The older prince glanced up at his father, who was now hunched forward on the throne, chin trembling and hands shaking. Gareth shook his head angrily. The king was lost again somewhere in eight hundred years of memory that sprouted brambles to prick and trap what was left of his old mind. Gareth fought back bitterness for the wizened, drooling figure as he recalled the many years at his father's side in cool forests and frosty glens, listening to ancient tales of battling rival clans. His father had taught him to hunt human prey. The pleasure of it was to savor each kill, not wallow in countless slaughters. Blindly destroying the source of your nourishment just to demonstrate superiority was prideful insanity. King Dmitri had seemed the most noble and fierce and wisest father imaginable, and Gareth had once wanted to be just like him.
However, now old Dmitri was nothing more than a regal skin that Cesare put on to govern a clan of gluttons. Soon they would all come to London and, despite the fact that Gareth was heir, Cesare would rule the gathering. If Cesare wanted war, he'd have war.
Gareth rose and paid obeisance before the cloudy eyes of the king. Perhaps he should have stayed at court the past century, if only to protect his father from Cesare. But it was too late for those thoughts now. Gareth left the palace to prepare for what was coming.
CHAPTER
D EXERCISED IN the yard of the Tower, where flowers pushed pushed up around the rubble. Her arms weaved a slow pattern around her body while she breathed deliberately and shifted from one foot to the other. She brought her hands together and then pushed them apart. Mamoru had taught her a wide variety of kata, for martial arts and fitness and meditation. It gave the young woman great satisfaction to hone her killing skills under the unsuspecting eyes of her watchers. She wondered what Greyfriar would think of her training routine. Adele thought about the excitement of dueling him, crossing blades with that master swordsman and basking in his praise for her style. He could teach her more practical fighting skills than Mamoru had ever attempted.
Mamoru. When Adele thought of him, she was increasingly confused. She respected her mentor, even loved him in a way, but he was withdrawn by nature and she knew very little about him. There was only a certain level of connection they could ever make, separated as they were by culture and position. She had had no idea Mamoru had a secret network of mysterious geomancers such as Selkirk. Was her father aware? Adele intended to know more about geomancy and this ability to cloud the minds of vampires once she returned home.
She surprised herself by how matter-of-factly she entertained the notion of freedom now. The possibility had seemed so distant a few days ago that she had refused to allow it into her mind because it might soften her mad resolve to assassinate the clan royal family. But now she knew she had to return home. Sacrificing her life for the pipe dream of killing King Dmitri and his dreadful brood was ridiculous. With Simon gone, Adele was now sole heir to Constantine II. With the Reconquest imminent, this was no time for a succession crisis in Equatoria.
Out of the corner of her eye, Adele saw her watchers suddenly turn to the north. She had known them to perch motionless for hours, but today they had seemed agitated, constantly craning their necks and peering off into the distance. Now the watchers glanced briefly at her and seemed to consult with one another before lifting into the orange sky to join a growing flock of black figures gathering over the city.
The princess discerned weird background noises that she realized she had been hearing, but ignoring, for hours. Sounds of celebration mixed with screaming, like the fantastic sound of a distant unwholesome festival. Adele hastily concluded her exercise. The sun was sinking and the air cooling, and she wanted to find the fireside. As she turned toward the doorway to her prison, several vampires dipped sharply from the crowd overhead.
Three horrible figures surrounded her-two males and a femalethin and dirty, clad in filthy rags, with claws extended. They hissed to one another, which Adele understood. They were apparently strangers to London and hungry from traveling, and pleased with themselves for happening on a bit of unprotected food-meaning Adele. They decided to celebrate their trip to the big city by sharing her.
Adele launched herself at the larger male and slammed the palm of her hand into his nose. The creature roared in shock and fell like a sack of wet laundry. The other two stared in surprise. Adele took the female by the back of the head and gouged her eyes with thumb and forefinger. The princess felt pain in her shoulder and was pulled backward into a flurry of nails and teeth, which tore her clothes and skin with mercuryfast strikes. Adele kicked out at the knee of the vampire attacking her. She heard a solid crack, and the male glanced down at his leg, now bent backward like a bird's, flailed at the air for support, and dropped. The blinded female sniffed and felt the air with her clawlike hands. Adele looked around for some weapon to dispatch this trio of horrible cripples.
A tall, dark figure settled to the ground in front of the young princess. She drew up her fists in desperation, ignoring a warm droplet of blood drizzling down her cheek. Then she realized the looming figure was Gareth, and for a mad instant she was grateful for his presence. His face was a mask of anger, but it wasn't directed at her. He spat a few harsh sounds at the three vampires in which he identified himself and condemned them to death.
The three froze with looks on their faces like naughty children caught in a prank. They attempted to flee, climbing unsteadily to their feet and preparing to rise into the air. But Gareth was on them, and in less time than it had taken him to pronounce their deaths, they lay dead in the grass. The large male was decapitated, his head torn from his shoulders. The female and smaller male both had their entrails steaming in the cool early evening.
Gareth briefly inspected the eviscerated intruders, as if coolly comparing them to plates in an anatomy book. Barely winded, he then scanned Adele up and down. His penetrating azure gaze gave her chills. "Are you hurt?"
"No. Who were they?" The sight of the prince amazed Adele. He was so nattily attired in black mourning dress with shined leather shoes, but dripping wet and red. She was both horrified and thrilled by the ease with which Gareth had slaughtered those vampires, as well as by the satisfaction he had seemed to take in it. His attack had been swift and brutal, yet almost elegant.
Gareth replied, "They're bumpkins. They wanted a meal and didn't know you were under my protection. They know it now." He smiled haughtily. "The dead can never infringe on your rights. That's a bit of vampire politics."
Did he just make a witticism? Adele wondered, eyes wide.
The vampire extended his arm toward the door to her rooms. "Collect your things and come with me to the museum. For your own protection."
"Why?"
Gareth looked up into the darkening sky. A loathsome multitude swirled in the air like black snowflakes caught in the wind currents. Writhing fliers touched and intertwined in disgusting congress, then rejoined the mindless mass. Adele shivered in horror and said a prayer.
"The clan is gathering," Gareth said.
Gareth watched Adele as she went about arranging her new quarters at the museum. She had not noticed his arrival, which pleased him because she was uniquely attuned to the threat from vampires. She was straightening a few Egyptian objects she had rescued from the rubble, including a small bust of Ramses. Gareth was struck by the juxtaposition of the timeless face of a king and the fragile life of the future empress. He suddenly understood the value of such objects. One day there would be statues of Empress Adele that humans generations from now would see. They would know something of her from the mute stone. Part of her would transcend time, perhaps even long after Gareth was dust.
Humans lived a short time compared to vampires, but humanity remained immortal. Vampires would never understand that. And it would be their downfall. Humans swoon and falter, they often died off in great swathes-Gareth remembered the days of plague when the vampires took advantage and killed many thousands across Europe-but the vampires' wave crashed and slid away, as it always did, and the humans
recovered. As they always did.
The Great Killing a century and a half ago was more than just another wave. The humans had been uniquely vulnerable-losing the magic of faith but not yet masters of steam and steel. In the ensuing century, the humans had made their choice to embrace technology. Rumors from the frontiers spoke of new weapons-gas that blinded, cannons that deafened, and guns that spewed bullets at great rates-which would allow a single soldier to kill many vampires, no matter their speed. Human armies everywhere were showing greater skill in fighting vampires and, even more significant, the petrifying fear that had served the vampires so well during the Great Killing was diminishing with familiarity.
Even shut away in his refuge, Gareth could hear the sound of riot. London was alive with celebration. Thousands of humans had been driven into the city to feed the gathering revelers. He imagined the floors of the palace would be slick with coagulating blood by now and his father likely would be bloated and incoherent, as he would stay for the remainder of the gathering. Cesare, on the other hand, would be the ever-alert stand-in for the king. Gareth intended to pass the festivities closeted here in his museum. He refused to lend his presence to the monstrosities occurring across the city.
Gareth was comforted by the thought of Adele making a home here with him. Despite a myriad of choices for lodging in the vast building, she had chosen a small plain room and surrounded herself with a few items, perhaps because they reminded her of home. She had appeared comfortable and appreciative, even chatting in what seemed to be an unguarded fashion for the first time while they shifted the Macedonian refuse into the corridor.
Now Gareth watched with fascination as Adele made some sort of tea with herbs she had found around the grounds of the museum. Her hands astonished him. Her skin was so much darker than his alabaster flesh. And she used her fingers so effortlessly for intricate tasks. He was mesmerized by their gentle dance as she nimbly plucked small leaves from the stems. The scent of the herb clung to her fingertips, which were smeared with its oil, mixing with her normal scent to create a tangy, almost spicy aroma. He breathed in the heady fragrance.
Adele heard Gareth inhale deeply and said without starting, "It's mint. I find it soothing."
He took that for an invitation and stepped into the room to stand beside her. "So much preparation."
She scoffed. "All it takes is some leaves and a little hot water. Not much work at all. It's not as if I'm cooking a banquet. But I suppose it looks like far too much labor for a vampire."
Water boiled in a bronze helmet, but his gaze slipped again to her hands as she readied a small cup. They were so gentle handling a piece of porcelain, but he had seen her use those same hands to dispatch many a vampire.
"How did you manage to disable the three vampires who attacked you in the Tower yard, without a weapon?" The question seemed simple enough. But Adele merely shrugged and smiled at him. Then she settled back onto her mat with her cup of hot herb water. The princess wasn't going to answer. Gareth knew there would be no further conversation. He could watch her all he liked, but she was intent on drinking her tea.
In France, the princess had possessed a softness-perhaps the shock from the attack and her brother's death had caused her to need Greyfriar for sanity. That was gone now; she was an empress now. Distant. Aloof. Mysterious. Commanding. Even her scent was different. While with Greyfriar, she had smelled sweet, although tinged with fear. The undertone of fear was still present, but the dominant scent was spicy and harsh and defiant. It was a scent he rarely got from humans in vampire territory, and he had only smelled it this strong in very few humans anywhere. It was intoxicating.
If Gareth hadn't seen the frightened girl in France from behind his mask, he would never have suspected this princess was ever anything other than her imperious self. It made her more appealing. She had her own mask, it seemed. He longed to see that delicate other side of her just once more.
He slipped away to the ground floor and the gallery that led to the large chamber with the huge statue of Ramses, Adele's ancestor. Odd that Gareth had wound up wandering here. He was thrilled at the prospect of spending time with Adele during the clan gathering. The festivities would last for days and consist of endless hours of blooddrunk chest thumping and threats against the humans. The lords would swear fealty to Dmitri and promise to come whenever he called, but when the king's herds ran dry, the bloated guests would totter into the sky and depart. During the gathering, Gareth and Adele could wander through his museum home at their leisure. The lonely Prince of Edinburgh now had someone to share it with.
However, as much as it pained him, Gareth would then take advantage of the stuporous, sluggish days after the gathering to spirit Adele out of London and back to the Continent. He would slip her into the hands of the human underground that he knew as Greyfriar, and they would ensure she made her way safely home. Then he would return to Edinburgh and renew his efforts against Cesare and his peoples' blind savagery.
The sound of a bird flitting in the rafters drew his attention. He immediately sensed coldness seeping down from above, and smelled stale blood in the air. Something moved on the granite shoulders of Great Ramses, writhed around the massive head, and slid into the dim light filtering through the broken windows.
Flay.
Gareth lightened and pushed off, silently floating up into the air. He settled onto Ramses' crumbling other shoulder, gripping the stone with the talons of his left hand while with his right he seized the surprised Flay by the throat.
"How dare you," he hissed at her. "Did Cesare send you? I could kill you, if I wished."
The war chief looked down in obeisance. She wasn't here to attack, or she would have struck before he saw her. She had given her life to Gareth in the instant she allowed him to grab her, but she knew full well that the moment he might have slain her out of instinct had passed. Unlike most of their kind, Prince Gareth rarely acted out of instinct.
For his part, Gareth had no wish to fight Flay. While he had no doubt he could kill Cesare in a fair fight, if Cesare ever engaged in such a thing, Flay was another matter. Every day of her long life she had been a warrior; she did nothing else and cared for nothing else. He had matched her well in France, but Flay had been interested only in capturing Adele, not in drawing out a fight with Greyfriar. She normally would not have suffered Gareth to seize her without striking back, prince or not. So clearly she had a purpose coming here.
Gareth loosened his grip. "Talk."
"I am not here from Cesare. I am here for you. You must move now if you wish to stop him."
Gareth stared at her. He tried to decipher what her message meant. What was his brother trying to trick him into doing?
Flay saw the dark prince pondering and insisted, "This is not a trap. I risked my life coming here. You could've killed me. Or you can leave me to Cesare's revenge should you refuse my offer. If you don't move now, he will take control of the clan. If you ask me, I will betray Cesare. Most of his packs would follow me to your side. But you must act now! Once he begins his war, you'll have only two paths-serve him or oppose him. Either way, he wins."
"The lords won't go to war now. They are too fat and lazy."
"The attack on Bordeaux has fired them up, and the prospect of a human alliance frightens them. Once they're feted, they'll do whatever the king tells them. And the king will do whatever Cesare wishes. I tell you, Cesare will have his war. Unless you stand up."
Gareth released the female and floated to the floor. "Why would you betray my brother for me? What am I to you?"
"You are the heir." Flay massaged her throat. Then she slid languidly down the pharaoh's naked torso. "I will make Cesare's army yours. You can kill your brother and take the clan. Let me help you." She clutched the statue's massive chest with her thighs and reached out a thin strong hand. "Let me serve you."
"So you, of all people, want me to stop this war?"
"No!" Flay's eyes burned with cold blue fire. "I want you to lead the war. I remember
you serving Dmitri. You were magnificent. With me at your side, there is nothing you can't do." Her voice was hypnotic, her words full of smooth poison.
The opportunity to use Flay as the tool to destroy Cesare was something Gareth had never foreseen. But here it was, an extraordinary gift, waiting to be grasped. Cesare would never suspect Flay might betray him. And once Cesare was gone, Gareth would have no rivals for clan leadership. He could halt the war drums. Perhaps he could even begin to negotiate for some future where both species could survive. Gareth felt as if he were suddenly on the edge of a great precipice.
The sinuous Flay was beginning to look quite inviting, exuding an aura of power and allure. Her bloody exploits were legendary; it was no surprise that Cesare had made her his war chief. Gareth had often wondered if there was anything more between those two. It could be nothing official because Flay was too common to birth a prince's child. She was enormously attractive, a physical specimen that any male would covet. And she couldn't possibly make it any clearer that she would welcome Gareth's advances. He stared at the hard muscles of her stomach and the smooth hollow of her throat as she clung to the stone colossus like a spider.
Then he asked, "Are you sure you could seize Cesare?"
"I can." Flay licked her lips. Gareth watched her with an interest, even approval, that she had never seen from him before. His blue eyes softened, and Flay saw the cloudy warmth of desire that she saw in all males. "I know where he is at all times. And I can place my most loyal packs around him. Once I take him, you will kill him."
"I will deal with my brother in my own way."
Flay drew back against the chest of Ramses. "Let's be clear, my prince. Cesare must die, and it must be by your hand. To do less means none of us are safe."
The Greyfriar (Vampire Empire, Book 1) by Clay & Susan Griffith;Clay Griffith;Susan Griffith Page 15