Kingmakers, The (Vampire Empire Book 3)

by Clay Griffith Susan Griffith

  “We have no idea how long the ruse will last.”

  “So be it. We must all sacrifice in time of war. My reputation is little to ask.”

  “Wait!” Simon shouted, throwing his arms up. “I don't want to die sneaking off to some show. How about I'm protecting Adele.”

  She said, “That's nice, but it has to happen somewhere private. No one can see you die except one of us here in this room.”

  “Oh wait!” the boy announced. “What about this story? We're up on the roof, practicing fencing. Me, Adele, and Greyfriar. I am teaching Greyfriar a few of my moves, when Prince Gareth swoops out of the dark and attacks.” Simon swept up Pet under the front legs and acted as if the cat had pounced on him. The boy dropped to the floor, thrashing from side to side, pretending to be struggling in combat with the semiconscious cat. “While Greyfriar tries to get Adele to safety, I fight Gareth off. Screeching. Clawing. Moving like lightning. But he's no match for me!” Simon jumped to his feet and leapt around the room, swinging the rapier, causing everyone to duck or shrink back against a wall. “But finally, no matter how hard I fight, no matter how many times I strike him, he will not die. Finally, even I can fight no longer.” The boy dropped dramatically to one knee as if struck. He took Pet, who was beginning to grow annoyed, and held him up to his face. “Aagh! He hovers over me with his claws and teeth dripping with my blood. But I must hold him off a bit longer. He tries to break away to reach Adele, but I slide in front of him. He curses at me: ‘Stand aside! I am Gareth of Scotland!’ And I reply with a smile, ‘And I am Simon, prince of Bengal. I would like you to meet my dagger!’ With my last breath…one…last…blow! We slam together. Claw and blade!” He slid the flat of the blade harmlessly along the cat's abdomen. Pet finally growled and sprang free from the boy's hands, but he only went a few steps and collapsed contentedly to the floor. “Prince Gareth cannot long withstand my savage strikes, and so he seizes me and flies high into the air.” Simon gurgled and jabbed the sword into the empty air before collapsing next to the cat. “Adele is safe, but I am mortally wounded. And due to the cruelty of bloody Prince Gareth, I die.”

  The empress put her hand to her tight mouth, struggling to fight tears. But it was futile. She felt the drops slipping down her face as she stared at the little body on the carpet, his chest heaving from exertion. The men in the room watched him with smiles of admiration, which brought her emotions out even stronger.

  Greyfriar pointed at the sprawled boy. “That's a good story. I like it much better than the first one.”

  “Fine.” Adele turned away briefly to wipe her eyes. Then she knelt next to her brother, who was still supine on the floor. “Simon, would you like to take Pet to Katanga? Look at the lazy beast. He's growing bored and fat, and needs adventure.”

  The prince laid a hand on the cat, who rolled on his back inviting a belly rub. The boy pressed his face against the cat's fuzzy midsection and shook his head back and forth with a laugh. Then he lifted the languid feline, kissed him on top of the head, and handed him to Adele.

  “I'll be too busy becoming a killing machine to take care of him,” Simon said with his gaze locked on his sister. “And with everyone away, you'll need him.”

  She squeezed the purring cat and cupped her brother's cheek with her other hand. He had grown up without her even noticing. He stood over her in a protective posture. Adele took a deep breath and sat cross-legged on the floor, facing her inner circle. “Gentlemen, shall we proceed?”

  Greyfriar and Msiri grasped Simon's shoulders while General Anhalt stood by proudly with hands clasped behind his back. The boy looked at each with admiration. The young prince had lost his father months before at the hands of Flay, but he had new fathers now who would die before they failed him.

  Adele studied her brother's face out of fear that it could be a very long time before she saw him again.

  GARETH WATCHED ADELE as she stared out of the window toward the open sea. A day that was bright and clear had ended, and now darkness stretched before them. Her mouth was a grim line, and her hands clenched the sill as if she dangled from it for dear life.

  In the span of bare weeks, her life had been shaken to the core. The fall of her beloved Mamoru had come without warning. The exposure of Lord Aden had revealed that the peril of betrayal still existed. Simon was already on an airship on his way to Katanga for an unknown period of time. Tomorrow she would make the public announcement of her brother's “murder.” And Gareth's own imminent departure for the north weighed heavily on her. Where once their days had been bright with promise, even if false, now they seemed forever mired in politics, deceit, and death.

  He stepped behind her and placed his arms around her. She did not react or lean back into him, as if afraid to allow herself to enjoy the moment.

  “Everything will turn out fine, you'll see,” Gareth told her.

  “I can't sense him.”

  “Sense who?”

  “Simon. He's too far away. I lost him a few hours ago.” A shuddering sigh escaped Adele, and she turned to Gareth. “He's out there alone. He's just a little boy.”

  “He isn't alone, and he isn't a little boy. Simon is a young man, if you haven't noticed. And he has King Msiri to help him. Please don't worry. He'll return.”

  “What about you? You're off to the arms of Flay and Cesare. This could be the last time—” Her throat convulsed, unable to voice her dismal thought.

  “Shhh.” He stared into her eyes, sparkling like part coal and part diamonds. “I would enjoy having a meal together before I leave.”

  “It's not like you can eat it.”

  “I enjoy chewing as much as the next man. Flavor is overrated.”

  His jest didn't sway her bitterness. “I'm not hungry.”

  “You have to eat.”

  “I'm not in the mood to talk pleasantries to anyone,” she insisted.

  That Gareth understood, after all he was a consummate brooder. He kissed her throat. Her skin was cold. His warm breath made her shiver. He picked up his scarf where it lay with his gear and lightly wound it around her neck. “Here. Keep this. It will keep you warm while I am away.”

  Her hands reached for it at first annoyed, but then relishing it. The lonely nights without him frightened her. Her fingers crushed the cloth. She didn't trust her voice, so she said nothing. But her chest shuddered with the swell of emotion within her. He stood with her for a long time, both of them staring out into the black.

  Finally, he said, “I'll leave you alone. I have something to take care of, but then I'll come back.”

  Adele started to remove his scarf, but he held up a hand. Gareth pulled one of her long red Persian scarves from the back of the door and wrapped it around his face.

  “I'll wear one of yours,” he said. “This gives me a bit of color, yes?”

  Adele forced a wan smile, but clearly her heart was not in it. He drew in her scent from the scarf as he padded out of the suite into the hallway, where he found Zarina pacing back and forth.

  “Is the empress all right?” the maid asked, eyeing the colorful cloth around his face.

  Greyfriar nodded. “She has much on her mind.”

  Zarina wrung her hands. “She has barely eaten in two days. Almost three. She cannot go on like this.”

  “She will come around.” He turned to go.

  Zarina clutched at his cloak. “Please, sir. Do whatever you can do to make her take a meal.”

  Greyfriar could smell the fear in her. The servant had always been hesitant around him; his masked face did not affect all humans positively. That she was asking this favor showed just how distraught she was over Adele. He reached out to her to reassure her, but she jerked back her hand. “I will do what I can. Don't worry.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She curtsied before him.

  Greyfriar headed toward the bowels of the palace and the kitchen. It was well past dinnertime, and the staff had concluded their work and had headed for their quarters, intending a good evening's
rest before starting all over again tomorrow. The kitchen was quiet, and Greyfriar liked it. However, he had no idea where anything was. A plaintive cry at his feet attracted his attention. Pet was curling between his legs, apparently hungry, as he usually was. Most likely the cat was a regular in the kitchens, looking for scraps from a softhearted cook.

  The cat gave another meow and then sat staring in front of a cupboard. Greyfriar took it as a sign. Reaching down to scrub the cat between the ears, he opened the cupboard. There were dishes inside, including one that had Pet's scent on it. He pulled it out and the cat grew more excited, only he didn't know what to put it in. He figured the cat would tell him eventually. He had more pressing issues, and he started opening more of the various panels looking for what he needed. Then he spied something familiar.

  A teapot. His mind cast back to the memory of Adele making tea on the floor of the British Museum when she had been a prisoner of the dreaded prince of Scotland. It brought a quick smile about his lips. She had used a helmet to boil water then, but the teapot was ideal. He had seen many of his subjects use them. His mind made up, he proceeded to explore the rest of the kitchen with a curious Pet trailing along behind him.

  He found drying herbs hanging from nails in a rafter, long bundles tied together with thin string. It wasn't long before he found an herb that was reminiscent of the one Adele used so long ago. The smell of mint was unmistakable. Their brittle leaves crumbled under his thick fingers, coating the tabletop in a rough dust. Grumbling under his breath, he painstakingly labored to separate a few whole leaves from the stalks and place them in the teapot. Soon the sharp scent filled the kitchen.

  Finally he had enough to brew a decent pot of tea for Adele, and he had only to find water to boil. There was a spigot over a ceramic sink, and he filled the teapot nearly to the brim. He brought it over to a massive stove along one wall. Thankfully the stove was still warm. It was a large squat contraption made of cast iron adorned with elaborate nickel filigree work at the corners. He had a similar one in Edinburgh, though he had never had to deal with it. Morgana kept it running when needed. Pet flopped in front of it, stretching out on his back and basking in the warmth.

  Stepping over the sprawled cat, he put the sloshing teapot on the stove and sat and watched. Half an hour later, with Pet languishing in his lap, he was still watching. The water was warmer, but not hot. Annoyed, he stood and lifted a circular lid from the top of the stove to peer in. The coals beneath were mostly grey ash with just the hint of a glow at the center. Growling, he seized an iron rod and jabbed them. The glow intensified, but it didn't get much hotter. He stalked about the kitchen until he found the coal bin. He grabbed as much coal as his hands could carry and dumped it into the hole. Gripping the iron poker tightly, he stirred the coals again, waiting for them to catch fire. When none did, he went back to the coal chute. As carefully as he could he added more coal, but the black soot was getting everywhere. Using the sleeve of his jacket he tried to wipe down the stovetop with little result. Pet sneezed violently as coal dust settled over him. He jumped up on the counter to get out of the way and yowled in displeasure.

  To Greyfriar's delight, the heat was building and the coals were starting to glow. He put the iron lid back on the stove with his bare hand and then shoved the container of water directly over it.

  “Ha,” he declared triumphantly to the dubious cat.

  He remembered Morgana throwing eggs in boiling water to make a meal. He could take care of both things at one time. A basket of eggs sat meekly upon a shelf. He grabbed a couple of them, but immediately they crushed in his hand. Surprised by how delicate they were, he cleaned his hands as best he could, leaving a runny sooty mess in the sink, and everywhere else. This time, ever so carefully, his fingers plucked four eggs, as they seemed rather small, and gingerly carried them to the pot of water, which was just steaming on the stove top. He placed them into the teapot, and two eggs immediately cracked and exuded filmy whites.

  Scowling, he left them to boil and located a loaf of crusty bread. Greyfriar used his own dagger to cut a hunk of it off. At least this action was familiar. He offered a piece to the cat, who sniffed and walked away. Apparently, Pet did not eat bread. Greyfriar was still pleased with his work, and he brought the nicely sliced bread back to the stove. To his annoyance the water still wasn't boiling, just steaming. He sat down to wait. Soon he had to remove his jacket, as the air was getting warm.

  Standing by his empty dish, Pet was growing impatient and griped to Greyfriar.

  “You've been here longer,” the vampire said. “You should know where things are.”

  Pet just stared, emerald eyes boring into him. Morgana used to feed the cats milk when they stared like that. Wearily, Greyfriar went in search of milk, but found none. But he did come across a large haunch of lamb hung up high. He threw that on the cat's dish. Pet jumped about three feet in the air when the meat landed with a thud, then rushed back in sheer joy at his prosperous meal. Pet gripped the hairy thing with his claws and started to eat, growling and grunting at the effort.

  Greyfriar went back to the stove and stared at the murky boiling water now swirling with mint leaves and bobbing eggs with greenish whites hanging out.

  “Finally,” he murmured, gathering his jacket and gloves.

  He had no idea how long to let them cook so he sat down to rest; the sweltering kitchen, along with the growing heat of early spring in Alexandria, was starting to impact his energy. He let the eggs bounce around for another few minutes before he proceeded to grab a tray and load it with what he had wrought.

  The preparation had only taken two hours.

  Pet lay on the floor next to his meal with an extended gut and meowed in stuporous satisfaction.

  “I'm heading back to Adele. Are you coming?”

  Pet rose lazily to his feet and stretched, but was unable to move more than a few steps. Greyfriar grabbed the engorged cat and placed him on his shoulder, where the feline settled immediately with sharp claws clutching his jacket and scarf. Greyfriar then went back upstairs, tray in hand, leaving a war-torn kitchen behind.

  Adele tried to still the dread thoughts in her head and the anguish gripping her heart. Everything had spiraled so quickly out of control. She had been forced to make decisions that weighed upon her like a mountain of stone.

  The worst of it was that she was wasting her last night with Gareth. She was tired of letting logic dictate their future. Always the fear of their differences stopped them from going further. Yes, they were wildly different, but there was much about them that was similar. Despite the dangers and uncertainty of a physical act, Adele now longed to let go.

  A horrifying unease invaded her being every time she thought of him leaving. If she waited too long the chance could be gone forever. She bit her lip. That thought jarred her. Enough with lamenting things that couldn't change. They would have a quiet night together and dream of days without war and strife in the sanctuary of her room. She refused to let her heart stumble over things she couldn't know.

  Gareth had said he'd return soon, but that was hours ago. He most likely assumed she wanted to contemplate in solitude. Cursing her own stupid selfish behavior, she shoved herself away from the window ready to go hunt him. There was a knock at the door and Adele assumed it was Zarina with another attempt at a meal. She strode over and opened the door, ready to protest and bid her maid to go.

  Instead, there stood the man himself, with Pet perched contentedly on his shoulder. Adele's gaze lowered and caught sight of the tray in his hands.

  “I thought you might reconsider an evening meal,” he told her. “I cooked it myself.”

  “You cooked?” Abruptly, Adele's throat caught. She bit her lower lip before it trembled. “Gareth—”

  “It's my first attempt. It may be appalling.”

  A smile broke over Adele's face as she tugged him into the room. He set the tray on the table on the balcony. Stars had appeared in the night sky, and filtered light from the city
of Alexandria cast a warm blush over the Mediterranean shoreline.

  She joined him on the settee and watched in amazement as he poured her tea with careful precision. There were even porcelain teacups, which he gingerly handled. “How on earth did you manage this?”

  “Pet was no help at all, but it is rewarding just to see you smile.”

  “You made tea,” she stated incredulously. “And eggs!”

  “I had no idea how fragile they were.”

  “How many did you break?” she asked, laughing.

  “I'm not answering.”

  “Two-minute eggs are my favorite.”

  “Two minutes?” he said nervously.

  Adele proceeded to grab one and crack it open. The yolk was hard and very firm. The whites were discolored and like rubber. “Well, five-minute eggs are good too. They smell a bit…minty.”

  “That's the tea,” he said.

  Her mind brought up that same day in the British Museum. “You remembered.”

  “Yes.”

  Adele lifted her teacup and took a sip. Immediately the musky flavor of eggs mixed with mint and something like coal hit her tongue. She made a great effort not to grimace. She closed her eyes and swallowed, and then smiled at him. “It's wonderful.”

  She set the teacup to the side and turned to him. She wanted to live only in this moment and in the warm touch of his hand. Tonight of all nights, she didn't care about policy or species. She only wanted to lie with him forever. She removed his glasses and slowly unwound the scarf from his face. His hand lifted to hold the nape of her neck as she kissed him. Resting against him she wrapped her arms around his chest, clinging to him. Her eyes closed. Another captured moment frozen in time. She had learned to relish them more than any other. They were fleeting, as was his time with her.

  “I don't know how to let you go,” she whispered with a voice broken by soft despair.

  Pulling back, he brushed her lower lip with a callused thumb, barely touching her, and then kissed her once more. It was like being scalded with an open flame one second and then soothed with ice in the next. Adele closed her eyes and felt his gentle fingers move to her cheek and temple, ear and neck.