by Simon Archer
Sahar smiled at me, a cat’s smile that said she knew more about me than I did. Her dark eyes shone in the light of the oil lantern, casting gold light across her high cheekbones.
“What do you want to know?”
Oh, how I hated these games and loved them all the same.
“Is he infected with the virus?” I asked, deciding on the most important question first. His body hadn’t smelled of rotting flesh and death like the others, but I had to be sure. We couldn’t afford an outbreak within the kingdom. It would destroy us all.
“His blood is untainted by the virus,” Sahar replied cryptically as she shook her head. Her fingers traced the rim of her teacup as she gazed at me curiously, an alluring smile on her face.
My eyebrows pulled low over my eyes, my own cup forgotten in my hands. “Is his blood tainted by something else? Another virus?”
“Only blood tests will tell.” Sahar folded her hands neatly in her lap.
I twisted a bit of my hair between my fingers that had fallen over my shoulder. “I have never seen or sensed a power like his before. I want to know what he is as soon as possible.” I should have been grateful that I was still capable of growing hair after my transformation, but sometimes it was more annoying than I cared to admit.
“Of course,” Sahar replied, bowing her head.
“We should arrest the thief,” Anix spoke out.
Sahar and I swung our heads to look at the guard beside me. Anix had been so silent over the past few minutes, and I had almost forgotten she was there.
“Yes, we could go charging into the West Village and arrest him, but I believe it’s better if he came to the castle willingly,” I mused.
“But is the boy a danger to the kingdom?” Anix asked.
Sahar’s face broke into a brilliant smile, her perfectly straight white teeth gleaming in the firelight. Was Anix... blushing?
“Quite the contrary, Doom Bringer,” Sahar replied, using the nickname Anix had earned in the Great Purge when she’d slain thousands of the man-eaters on the battlefield.
That caught me off guard, my previous observation forgotten. My head swung back over to the alchemist, but she was already standing, placing her teacup on a short wooden table beside her chair.
“I have neglected the potions long enough,” she explained. “They’ll be boiling over soon. It’s time for us to get back to work. Is there anything else I can do for you, Your Highness?”
I stood up alongside her and gulped down the last of my now cold tea. I wanted to press the issue further, but I knew that Sahar had finished indulging my desire for information. With that, there was no convincing her to divulge more or even provide more clarity than she had. I once tried by threatening her with my power as Queen. It had not ended well for me.
So, for now, I would take what wisdom I could get. She was still an asset, despite being a pain in my rump.
“We will make a deal with the thief,” I replied, “And then you can do all the blood tests you want on the boy. Thank you, Sahar,” I replied. Just as Anix and I reached the threshold, Sahar spoke.
“Have you any word from dear Aerywin?” she asked.
Aerywin was an emissary and diplomat on the Queen’s council. She was a faerie who was as brave to the point of lunacy and often went on missions to other kingdoms for diplomatic purposes. She also used it as an opportunity to track the hordes’ numbers, always returning with a count to give us.
I shook my head, confused. “She should arrive from the south by full dark tomorrow.”
Sahar nodded, concern written across her face. When her eyes met mine, I stiffened at the warning in them.
“Expect worrisome news, Your Highness, and be warned. Peace does not come without a price.”
And with that, Sahar called her assistants back, and we were no longer alone. Anix and I shared a frustrated look before we took our leave. As we climbed the stone steps to the ground floor, I ran through the newly gathered information in my head. What worrisome news could Aerywin have for us? Was she okay? Could it have to do with the southern lands?
Theory after troublesome theory swirled in my head. Soon, my thoughts went to the little thief. The boy wasn’t infected by the virus. That was a minor victory. I didn’t know what I would have done if he had been. We hadn’t had a case in Constanta since we’d sealed off our walls, thankfully. It was a relief to know that the zombies hadn’t breached the barrier.
Then, Sahar’s answer to Anix’s question about the boy being a danger to the kingdom ran through my head.
Quite the contrary, Doom Bringer.
Did that mean that he was not only not a danger to the kingdom, but an asset to it? How could that be? A common thief, an asset to the kingdom? It made no sense.
4
Rozmarin
The following day, Anix and I decided to fly to the West Village, where Sahar informed us the boy called Christoff resided. It had been too long since I’d felt the rush of the biting wind against my face, and I actually looked forward to the flight. The meeting with the boy… Christoff, not so much. Still, the trip was most enjoyable until we came upon the outskirts of the West Village. I knew the state of it was terrible, but witnessing the rundown look of the rooftops and the barren streets from above had failure tightening my chest.
Since the beginning of Constanta, after the Great Purge, the West Village always had the tensest relations with the crown. It had the highest number of humans by far, and not all of them were able to accept the reality of the New World. Even as generations went by, that feeling of discontent with the crown, with the fall of humanity, still lingered. It was why I had little involvement with the village… because they did not want me.
When we finally made it to the outskirts of the West Village, along a row of houses in very close proximity to each other, I spotted a tiny little cottage with a patchy, slouching roof. It was more like a frumpy shack than a house.
My jaw worked as I imagined a hazel-eyed boy working the streets, risking his life every day just to come home to… this. At least the chimney seemed to be working, and smoke billowed upward. It wasn’t terribly chilly today, and I wondered why they would waste the logs on a fire when it was unnecessary.
When we landed in the tiny front yard, Anix and I shared a look. The grass of the yard was patchy and muddy from the rainfall the previous night. The tilt of the house was more prominent now that we were at ground level. The wooden logs that made up the house were rotted, and as we climbed the steps, I had to step over one that was practically missing. There was nothing on the porch, save for a lone wooden rocking chair. There was one small window on either side of the door, the curtains drawn closed, making it impossible to see inside.
With one last glance at the gargoyle at my side, I knocked on the door. I could hear hushed muttering from somewhere inside, and soon, footsteps approached. I cleared my throat and took a step back, waiting for the door to open.
When it did, a young boy who couldn’t have been older than Christoff appeared, the brother, I assumed, and the first thing I noticed was that he lacked the glow Christoff had.
So, his family did not possess his same… powers?
The boy was shorter than his brother by a few inches and a little rounder in the face. He wore an artfully knitted sweater and faded jeans. On his feet were a pair of knitted socks with holes in them. Plain blonde hair fell into blue eyes. A hand, paler than Christoff’s but dark enough to give away his mixed heritage, came up to swipe the hair from his face.
Despite some surface similarities, I could not see any resemblance between him and Christoff. The boy held the door open just enough so I could see him, but nothing further.
“What do you want?” It was more of a command than a question. His sharp eyes narrowed in on my own.
I straightened a little at his tone, unused to being spoken to in such a manner. Anix stepped forward, so she was at my back.
“This is the Queen of Constanta--”
“I know w
ho she is,” the boy interrupted, his eyes sliding from mine to the gargoyle’s only briefly before returning to settle on me again. “That’s not what I asked. What do you want?”
Anix stiffened beside me, and I put on my sternest face without trying to come off as too scary. I could scare the boy into submission, but that was not the purpose of this trip. They would want to hear what I had to say, after all, so I steeled myself and took a deep breath.
“We must speak with your brother, Christoff,” I said, my voice tight.
“No.”
I narrowed my eyes at him and tried to keep my temper at bay. “Do not test my patience, boy. I imagine you and your family would like to hear what I have to say.”
The boy's eyes widened a fraction, and he rocked back on his heels. Then, a weak, feminine voice spoke up behind him.
“My Chris? What do you want with my Chris? Let her in, Tyrion. Please,” the frail voice begged.
Tyrion turned to look at his mother for a few moments before turning back to face Anix and me. He glared at us outright now, though I saw hope and fear swimming in the depths of his eyes. Slowly, he took a step back and then another, eventually opening the door until there was enough space for us to pass through.
Anix and I both had to duck through the threshold to avoid knocking our heads. The cabin was tiny. A single ratty old couch and loveseat sat before the fireplace. To the right of the entrance, a tiny kitchen broke off from the living area, and further back on the left was a door that I assumed led to the only bedroom in this house. I couldn’t imagine there being more than one bedroom in the tiny cottage.
Christoff’s mother sat curled up on the couch, a blanket thrown over her shoulders and a cup of tea in her hands. She looked sickly, with sagging skin beneath her eyes and the sharpness of her collarbones and shoulders jutted out from beneath the blanket. Her hair was the same golden color as Tyrion’s, but it had dulled over the years. She couldn’t have been more than fifty-five, but she looked like she was on the last legs of her life. I could smell the sickness seeping from her skin. That explained the use of the fireplace. The woman was so frail, and she had to always be cold.
Beside her sat a girl who couldn’t have been older than sixteen. She cowered beside her mother, her wide eyes terrified as she took in the presence of my general and me. I tried to look at the situation through her eyes and found myself incapable of blaming her. Though she was sitting down, she looked to be the tallest and leanest of the women in her family. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a bun, and even the smallest movements she made reminded me of old theater ballet dancers.
“Please, come in.” The mother offered me a soft smile, her brown eyes shining in the light of the fireplace. “Tell me what business you have with my hardworking baby boy.”
Something tugged in my chest at the love in this mother’s eyes for her son.
I walked up to the couch, and Tyrion breezed past me to stand behind his mother, resting his palms on the woman’s shoulders. He obviously still didn’t trust my intentions. Fair enough.
“I am Tanya,” the woman gestured to herself, then her two children, “and these are my children, Tyrion and Theia. Please, tell us what you want with our family.”
I sighed and moved to stand near the fireplace, still taking in the small, sad interior of the cabin. If this were the Old World, there would have been pictures of the family covering every inch of the wall and standing up proudly atop the mantle above the fireplace. Instead, the walls were bare, and the only decorations were surviving glass bottles from old soda and alcohol brands lined up along the window sills. I had to admit, they were a nice touch to an otherwise drab looking home. Finally, I met the woman’s eyes.
“Your son, Christoff, stole an artifact from my gallery,” I began, and my words made each of the humans freeze, their eyes widening in shock and fear.
“If you are here to collect payment, we have nothing to offer you.” Tanya pulled Theia closer to her protectively and placed a hand on Tyrion’s hand that rested on her shoulder. Her eyes burned with fear and protectiveness, and I knew that this woman would die trying to protect her children before she would let me lay a finger on either of them.
I held up my hand. “That is not why I am here. You are not in trouble, and neither is your son.”
Christoff’s family stood in silence, surprised by this news.
“But why?” Theia was the first to recover, her shy voice uncertain. “Why is he not in trouble?”
“Because I would have him work for me before imprisoning him or having him back on the streets.” Or back here, but I did not say that.
Tyrion’s eyes bulged almost comically at my words. “You want him to work for you? Doing what? Stealing from your own people?” This boy was all straightforward bullheadedness.
Tanya hushed her son, her eyes flicking to mine to gauge my reaction. Smart woman. I ground my teeth together to keep from lashing out.
“No,” I got out, my voice taking on a roughness that betrayed my rising temper. “He will work with my head alchemist in the lab most days. He will be fed and have a room of his own in my castle as long as he is willing and working.”
I had considered telling the family the real reason why I wanted Christoff at the castle, that he was special, but with one look at these people and their depressing living situation, I knew that they couldn’t have a clue as to what Christoff was or where he’d gotten his… glow from. I was not even sure that they’d noticed anything special about him at all.
“Chris is not an alchemist. He has shown no affiliation to the arts,” argued Tyrion, his tone softening some while still holding a healthy amount of skepticism.
I chewed over my next words for a moment before answering. “Your son has demonstrated particular… gifts that I believe could be useful to the crown.”
Tyrion and Theia both looked to their mother, who gazed at me, a million questions behind those soft brown eyes.
“Perhaps, this is for the best.” Tanya looked at her two children. “I always hoped that you all would make it out of this wretched village. We would be fools to deny your brother such an opportunity.” Her wistful tone was already mourning the loss of her child, knowing that she wouldn’t likely see him before she passed.
All mothers think their children are special, but perhaps Tanya had some inkling of his power.
“I knew when I first held that boy in my arms all those years ago that he wouldn’t be mine forever.” She wiped away tears rolling down her cheek. “I’ve always felt we were only meant to care for him for a short while. Now he’s been caring for us, and I feel his fate is here now.”
I regarded this frail human in a new light, imagining all the emotions this mother must be feeling.
“There is another part of the deal,” I blurted out, a plan forming in my head as I spoke. As soon as the thought entered my head, I knew that it was the right thing to do. “As I realize that you are also sacrificing much for the circumstances, I will also provide for and take care of your family.”
A beat of shocked silence passed as all three of them froze in their spots. Slowly, their heads turned to face each other. More tears dripped from Tanya’s eyes, and Tyrion handed her a ratty old rag to wipe her face. Unsure of what to say, I looked back at Anix, who hovered near the door, looking as uncomfortable as I felt. Though both of us had seen more death than most people could imagine, women’s tears still had the power to make us want to curl in on ourselves.
For the first time, Tyrion looked at me without disdain. “Thank you,” was all he said.
Tanya swatted at her youngest son’s arm, encouraging him to help her up off the couch. Theia stood up first, gently pulling her mother to her feet so she could make her way to stand in front of me.
She looked even smaller standing up somehow as she hobbled towards me. Theia supported her, never looking up to meet my gaze. When they stopped a couple of feet in front of me, the woman’s cloudy gaze met my own, tears still welling in them.<
br />
“I don’t know what it is that you truly want with my son, but I can only hope it is better than I can offer him here. You take care of my baby boy. Give him a better life than I could. If you do, I will be forever in your debt.”
What else could I say to that? Anix and I left the women with a large pouch of coins with a promise that someone would arrive in a few days to bring more and to help pack what little they had and relocate them out of the West Village. It was the least I could do, and the compensation I offered them was more than enough to purchase their own land in the East Village and live comfortably.
Theia thanked me shyly, unable to meet my eyes, and Tyrion nodded at me, still skeptical but unwilling to question my generosity for fear that I would rescind my offer.
“Now, to find the thief,” I said. And then I heard a voice from the doorway.
“Has the Vampire Queen come to steal back what she stole in the first place?”
I turned around to see the same man who had locked eyes with me in the castle hallway. Christoff stood in the doorway to his shabby house, covered in dirt, a fierce look on his face. If he were afraid of me, he certainly didn’t show it.
What a feisty little thief.
5
Christoff
I had been out, working an odd job with a neighbor, when I returned to my house and realized something was off. I heard strange voices coming from inside, but the curtains were drawn so I couldn’t see who was paying my family a visit.
I stepped closer to the door, listening, and then all the hair on my body stood on end as that deep, silken voice spoke. “Now, to find the thief.”
I opened the door to find the Vampire Queen of Constanta and a giant gargoyle standing in my living room with my family. Relief filled me as I noticed none of my family had been hurt, but I cursed myself for getting my family involved. I steeled myself, trying to appear braver than I felt.