The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset)

by William Stacey

  Why fight, she asks herself. Why resist?

  Because to give in is to let Serina win, to allow her to reclaim her heart, to wage an unstoppable war of blood and horror upon the Kingdom of Conarck—Danika’s kingdom. So she resists, knowing that her torment will only grow worse.

  In her dream, she calls out for her lover: “Brice, help me.”

  And then she hears his voice, faint, as though he’s far away. He’s trying to tell her something, something she somehow knows is important. Suddenly, she understands his words: “The half-man comes!”

  Danika bolted upright, her heart pounding. A moment of disorientation followed by the soul-crushing realization of where she was—still in her cell, covered in filth, naked, her skin scored in painful welts from the whip, the soles of her feet beaten with a cane. I’m going to die here, she realized.

  The torture chamber was dark, no daylight visible through its narrow slit windows—nighttime, then. How many days had she been here now, or was it weeks?

  Her constant companions, Fat Pimples, Thin Big Ears, and Old Hag, sat before the fire pit. The two men drank ale and conversed in low voices; Old Hag sat staring into the fire, knitting. Fat Pimples saw she was awake and said something to Thin Big Ears, who scratched his ass and answered with what must have been a joke, because Fat Pimples started cackling like an old hen. Danika shivered.

  Please, Owen. Please be far from here. Find Serina’s heart, and use Sight-Bringer on it. Don’t make this be for nothing.

  She sat against the wall, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs. Modwyn had been there, or at least she had dreamed Modwyn had been there. Now, she rarely knew what was real and what was her imagination. The last thing she remembered was hanging from her wrists while they whipped her. But that must have been hours ago. Then, unexpectedly, they had just left her be, leaving her in her cell for the entire day. However, the respite had given her time to think, to obsess. And she realized that the next time they came for her, she’d tell them everything. She had lasted as long as she could. I’m sorry, Brice. I’m not brave. I’m not like you, not a warrior. I can’t take any more of this. I can’t—

  Someone knocked on the chamber’s door, startling the torturers. They looked to one another with uncertainty; perhaps they weren’t expecting anyone this late at night. Old Hag put down her knitting. Fat Pimples climbed ponderously to his feet. Staring at the door, he called out in Hishtari, asking who was there.

  Silence.

  When someone pounded on the door once more, Fat Pimples stepped back in fright, prompting Thin Big Ears and Old Hag to laugh at him. Now, red-faced with anger, Fat Pimples strode to the door, demanding once again in Hishtari that the knocker identify himself. This time, a muted voice called out in response from the other side. Fat Pimples shook his head, sighed, and unbolted the heavy door. The moment Fat Pimples had slid the bolt back, the door flew open, smashing into the man and sending him flying.

  Modwyn stormed into the chamber, forcing a guard before him, a knife at the man’s throat.

  Thin Big Ears and Old Hag jumped to their feet just as Modwyn cut the guard’s throat so deeply, he must have hit the bone. Blood sprayed from the guard’s throat as Modwyn threw the dying man across the chamber into Thin Big Ears, knocking both men down. Danika scrambled forward, gripping the bars of the cell.

  Moving impossibly fast, Modwyn darted forward and gripped Old Hag’s face with one hand before smashing the back of her head into a wall, shattering her skull like an egg. Then he spun on Fat Pimples, who had risen to his knees. The torturer looked up just as Modwyn rammed his dagger into his forehead, shoving it through the man’s brain. Fat Pimples fell over, his eyes crossed in death. Thin Big Ears was on his feet, staggering for the door, but Modwyn caught him easily and forced him back against one of the worktables. Modwyn, his back to Danika, held Thin Big Ears’s head down onto the worktable with one hand while he used his other to pick up a pair of iron tongs. A moment later, Thin Big Ears’s muffled grunts were replaced by a horrified wet squeal. His arms flailed helplessly.

  “Now, you’re going to feel a little discomfort,” said Modwyn with a giggle before yanking his arm back. Danika heard flesh tearing, and Modwyn tossed something over his shoulder. It landed with a wet flop near the bars of her cage.

  She stared in horror at the torturer’s bloody tongue.

  Modwyn stepped away from the man, admiring his handiwork as Thin Big Ears squealed, holding his hands against his bloody mouth. Then Modwyn rummaged through the torture instruments on the table, finally settling on a bone saw. When Thin Big Ears saw what Modwyn held, he tried to run again but only made it a step before Modwyn gripped him by the hair and dragged him back to the workbench. She looked away in horror as Modwyn, humming to himself, began to saw the man’s head off.

  When he was finally done, Modwyn wiped his bloody palms against his bloody robes and then approached Danika’s cell. Blood covered his body, as if he had been rolling in pools of it. His one good eye glistened darkly, as if the world were an endlessly amusing place.

  “Hello, my lady of Wolfrey. Do you mind if I call you Danika? I feel we’re too close, you and I, for things like titles.”

  She stared at him in horror. “What do you—”

  “We’re going to have such fun together, you and I, Danika. In fact, after I’m done with you, you’re going to look back fondly on your time with these clumsy amateurs.”

  Chapter 45

  Owen

  Owen and the guard, a young man, stared at one another from only feet away. The guard’s eyes above his dragon mask widened in alarm, and his back stiffened. Owen let go of the wall with his right hand and gripped Sight-Bringer’s hilt, hanging against his chest. Power flowed through him as he ripped the blade free of its makeshift sheath. He thrust up with it, stabbing into the young man’s unprotected throat, just beneath his mask. The guard fell back, clutching at his wound as Owen hauled himself up and over the wall. He threw himself atop the injured man, driving him down upon the ramparts, where, holding him in place with a knee against his sternum, he stabbed him through the heart, going right through the padded rolls of his gambeson. The young man shuddered and died.

  Owen rolled away, sitting back against the parapets of the wall, breathing heavily.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Go to whatever afterlife awaits you.”

  He saw no other guards. The courtyard below was dark and empty, as if the fortress were abandoned. He forced himself to his feet and untied the rope around his waist, securing it around one of the elaborate stone crenellations. Leaning over the wall, he gave the rope three sharp tugs. The line ran at an angle beneath the bridge, to where the others were waiting.

  Hurry, Fioni. Hurry!

  The rope went taut with another’s weight. Moments later, he saw Fioni appear from beneath the bridge as she quickly scaled the wall. She was no free-climber, but the woman could fly up a rope. As she reached the top, he gripped her hand and helped her over. Astra and Herlin were already coming up behind her.

  While Fioni waited for the other two, Owen stripped the dead guard of his gambeson and boots, but both were far too small for him. Sighing, he hefted the man’s curved Hishtari sword in his hand, getting a feel for its balance.

  In moments, Astra and Herlin were over the wall as well. Fioni untied the rope and let it fall then heaved the corpse of the guard over as well. The corpse made barely a splash as it hit the waters.

  “Well,” whispered Fioni to Owen, “there’s only one way out of this place now. The Water Gate’s that way.” She pointed across the courtyard below and to the south.

  He stiffened, drawing in a deep breath. “Fioni, I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes tightened. “For what?”

  “I’m going after Lady Danika.”

  She gripped his forearm. “The plan was to open the gate and let the others in. Once we’ve taken the palace, we can rescue her and Vory.”

  He shook his head. �
��When the fighting starts, they might kill her.”

  “She may already be dead. And how will you even find her?”

  “I don’t know, but I have to try.”

  “Owen… “

  “I have to do this, Fioni. I’m sorry.”

  He had expected her to be furious, so when she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, it took him completely by surprise.

  “Go find her,” she whispered. “Try not to die. And if you happen to see my first mate, be a dear and save him as well.”

  Without another word, she slipped away, leading the other two to a set of stone steps that led down to the dark courtyard below. They moved quickly, bent over and keeping a low profile, shadows in the night, and in moments, they were gone from sight, leaving him alone on the ramparts.

  His gaze swept the dark courtyard, the palace buildings, the many stone towers. Few lights burned this night. I need to find her now. I have only minutes at best.

  Holding his sword in his right hand and Sight-Bringer in his left, he made his way along the wall’s walkway, moving toward the nearest tower. The entrance to the tower was unlocked, and he slipped within, finding himself on a landing with a set of steps spiraling downward. Slowly making his way down the stairs, he came out upon a dark hallway. He hesitated, trying to decide which way to go. The palace was silent and dark, but Sight-Bringer helped him just enough to see his way. I need to find someone, a servant or a guard, and force them to tell me where the prisoners are kept. If not, I’ll just stumble around in the—

  A man appeared at the far end of the hallway, wreathed in shadow. He stood there, staring silently at Owen. Owen’s breath caught in his throat, and a chill ran down his spine.

  It was Keep-Captain Brice Awde.

  Chapter 46

  Danika

  Modwyn secured Danika to the rack, using a small strap of leather to tie her wrists together above her head, leaving her legs free. Then he cranked the wheel of the rack, jerking it upright. The chains rattled as the rack pivoted up, raising Danika until she faced him, her legs dangling. He stepped back, his eyes running up and down her body, his breathing heavy. When she stared into his face, she knew he was mad. Perhaps it was the loss of his eye, perhaps it was whatever had made him so strong and fast, but Modwyn’s one remaining eye now gleamed with a feral insanity, devoid of reason or humanity.

  “She wants you, you know,” Modwyn said, leaning in so that his lips were near her ear, his fingers trailing along the skin of her throat. “She’s promised to drain you of your blood.” He licked her neck, and she shuddered. “I wonder what you’ll taste like.”

  “Please,” she begged. “Please don’t do this. You’re a kingdom man. Think of the innocents she’ll kill.”

  He laughed, his bloody palm now resting possessively atop one of her breasts. “You still don’t know who I am, do you? I was never one of you, never a kingdom man. I only sought employment as your family’s physician so that I could get close to you and your foul kin. Your father didn’t get sick—I poisoned him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my real name is Du’Greywynne, not Du’Aig.”

  She stared at him in confusion. “What…I don’t—”

  “Oh, you stupid northern cow—I’m her great-nephew.”

  “I…her great-nephew?”

  He removed his hand from her breast and gripped the skin of her cheek, pinching it painfully. “You know, as it turns out, I owe your family a debt of gratitude. You can’t imagine how shocked I was when your father admitted his crime, confessing how Serina still lived when he fled the battle in the Great Crypt and the cave-in that trapped her!” Modwyn laughed. “I knew then my gods were rewarding me for my patience. I had to suffocate your cowardly father with his own pillow, of course, but that was satisfying as well. Later, when I cut your idiot brother’s throat and fed his blood to Serina—waking her from her coma—I had achieved greatness. Think about it—I’ve killed both your father and your brother. What shall I do to you, I wonder?”

  “Burn in the afterlife, bastard!”

  “Where is Sight-Bringer? Where is that idiot Horse-Boy? Does he have the sword? Is he in the city, or has he abandoned you as well?”

  She said nothing. He smirked as he turned away and approached the fire pit. Her fear spiked when he picked up one of the red-hot pokers. Looking over his shoulder at her, he grinned like a fiend and waved the poker in the air. Unable to help herself, she whimpered in fear, pulling on the strap holding her arms above her head.

  “Do you want to know why she had her childe take my eye? Because of you. She blamed me for losing you and the sword.” He shook his head. “So unfair.”

  “What are you… please, don’t. Please.”

  He approached again, the heat of the iron unbearably hot near her skin. His one eye shining with madness, he brought the tip of the poker closer to her face—and she understood. Her courage shattered, she tried to scream, but with his other hand, he rammed a filthy rag into her mouth, shoving it in deeply with his fingers.

  “I think both of your eyes for one of mine is a fair trade, don’t you?”

  Chapter 47

  Fioni

  The map of the palace Gali had drawn in the sand had been surprisingly accurate, Fioni noted with approval. The young woman had a keen mind and an excellent memory, and Fioni could use a crew member like her. After this was all over, she’d have to convince her stay—if they survived the night.

  Fioni led Astra and Herlin around the inner ward, keeping to the dark walls. She saw no one but, once, heard boot steps on the ramparts above, signaling the presence of at least one guard. They remained frozen until long after the boot steps had drifted away, and then slid along toward the far wall with the tunnel leading into the East Barbican, where the Water Gate was located. When she reached the tunnel, she dropped to a knee and peered through it, looking for sentries. However, like the inner ward, the tunnel was dark and silent.

  “Where are the guards?” Astra whispered.

  Fioni reached behind her and squeezed the other woman’s forearm. “They’re here, trust me.”

  She slipped into the tunnel, keeping up against its cold stones. At its end, she once again dropped to her knee and surveyed the small courtyard. She saw wooden sheds, storage buildings, and a stable, but not a single guard.

  “No sentries?” whispered Astra.

  “Shh,” hushed Fioni, her eyes darting about.

  At the opposite side of the small courtyard, a stone ramp led down into darkness—the Water Gate. Astra’s right. Where are the guards? This makes no sense. Fioni stayed like that for long minutes, listening intently, her eyes scanning back and forth among the shadows. The only sound she heard was a horse’s soft neighing. Pinpricks of warning ran down her neck. What am I missing?

  She stared at the ramp leading to the Water Gate. By now, Kora and the others should be waiting on the other side—if Kora had managed to find her way through the delta without becoming grounded. She couldn’t leave them out there—a guard might see them from the walls—but she also couldn’t believe the Hishtari would leave a gate, even one in their rear, unguarded. Where are they?

  Squeezing the sharkskin-wrapped handle of Wave’s Kiss, she made her decision. It’s time to tack into the wind, Fioni.

  Committed now to action, she slipped out into the courtyard, heading straight for the ramp, Astra and Herlin right behind her. The horses neighed again, but she was almost at the top of the ramp. Wide enough for a wagon to pass through, the ramp sloped down to a set of thick wooden doors, banded in iron, with a heavy wooden bar the width of her hand holding them secure. She needed to get those gates open.

  Please be there, Kora. Please.

  She hurried down the ramp, but her foot suddenly slipped on stones slick with something wet, and she fell, sliding forward the rest of the way, dropping her sword to clatter on the stones of the ramp.

  Gods damn it!

  Rising to her hands and knees, she now saw the dar
k form of the guard’s corpse, lying at the base of the doors, his throat cut in half all the way through his jugular, his blood sprayed across the stones of the ramp. Astra and Herlin scurried down to join her, and Astra offered Fioni her hand.

  When she heard the soft clatter of horses’ hooves, her head darted up to the top of the ramp, where several men suddenly appeared, leading a group of horses. The clouds drifted away from the moon, revealing the startled face of her cousin Galas Gilt-Mane and the four warriors with him.

  In the bright moonlight, Galas’s long hair glowed with a silvery sheen. “Well, dip me in sheep’s shit. Hello, Fioni.”

  His men stepped away from the horses, drawing their weapons and spreading out. She only recognized one of them: Hringol, Galas’s first mate, a demon with an axe.

  Astra and Herlin, their swords held before them, took up fighting stances on either side of Fioni. “What orders, Fioni?” Herlin whispered.

  They were outnumbered, trapped against the gate, and Fioni stared at Galas’s gloating face. His men edged closer, and she blindly felt about for Wave’s Kiss. When her fingers touched nothing but stone, a wave of panic welled against her, threatening to wash her away. But when, a moment later, her fingers brushed against the pulsing warmth of the blood gem in the sword’s hilt, a coating of ice hardened her resolve. As she climbed back to her feet, her eyes still locked upon Galas’s, the tip of the sword—her father’s sword, her grandfather’s sword, her great-grandfather’s sword, now her sword—scraped against the stones.

  “Fioni,” said Astra, concern in her voice. “What are we doing?”

  Fioni inhaled deeply and assumed the high guard, her sword held with both hands above her head. “We’re killing these men.”