by J. L. McCoy
“Thank you, darling. It is very important to make the right impression,” she advised Amira, as she had her entire life. Marcelle wrapped her arm around Amira’s shoulders and walked her a few steps away from Inaya. “I’d like you to keep in mind your duty tonight, Amira. Soon it will be your turn to lead our people. You will need a strong, worthy male at your side as your consort and king. Keep an open mind about our guests tonight. For me?”
“She is aware of her duty, Marcelle. Why must she dwell on it tonight? She hasn’t even yet reached her full maturity and cannot join into a bond of marriage until she does,” Inaya interrupted.
“This does not concern you, girl,” Marcelle snapped, cutting her dark eyes to Inaya.
“Aunt Marcelle, this is a formal dinner to celebrate the launch of the new scout. This dinner has nothing to do with my future consort,” Amira weighed in.
Every century a new scout was sent out to travel the Earth to evaluate the condition of humanity. It was their job to report the circumstances, changes, and advancements. Upon the scout’s return every decade, the leaders of Cashile would meet to determine if it was time to return to the world of man. The former scout had made his final return the previous month. At his debriefing, it was decided humanity was still on a path of self-destruction with war, pollution, and, most harmful, their indifference. It was determined the people of Cashile would remain within its protective shield.
This had been the first time Amira had been present at a scout’s debriefing and she had found the scout’s report to be fascinating. Humanity reminded her of a rebellious teenager without the guidance of a loving parent, struggling to find its way, but subjugated by volatile emotions.
In her opinion, humanity was capable of great things as was illustrated on their many technological advancements and their ability to persevere regardless of their self-destructive nature.
Amira worried that the counsel in charge of arbitration had made their decision before hearing the scout’s report and insisted upon refusing to acknowledge any positive aspects, so sure in their own superiority. The new scout, trained since birth for her duty, would be embarking on her mission in the morning. Tonight would be her farewell. This would be the first time in their history that a female would be sent out as a scout.
“Foolish girl,” Marcelle began, venom still within her husky tone. “Any situation can be used as an opportunity to achieve one’s goals. That female, that nobody, doesn’t deserve a celebration in her honor. Scout or not, she should not be seated at the table of royalty. Good riddance to her, we’ll all be better off once she is gone.”
Amira was taken aback by the hatred pouring from Marcelle. Her shock must have registered to her aunt, because her tone became sweet and she abruptly returned to her original topic.
“With Lord Sorin in attendance tonight you have the perfect opportunity to secure a strong match for the future of Cashile.”
Amira could see the look of disgust on Inaya’s face and tried to hide her own negative feelings at the thought of herself bonded to Sorin.
“I’m not sure Sorin is the right choice...” Amira began hesitantly.
“Lord Sorin is the perfect choice for the future King of Cashile,” Marcelle said with conviction. “He has the purest blood ties to the Royal Family of any other male. He is a strong leader in Ammon and you will require a consort of such strength to counteract your... delicate nature.”
Amira knew that in her need to please others, she was widely considered to be passive and weak. It hurt to be judged as lacking when all she wanted was to do her duty.
“Darling, you know I only have your best interest in mind,” Marcelle said now in her lovingly sweet tone.
“Yes, Aunt, I will do as you counsel and keep the possibility in mind throughout the evening,” Amira promised.
“That is all I ask. Do not be late,” she said, sounding appeased, as she kissed Amira’s cheek and left the room.
“I don’t believe the nerve of that woman! Advising you as if you aren’t already burdened down by the weight of your duty,” Inaya fumed as she began pacing the room.
“Maybe she is right. Maybe I’m not strong enough to rule,” Amira suggested solemnly.
“You cannot be serious! Amira, look at me,” she said, stopping directly in front of her friend. “I know you better than anyone. You are not weak. You lack confidence, but that will come with experience and wisdom. You have a heavy burden to carry and, at times, I believe your fear of failure overwhelms you, but you have the heart of a true Queen. Follow your heart in all things and Cashile will benefit.”
The confidence Inaya showed brought tears back to Amira’s eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, once again embracing her friend.
“As for Lord Sorin, let that arrogant ass share his affections with those worthy of it, like the swine which wallow in the mud.”
Amira couldn’t help but giggle at Inaya’s absurd suggestion, which in turn caused Inaya’s own giggles.
“Come, let us not keep Lord Sorin waiting,” Inaya said when she could finally catch her breath.
“Caeden will be present tonight. Do I look presentable?” Amira asked, feeling nervous about seeing him and a little disappointed with herself for caring about his opinion.
“Beautiful, as always. You’ll definitely catch his attention in that dress, and as long as no one looks too closely, they’ll never know you’ve been crying.”
Linking arms, they walked to dinner together.
Thank you for reading Divine Merit
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Dissension
Chronicles of the Uprising: Book 1
Katie Salidas
Copyright © 2014 by Katie Salidas
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Published by:
Rising Sign Books
http://www.risingsignbooks.net
For more information about my books email:
[email protected]
Prologue
Everyone joked about the end of the world, but when it finally happened, no one was laughing.
December 21, 2012.
Mankind’s final day had been predicted for years, but no one had believed it would ever come. Why would they? There had been so many dates labeled “the end,” and none had yet come to pass.
When the sun rose on that fateful day, everyone made their little jokes. Just one more hoax. Street merchants started selling “I survived the apocalypse… again” T-shirts. Everybody looked around, shrugged their shoulders, and got back to what they’d been doing. The world moved on.
But the day starts at different times across the globe. This particular prophesy — this doomsday prediction — had been made by the Mayan people. It wasn’t until the sun rose in South America that the destruction began.
Previously docile fault lines began to quake. As if waking from a slumber, the earth rumbled from deep within like some ravenous beast scenting its prey, to be satisfied only by utter annihilation.
&nb
sp; Volcanoes that had lain dormant for hundreds of years suddenly sprang into action, erupting with centuries of pent-up pressure, spewing hot geysers of acrid smoke. Rivers of magma belched out from the mouths of these angry mountains, scorching the land and devouring everything caught in their deadly flow. Thick clouds blanketed the sky, choking out the sunlight. Searing chunks of pumice rained down upon the land, burying entire cities and all their occupants in a rocky grave.
For decades — centuries, even — the Earth had been beaten and bruised, scratched and bitten by her inhabitants. It was only natural that she would fight back. And her retribution was merciless. Whole continents fragmented as fault lines deepened and separated. The surface of the earth ripped apart while its terrified inhabitants futilely attempted to escape the destruction. Nowhere was safe. Giant waves of destruction beat down upon every coast, swallowing islands whole and obliterating coastal cities on mainlands. Never before had the loss of life been so devastating.
No one was laughing now.
It was truly, utterly, the end of days.
In the aftermath, the few that remained alive were forced to band together for survival. Food was scarce; shelter was even harder to come by. People who had never conceived of a life without electricity, running water, and fast food were faced with the ultimate choice: to live, by whatever means possible... or to die.
In the ragged days that followed the destruction, many more lives were lost — or taken — in the name of survival. Those who remained were few and far between.
And not all survivors were human.
Supernatural creatures — vampires — once thought to be the stuff of myth and legend, were forced from the refuge of the shadows. With no place left to hide, their only choice for survival was to reveal themselves to those few humans who remained. Immortality gave vampires the ability to weather the storms, but their weakness to sunlight left them vulnerable and in desperate need of shelter and protection during the harsh days following the great cataclysms. Only through collaboration could both races stand the slightest chance for survival.
It was an uneasy truce at first. The vampires’ need for blood, no matter how small a dose, made them objects of hatred rather than companionship; but their ability to protect the former city-dwelling humans against other predators in the night counted greatly in their favor. Eventually, human and vampire learned to co-exist.
Slowly, as they always do, humans adapted to their newly reshaped home. Society rebuilt itself. Life continued on planet Earth and even began to flourish. Over the next hundred years, eight thriving cities rose from the ashes, and humans once again took their place as masters of the Earth.
And with that power came hubris.
Formerly friends and vital allies, the vampires quickly became targets – victims of the humans’ drive to be top of the food chain. Rumors and lies spread quickly about what vicious and cold-hearted demons the vampires truly were. Human deaths, even when the cause was not loss of blood, were blamed on vampires. Long forgotten was the help the vampires had given to their human brethren in those early days of reconstruction.
The human race came to see vampires as nothing more than criminals and outlaws. Vermin. Using the vampires’ vulnerability to sunlight and starvation, the humans turned their once-helpful protectors into slaves. Hunted down and brought to so-called justice, vampires were faced with the same brutal choice the humans had confronted a century earlier: Succumb to the will of humans, or end their days on Earth.
To live by whatever means possible… or to die.
Chapter 1
April 17th, 2210 – New Haven City. Westernmost Province of the Iron Gate, Pacific Coast
The roar of the crowd, all twenty-five-thousand people in attendance, rose to a thundering crescendo when Mira delivered a bone-crunching blow to her opponent’s ribs. Standing only five feet tall, she might not have appeared a formidable warrior, but the thin, spiky-haired waif of a vampire could hold her weight and more when put to the test. Amplified by the superb acoustics, the sound of bones cracking echoed through the Superdome arena. The defeated, a red-headed male vampire staggered, punch-drunk, and then dropped to his knees. Dirt and sweat coated his face but could not mask the fear in his icy blue eyes. His was a look Mira had seen so many times before. Her opponent’s immortal life had finally come to an end, and he was ready to take the final deadly blow.
Above her, Mira knew the fifty-foot mega screen showed her hapless victim in brilliant resolution, ensuring that all who were attending, and those watching from the comfort of their homes, could see these last gruesome moments in crystal clear high-definition.
Mira gazed down at her opponent’s blood-soaked face. Though he was her enemy for the moment, she did not relish having to end him. No one should be forced into the arena and told to kill or be killed. It wasn’t right. But it was what was demanded of her, and given the choice between her life and someone else’s… well, there really was no choice. No matter the cost, Mira was a survivor.
She glanced up to the large private box overlooking the arena. A well-dressed man in deep-purple robes sat, enjoying what appeared to be a dinner of filet mignon and roast potatoes. Even here, in the dusty arena below, Mira’s enhanced senses picked up the tantalizing scent of very rare, bloody steak. She could hardly believe that a human could not only watch the murder about to take place, but also sit and eat the dead flesh of a once-living being while doing it. From the smell of it, the poor beast was practically still bleeding on his plate. Who was truly the more savage creature?
Over the crowd’s roar, an announcer introduced the well-dressed man, Lucian Stavros, Regent of the Iron Gate. Lucian gently and purposefully slowly set down his knife and fork. He took another moment to wipe his face clean and then smiled, acknowledging the roaring crowd.
Chants of “Death, death, death” rang out from the throng as a single unified demand.
The Regent listened for a moment, making a show of putting his hands to his ears to hear screaming hoard’s request, and then held a hand out, with his thumb pointed to the side.
As if the next moment were the most important, the anticipating mass hushed. Eerie silence filled the arena as everyone watched for the Regent to make his decision.
From her vantage point below, Mira saw the steely look of determination cross the Regent’s face. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought he took this decision seriously; but then, he was human, and they never cared much if her kind lived or died. Lucian Stavros took a cursory glance down at Mira. Their eyes met. It was only a brief moment, but in that short time, Mira saw him waver.
Could it be true, she wondered, or was it just a trick of the light? No human actually cared about the lives of vampires. The moment faded, and the fleeting thought left.
Mira saw the Regent’s decision. He turned his thumb down. Death!
The crowd went wild.
The last hope for her defeated opponent had vanished; Mira had to finish him. “Sorry,” she whispered to the half-dead vampire on his knees before her. Though her fangs tingled at the prospect of tasting his final dying moments — her reward, if you could call it that, for living through another battle — she did not enjoy what she was about to do. Like her, he was a slave, forced into servitude to the humans as they saw fit. He had not asked for this, and neither had she. But, despite what either of them wanted, it was the will of the crowd, the humans, that had to be served.
Aiming to sever the carotid artery with her fangs, Mira dove at her opponent’s neck. His death would be quick. At least she could afford him that luxury.
Hot, sweet, and energizing, his blood flowed freely down her parched throat. She’d been starved for so long. Denied the one thing she needed. And now, free to drink her fill, it was all she could do not to let the beast within her take over. Blood was everything: food, drink, life-giving essence, and pure ecstasy. Even the smallest amount could provide healing nourishment and pleasure all at once. But Mira could not let herself take pleasure
from it, knowing the source. This was no willing donor. This was a fallen comrade. A fellow vampire. One of her own kind. His death ordered by the command of the humans. No matter how good his blood tasted, it was not for her to enjoy. She’d take only what she needed to heal from her wounds, and let his death come quickly.
More cheers erupted around Mira. The crowd, despite being entirely human, proved more bloodthirsty than she. The irony of it was sickening. Distantly, she heard the announcer proclaim her the winner.
With a roar, she threw her head back, ripping out her opponent’s throat, spraying what remained of his blood out into the air. They wanted carnage – they could have it. She had to keep her adoring fans happy lest they turn on her. In the arena, the life or death of a gladiator often came down to the will of the crowd. And though she was repulsed by what she had to do, she knew how to play the game.
The satisfying flush of fresh blood in her system and the heady rush that came with it was short lived. The reality of her situation was always close to the surface. Above, the giant dome roof parted, sending a hot blast of UV light down around Mira like a cage.
Not wanting to let them regain their strength, the humans were quick to remind vampires where their place was and who their masters were. Not even afforded a moment’s respite for her victory, Mira was already enduring the painful reminder that she was a slave. Worse, a prisoner.
Her skin singed where the light touched. Instinctively, she held up her hands in surrender. The faster she let them haul her away to the prison level, the better.
The crowd around still roared with applause. But were they cheering for Mira, or happy to see her being tortured by blinding light? A bit of both, probably. Humans loved to see any bit of vampire suffering. Though it angered her, Mira would not show it and invite their ire.