stubbornness!
Chapter 38
Owen
Owen, Fioni, and Gali hid behind crates along the pier. To their north sat a long line of tall-masted cargo ships, their sails secured. Owen held Sight-Bringer against his leg, his senses enhanced by its magic. On all but a few of the ships, a single lantern burned, usually with sentries standing beside it, watching the gangplanks. To the east, the sky glowed red.
“Which way to the fishing boats?” Fioni whispered to Gali.
The young woman pointed away from the cargo vessels, farther down the southern waterline. “That way. Very close.”
“Let’s go,” Fioni said, starting to rise.
Owen heard boot steps, so loud they sounded as if they were almost on top of them. He grasped at Fioni and Gali, pulling them behind the crates and then raising a finger to his lips. Owen peered around the crate as a large contingent of guards approached, leading six other men; more guards trooped along in the rear. Five of the six men were Fenyir warriors, one of whom was the tall, blond man Galas Gilt-Mane. The sixth man, though, walking separate from the others, was the traitor Modwyn, a bloody bandage covering one of his eyes.
He stared in confusion. How did Modwyn, whom he last saw on Greywynne Island, come to be in the company of Galas Gilt-Mane? And why were they being escorted by the Moon Lord’s soldiers? Had all their enemies joined forces?
Is Serina here?
He slowly drew back behind the crates and met Fioni’s gaze. She raised her eyebrows, but he shook his head. They remained like that, hiding until long after the boot steps had drifted away.
“What was that all about?” Fioni asked him once all was quiet again.
When he told her of Galas, her face darkened. She moved past him, heading north, away from the fishing boats. He and Gali hurried after her. After some minutes, she stopped and stared at a single vessel, different from the cargo hulks—a Fenyir longship.
“That’s Thunder Killer,” she said, anger in her voice. “Why is Galas here?”
“I don’t know,” Owen said. “But as you keep telling me, we need to go.”
#
Gali was right, and they were very close to the fishing boats. Within minutes, Fioni chose a small single-masted vessel with oars, not unlike the boat he and Lady Danika had stolen to escape Greywynne Island. He helped Fioni drag the boat from the beach out onto the waves and held it in place while Gali and Fioni climbed aboard. He stood there, waist deep in the cold waters, staring up at the Rose Palace in the distance.
Lady Danika was up there.
He had sworn an oath to protect her.
He had sworn an oath to protect her brother.
How many members of one family was he going to fail?
“Owen, hurry,” Fioni hissed.
He pulled himself onto the rocking boat, hating himself.
Fioni was a far better mariner than Lady Danika ha
d been and, in moments, had the boat’s single sail raised. Wind caught it, propelling them away from the city, toward the dark bulk of Corcas Island, visible now even without the aid of Sight-Bringer. Beside him, Gali shivered, staring back at the shacks of Docktown and the walls of Daenipor rising in the background.
When they were some distance from the shoreline, Gali became less tense. “We’re going to make it, aren’t we? Thank the ancestors.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Fioni said as she hauled on the sail’s lines. “If Kora has actually listened to me this time, Fen Wolf is gone, and we’re not going to get very—”
A long horn blast from the shoreline behind them cut her off. Owen’s stomach lurched as he saw the bulk of a double-masted vessel depart the pier and head in their direction.
Fioni stood and stared and then swore beneath her breath. “It’s a patrol vessel. Faster than this fish tub.”
“Can we make the island?” Owen asked.
She gauged the distance yet remaining to Corcas Island and noted the fullness of their sail. “We have the better wind and a head start, but…maybe. It’ll be close.”
Owen’s heart was racing as he watched Fioni expertly handle the small fishing boat. Its sail crackled in the wind as she tacked back and forth in the swells of the bay. Soon, Corcas Island grew noticeably in size, its coastline still dark with the dawn light. But the patrol vessel was also much closer now.
He saw the arc of the two arrows before he heard the hissing sound of their flight.
“Get down!” he yelled.
Both missiles fell into the water twenty paces behind them. Soon, they were much closer to Cos Town, and he could see the wooden buildings—and the empty pier where they had last seen Fen Wolf.
“Fioni, the ship…”
“I know,” she said, bitterness in her voice. “The one time in her entire life that Kora actually obeyed an order. The gods must be howling with laughter.”
“Can Erland help us?”
Fioni shook her head. “He’d hand us over to the guards.” She yanked on one of the guidelines, altering the angle of the sail. The fishing boat turned ponderously away from the small town. “We make for the shoreline and the woods. We can try hiding inland.”
Owen stared at the sparse vegetation and rocks along the shoreline. What few trees and bushes he saw were stunted and windblown—but farther down the shoreline, a thick green forest grew, likely indicating the presence of water. If they could reach those trees…
Arrows flew over their heads, hitting the water before them. They were in range now. The patrol vessel, filled with at least a dozen Hishtari soldiers, bore down on them, and now he could make out the individual faces of the soldiers—including the gloating face of Igrimor.
“Damn him,” he muttered.
More arrows flew past. One cut a jagged hole in the sail. His head whipped back to the approaching forest, but it was still some ways away. And now, this close to the shoreline, the waves pushed against them, rocking them wildly.
“Brace yourselves!” Fioni yelled, seawater dripping off her face. “If I hit a submerged rock, we’ll rip our bottom out.”
“What then?” he yelled back.
Her teeth flashed in a grin. “Then you won’t have to worry about being captured.”
The small boat rose and fell, rose and fell. His stomach lurched with each impact, and he felt certain that the boat’s hull would break apart. With the heavy surf tossing both ships, though, their pursuers had to stop shooting arrows.
“Be ready!” Fioni yelled.
Owen tensed. Moments later, the boat hit the rocks of the shoreline, coming to a jarring halt in several feet of water.
“Hurry!” Fioni grabbed Gali’s arm and dragged her over the boat’s hull, splashing into the water and running for the shoreline.
As Owen jumped over, the water, up to his knees, almost threw him off balance on the slippery rocks beneath his bare feet. Somehow, though, he fought his way to the shore just behind the two women. The patrol vessel scraped to a halt, about twenty paces away. Hishtari soldiers were already clamoring over its hull, two with bows. Owen gauged the distance to the woods.
They’d never make it.
Gali moved behind Owen and Fioni. Owen handed Igrimor’s short sword to Fioni and then assumed a fighting stance, holding Sight-Bringer before him with both hands, wishing it were still complete and not just a broken foot of jagged steel.
“No one gets taken alive,” he said softly.
“Agreed,” Fioni replied.
The soldiers fanned out, holding curved swords before them. The two men with bows held nocked arrows.
Igrimor stood behind them, a satisfied smirk on his features. “They want you alive, Red Wolf. But no one cares about your friend—or you, Gali, you traitorous little bitch. You’re going to be a long time dying today.”
“We charge, agreed?” Fioni muttered beneath her breath.
Owen tensed. “Aye.”
“Look! Over there!” Gali yelled.
Owen didn’t have time to look as, at that moment, the two bowmen released their shafts. The arrows seemed so clear, as if they were hanging in the air. With one upward sweep of Sight-Bringer’s broken blade, he cut them both from the sky, knocking them away from him. That should have been impossible!
Fioni charged, a Fenyir war cry on her lips. He followed, screaming in rage as well. The soldiers, taken by surprise, hesitated, and then they were among them. He rammed the point of Sight-Bringer up into one man’s throat, just beneath his tiger mask. Another jabbed at him with a sword, but Owen spun the dying soldier about, throwing him into the other man before spinning behind him and cutting open the back of his neck to the bone. Then he realized the soldiers were running away, yelling to one another in fear. A moment later, he saw what Gali had already seen, the ship coming out from behind the trees, where it must have been hiding in an inlet—Fen Wolf!
The longship turned, its prow spinning about impossibly fast, spray flying through the air. The oars on the opposite side of the longboat rose out of the water as it leaned into its turn. Kora stood at the wolf’s-head prow, a Kur’teshi crossbow in her hands.
Owen slammed into one of the fleeing soldiers, knocking him to the sand and then stabbing him repeatedly in the spine. When he looked up again, the remaining soldiers were already in the water, splashing back toward their patrol vessel.
They didn’t stand a chance.
The crossbow-armed Fenyir warriors aboard Fen Wolf cut them down in the water. Only one man made it back to the ship, but he was pinned to the side of its hull by a crossbow bolt a moment later as he tried to climb back aboard. Moments later, Fen Wolf was alongside the patrol vessel, its crew leaping aboard the much-smaller ship.
Owen, his breathing wild, surveyed the surrounding beach and saw Fioni facing Igrimor, who stood not ten paces away, holding Gali’s arm, a knife against her throat.
“Stay back,” Igrimor said, his voice cracking with fear.
Fioni stepped closer to the man, despite his threat. “Let her go. You’ve lost.”
Igrimor’s eyes darted from Fioni to the Fenyir warriors now splashing through the water, and then rested upon Owen as he approached Fioni’s side.
Owen held Sight-Bringer against his thigh. “Be calm. No one else needs to die today.”
“Someone needs to die,” said Fioni softly.
Igrimor’s gaze darted toward Kora, who was approaching them, her loaded crossbow at her shoulder. “Stay back, or she dies!” Igrimor shrieked, forcing Gali’s head back with the edge of his knife.
“Igrimor,” said Owen. “Be careful. She’s the best slip-thief in Daenipor.”
Gali’s eyes met his and narrowed in confusion.
“Is everything all right, Kora?” Owen asked without taking his eyes from Igrimor.
“Better than all right,” said Kora.
“This bitch and I are leaving,” Igrimor said. “Don’t try to stop us.”
“We won
’t,” said Owen. “Take her and go.”
Then he saw what he had been waiting for, the glimmer of hope in Igrimor’s desperate eyes. “Here,” said Owen, “you can even take the magic sword with you.” He tossed Sight-Bringer into the sand at Gali’s feet. The white handle glittered in the early-morning sunlight.
Igrimor’s eyes darted to the sword—and Gali twisted in his grip, dropping down and slipping through his legs. He grasped at her, but Kora’s crossbow bolt punched through his forehead, sending him flying head over heels to lie motionless upon the blood-soaked sand.
“I warned you,” Fioni said, staring down at Igrimor’s corpse. “You should have taken my deal.”
Part 3:
The Rose Palace
Chapter 39
Kalishni’coor
Kalishni’coor sat on a litter in the throne room, just to the left of his idiot great-grandson, waiting for the emissaries of Serina to arrive. The boy that Kalishni’coor used as a flesh-vessel stood silently behind him, his mind shattered years ago. Decades ago, when he had first begun experimenting on the Fenyir children Serina had sent him, he had been trying to find a way to transfer his consciousness into them, achieving a form of immortality. The experiments, however, had failed, achieving only a form of symbiosis whereby he could use them to communicate. When Kalishni’coor finally died—and unless Serina turned him, it would be soon—his great intellect would be gone for all time. What a tragic waste, so bitterly unfair. He glanced at his fool of a great-grandson on his throne, pretending to be the Moon Lord. If only Kalishni’coor could be that young and handsome again.
Ancestors, how he hated that boy.
The guard captain entered, his frightened gaze flicking from Kalishni’coor to Kory’ander Dey upon the throne. Clearly, the man was uncertain as to whom he should address. He finally chose to speak to them both. “My lords, the visitors are here…but…there’s a problem. They refuse to give up their weapons. I could…make them.”
Kalishni’coor’s ancient lips curled into a sneer. The other day, three unarmed Fenyir warriors had ripped through the palace guards, slaying eight. It was no wonder the guard captain didn’t want to let in six armed warriors. However, forcefully disarming Serina’s emissaries wouldn’t do, either. Kory’ander Dey watched his great-grandfather, awaiting his response.
The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset) Page 51