Kingmakers, The (Vampire Empire Book 3)

by Clay Griffith Susan Griffith

  “Well, what's one more unsolvable problem?” Adele said with a quirky smile. Her hair was plaited into a thick braid against the wind.

  “I had little choice,” he offered. “She wanted me to kill you.”

  Adele practiced a thrust, imagining she was skewering Flay. “That is tiresome of her. I suppose we could announce Simon had died, and hold a funeral.”

  Greyfriar cleared his throat.

  “Yes?” she asked, brandishing the cutlass. “Was there more to the bargain?”

  “I have to bring a piece of him to her.”

  “A piece of him? A piece of my brother? How large a piece will satisfy Flay?”

  “I imagine a hand will do.”

  “How fortunate he has two.” The empress came en garde in fifth position, prompting Greyfriar to raise his weapon. She struck suddenly with three moves planned. She swung high, bringing Greyfriar's blade up for a parry, intent on overpowering his lighter sword. Metal clashed. The rapier flew off her cutlass. She dropped low for a sweep across the midsection. His sword was there fast, as she knew it would be, so she surged forward with the cutlass drawn tight against her, sharp edge toward Greyfriar, pressing his long sword flat against his chest and pushing the razor edge of the cutlass across his throat. If the cutlass had actually been sharpened, he would have suffered a vicious deep cut, likely debilitating.

  As it was, Greyfriar exclaimed, “Amazing. The perfect moves. As long as you have a cutlass and your enemy is a human carrying a rapier.”

  Adele smirked with one eyebrow arching. “Well, you may have noticed that I do have a cutlass and my opponent is carrying a rapier.”

  “You're right.” Greyfriar saluted with his sword. “I would have been dead if I was human.”

  “Even so,” Adele countered, with an attempt at levity. “Such a wound could bleed out a vampire as well as a human. Just admit that I was prepared for you.”

  Greyfriar settled into his ready stance and waited. Adele didn't appreciate the challenge in his action. She had done what she needed to defeat him, which he recognized, but then added some pointless technicalities to lessen her accomplishment. The last person she expected nitpicking from was Greyfriar.

  Adele came at him again with a precision strike. He parried and was gone, flipping over her head, putting one hand on her shoulder, and landing behind her. She was already spinning, expecting a blow to her head from the basket hilt of his sword, but he grabbed her hair and pulled her down. Her feet left the ground and his strength bore her to the hard rooftop. One of his knees pressed onto her chest and the other pinned her sword hand. Greyfriar ripped the cloth from his face and Adele saw his fangs bared. His mouth yawned open wide and his head surged toward her. There was a gentle rake of hard teeth and then soft lips against her neck.

  In her ear, he whispered, “I pray you don't ever forget what my kind can do.”

  “I thought this was only a friendly sparring match,” Adele chided.

  Gareth shifted his weight off her and fingered the tendrils of her hair that had escaped the braid. Adele felt her irritation slipping away as she stared at his unmasked face and watched his gaze playing over her hair. His eyes were tight with sadness. And, he was right in his lesson. In reality, a vampire would not have a rapier and her victory against Greyfriar was only because she knew he wouldn't use his natural weapons against her. She had used that knowledge and crowed about it. There were times her overconfidence annoyed even her. Touché, she thought.

  Adele heard a strange noise. Gareth looked around for the source. He pointed toward the sea, where a naval airship was passing off the coast, within easy sight of the palace. The crew lined the rail cheering at the empress and her consort on the roof. Adele rose to her feet with a hand from Gareth. She raised her cutlass to the ship in salute. The roar grew even louder. Gareth replaced the cloth over his face.

  With a laugh she said, “You realize they thought they had caught us in an intimate moment? They only saw me reclined, and you bent over me tenderly. The stories will begin to circulate of the empress's romantic trysts on the roof of the palace. They don't know you had just pummeled me and threatened to drink my blood.”

  “I'm sorry,” Greyfriar replied. “It was ridiculously stupid of me. I too can never forget what I am, or where I am.”

  She took his arm. “You can take the vampire out of the north, but you can't take the north out of the vampire. And I would have killed you with my first attack, right?”

  The lines around his shrouded eyes wrinkled with a smile. “You would have incapacitated me. And you could have dispatched me with your typical bloody efficiency before I recovered.”

  “That's all a young woman wants to hear.” Adele kissed him through the cloth. She took his rapier and tested it. “I like your sword. The balance is perfect. But why do you prefer a rapier? With your strength, a crushing weapon would make more sense.”

  “Crushing is almost useless against vampires. It's more efficient to penetrate. If you destroy our heart, we die.”

  She touched the center of his chest with the tip of the rapier.

  He looked down, and then held out his arms helplessly.

  Adele shook her head. Her slender hand replaced the point of his sword and she kissed the spot where it had rested.

  He enfolded her in an embrace.

  A singular warmth spread through her. Then she sighed. “Unfortunately, I have yet another meeting with Prime Minister Kemal, Lord Aden, and the War Materiel Committee in an hour, so we had better discuss how you intend to murder my brother without actually killing him.”

  “Then let us just spar. No lessons, just simple exercise. It will clear our minds.”

  Greyfriar crossed to the weapon rack and pulled a rapier similar to his. He then stood facing Adele and came en garde, as did she. They began to fence, their blades flashing and ringing. A few steps one way, a few back the other. Lunge, parry, riposte. Again. They fell into a pattern that matched each other so cleanly it seemed scripted.

  Adele watched his long limbs whip almost as if they were an extension of the sword. His movements had both speed and a raw strength that was very different from Mamoru's purist skills. Her teacher seemed hardly to move at all; Greyfriar was a swirling mass of action. She studied what she could see of his face, wishing his eyes were uncovered so she could see the intensity and concentration in them.

  “So, I'm assuming,” Adele breathed hard as they fenced, “we can find a suitable hand from the morgue, and that will satisfy Flay.”

  “It isn't that simple. Flay knows Simon's scent.”

  “Then how? Besides the obvious, which is out of the question.”

  “I noticed when you were in the hospital, they gave you blood from bottles.”

  “Yes.”

  “I propose doing as you say and finding a suitable hand, then removing some of Simon's blood and soaking the hand in it. It should be enough to deceive Flay.”

  “That's gruesome.”

  “Will Simon object?”

  “Oh no,” Adele said. “He'll love it.”

  “We'll need a lot of blood to make her believe that he is dead. We'll take some of his clothes drenched in it too, as well as the hand. She'll assume with that much loss of blood he will have died of grievous injuries.”

  “It might work.” Adele lunged forward with a remise, perfectly executing a number of short attacks in quick succession, not allowing any quarter, but Gareth deflected them all.

  “Good. Of course we'll need to make Simon dead to the public. It must appear a vampire murdered him. Cesare and Flay have agents everywhere. If your old prime minister was in league with London, we can safely assume there are others here still passing information northward.”

  “I pray that's not true. We combed through Lord Kelvin's papers and, as meticulous as they were, if there were other agents in Equatoria, he would've mentioned it. Knowing Kelvin, he would have registered their pay slips. He was incapable of not keeping records of everything.”


  “All of Cesare's spies may not be part of the same network. Greyfriar has agents across Europe; they don't all know each other. It's safer for them that way. You must decide whom you trust, and limit the most sensitive information to that group. But there may also be information you tell no one, even me.”

  “I trust you.” Adele began to retreat, now unable to maintain her speed of riposte before Greyfriar's tireless attack. “And General Anhalt. And Mamoru.”

  “Then the truth about Simon can go no further. To everyone else, he must be dead.”

  Adele's voice was nearly lost in ragged breathing. “King Msiri. We'll need his help too.” She stumbled and fell with a grunt.

  Greyfriar was on one knee beside her. “Are you all right?”

  The empress could barely answer with one hand on her heaving chest. Her face was bright red, but she shook her head and forced herself to say, “I'm fine. Just tired. I'm fine.”

  He went and dipped a cup of water from a nearby pitcher. “You are exhausted. You shouldn't be so winded. Are you sleeping at all?”

  She drank deeply, huffing for breath, and gave a wet cough. “Not much, no. There's so much to do. Dispatches from the front. Meetings. Speeches. Training with Mamoru.”

  He studied her intently. “Adele, you look many years older than when I first saw you.”

  “That's so sweet, thank you.” She glared up at him wearily, shaking her head. “Let me give you a little tip. Human women don't like to be told they look old.” But she had noticed it in the mirror too. There were darkening circles under her eyes and creases showing on her forehead. Even more, her lush hair seemed different, wirier and more brittle to the touch.

  Adele stood as quickly as she could muster to put him at ease, but it was just pretense. She was weary, and it wasn't from fencing practice. She wiped her perspiring face with a towel. “If I look old to you now, what happens when I'm sixty, but you still look the same?”

  “Nothing will happen,” he replied with no hint of falseness. “I will still be here. I only said it because you seem to be suffering. Should I not tell you?”

  “No. I want you to say something if you think there's a problem. You just could tell me in a nicer way.”

  Greyfriar responded, “I adore you, and you look very tired.”

  “That's better.” Adele laughed and handed his rapier back.

  He swept the sword back into its scabbard. “There is one more thing that I learned from Flay that will impact us.”

  She groaned. “Yes?”

  “My father is dead.”

  Adele heard an unusual catch in his voice, and her heart dropped. She took him in her arms. “Oh Gareth, I'm so sorry. I know he meant a great deal to you.”

  “Once, he did. But he hasn't been that person for a long time.” He put his arms around her. “His death wasn't unexpected, but it complicates the immediate future. On the other hand, it gave me the perfect sparkling object to dangle in front of Flay. I told her that I intend to kill my brother and become king.”

  Adele pulled back with eyes full of surprise.

  Greyfriar quickly held up a calming hand. “It's merely a ploy. Flay has dreamed of being my war chief for centuries. She's more likely to give me what I want if she thinks that great prize is looming on the horizon.” He paused to think. “If I have the chance to kill Cesare, I will. But odds are he will be heavily guarded at all times from now on.”

  “Well, in any case, you're not likely to see Cesare any time soon, are you?”

  “Yes, actually. He has called a coven in London to choose a new king.”

  “You're not going, are you?”

  “I must.” He pressed a finger against her lips as she began to argue. “Adele, there is no need. We both have our duties that we can't avoid. No amount of worrying will stop them. And whether I go or not, the outcome will be the same. My brother will be king, and my days of freedom in the north as Prince Gareth will be at an end. Cesare will want to have me killed, but I suspect he'd prefer to wait until he is the king so it looks like he won because he's better, not because he was the only choice.”

  Adele gasped. “What about everyone in Edinburgh? Morgana and the rest of your subjects? What will Cesare do to them?”

  “He will obliterate them.” Greyfriar took a long breath. “I need to move them out of harm's way before he is crowned. After I get what information I can from Flay, I will return to Edinburgh to help my people. Most I will send into the countryside, into the Highlands, where they will be somewhat safer at least. There are desperate times ahead.”

  Adele wanted to ask Gareth to stay in Alexandria, not to return to the north, not to meet with Flay again, and certainly not to go back into the domain of his brother. She knew, however, that he wouldn't listen to her, and more, she could never ask it. He was a prince, and a decent man. He had obligations that were more important than risk to his life. She knew that all too well.

  Adele almost offered to protect his subjects with her geomancy but realized she couldn't stay with them for any extended time. It would be safer for them to evacuate. At least that way they still had a fighting chance to build a life.

  Instead, she said, “Don't worry. We'll think of something. I won't leave those people in Edinburgh to your brother's good graces. Shall I cancel my appointments today? Would you like to be together?”

  “I've made a peace of sorts with my father's death. Don't alter your plans. Anything that pushes the war forward is important, so attend your meetings. We'll see each other later.”

  “We will. In fact, come to me late this afternoon. I have arranged a gift for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “This afternoon.” Adele kissed him on the cheek, holding her embrace for a long moment. Then she strode from the roof. She knew Greyfriar was watching her, so she was careful to hold her head high and not show any of the frailty she felt.

  Adele sequestered herself within her small garden located on the northern side of the palace. The meeting with the War Materiel Committee had finally come to a bickering halt, and she was relieved to have just over two hours before her next official function, this time with the Phoenix Society, an organization of Equatorian matrons of influence, at the newly erected War Memorial. Her brother, Simon, would meet her here in an hour. Until then, Adele was determined to have a quiet moment, desperate to meditate and forget momentarily about the terrifying prospect of Gareth returning to London. Kicking her shoes off with decadent abandon, she settled into a long chair beneath a lemon tree and stretched out her legs with a sigh. She lay utterly still for a few minutes, just because she could, although she half expected a knock at the gate from someone clamoring for her attention.

  Adele had brought her mother's leather-bound journal. As she read she was reminded that her mother's theoretical, almost whimsical approach to geomancy was at odds with Mamoru's very strict concrete science. His red corrective marks were scattered liberally throughout the notebook. This amused Adele because Mamoru's harsh scrawls were always overwritten with Pareesa's bored doodles in the margins.

  One note in particular Adele found herself reading over and over. It had to do with the concept of pathfinding using ley lines. Her mother's charming little sketches of spiders in their webs stretched and draped over the page. Mamoru had tapped this particular skill when he tracked Adele to the Mountains of the Moon last year, after she had set off a geomantic event equivalent to the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius. The sheer size of that event sent shockwaves through the ley lines, and Mamoru had felt the shivers in the web of the Earth as he waited passively on a rift in the Sahara.

  Pareesa also strained orthodoxy with her thoughts on pathfinding, surmising that perhaps such a skill could be reversed. If one could receive information, one could also seek information. She theorized that one could use geomancy to move through the webs and seek out other spiders. Mamoru marked the section heavily with comments like “Please stay on topic!” Pareesa's ideas were definitely a different slant on geomancy
compared to the teachings of Mamoru, which centered on summoning the Earth's energy through a rift and channeling it in the most destructive way possible.

  The temptation of reaching out and tracking Mamoru was devilishly appealing, just to see if it was possible. However, if Adele succeeded, he'd only be angry that she had tried something so unconventional without his supervision. Still, the thought that she could sense others like herself was alluring.

  Adele's mind was still swirling with the concept when she noted the time. Simon was late. The boy's head was always in the clouds, and something had most likely distracted him. Usually she wouldn't have been so vexed, but today they were honoring those who had fought and died in Operation Bengal, named for Simon, and he should be there. In a palace this large there was no telling where he was, and Simon was not the sort to tell anyone what mischief he was up to.

  “Captain Shirazi!” she called out.

  The soldier appeared as if by magic. “Majesty?”

  “Prince Simon is tardy. Please send someone to locate him, if at all possible.”

  As Shirazi went to see to the duty, Adele had a wicked thought. Her brother wore a crystal talisman. Adele had given it to him last year right before her disastrous wedding. She wondered if she could find him by tracking the crystal. Her mother had thought it possible.

  Adele would perform just a small test. It was no more destructive or harmful than holding a stone in her hand and determining its point of creation. A parlor trick really. It wasn't the type of activity that weakened her. In fact, the smaller exercises actually renewed her. Plus, Gareth was nowhere close by; such a small event wouldn't affect him, and would leave little residue in her for long.

  She covered her own talisman with her hand. Smells and colors danced before her, singing with quiescent power. Adele felt the urge to wade into the energies, but refrained, not sensing the need to go so deep. She could find what she wanted on the surface with little guidance. Just as in Grenoble, the ley lines flared into life around her. Breathing slowly and deliberately, she began to apprehend patterns within a background cacophony of sounds and smells. She plumbed it for a familiar resonance.