Dominion Rising: 23 Brand New Science Fiction and Fantasy Novels

by White, Gwynn

  “We did what we had to do,” Lucius said.

  “I’ve always thought you both as strong as the gods. Now I know you are.”

  Petra shook her head. “We had always hoped to find a way to quell Clarius for good long ago.”

  “Do you think we ever will?” Aurelia asked, dropping her quill into the inkwell.

  “Perhaps someday we will discover the answer we seek, the secret of my blood. It hasn’t been for lack of trying.” Petra’s frustrated smile dissolved into that ancient sadness again.

  Lucius laid his hand atop Petra’s, squeezing her fingers. “We will figure it out, and the new advances in science will pave the way. I’m sure of it.”

  Petra glanced at Aurelia, then, and she gave the lady a sad, knowing smile. They alone knew what was coming. It was what the two of them had used the Immortal Codex for all these years: to hide their plans behind her unbreakable cipher for a final war between the Essentiae and Clarius’s Sanguinea. Petra was playing the long game, building a foolproof strategy over centuries. She would continue to build her army and fortify the Essentiae against Clarius’s seemingly impenetrable strength. They had all long suspected the blood from his kills was the main source of his preternatural power. Their tests had proven it. What science could not tell them yet was why it gave him such dominance over them and how they might combat it. Petra was waiting for the answers in her blood before she would finally reveal her plans to Lucius. Aurelia also knew why. If Lucius had known her plans, he would have pushed for this war far too soon. And that Petra could not abide. She would never put any of them in that kind of risk.

  Aurelia couldn’t help the images flashing before her, images of Clarius there at Petra’s throat on that first day of their immortal lives, pulling her toward him, his mouth desperate for her… Aurelia shuddered and looked again at Petra who gazed patiently at her.

  “I am sorry, Madame. I was thinking again of Clarius’s first draw.” It was the moment that had started it all, when they had become locked in an endless feud with a promise sealed in blood.

  “Has Clarius ever… Do you think he will ever let it go, this loss of his wife and child?”

  “Never,” Petra stated emphatically. “His memory is as long as mine, and our transgressions against each other run as deep as the blood in our veins. Even the yearly quelling does not seem to lessen that anger.”

  “He is who he is, and he will never change,” Lucius said, not bothering to mask the bitterness in his tone.

  “I remember his anger back at my first Vellessentia.”

  “Yes, I have much more to tell you before we get to that,” Petra answered, as she settled back into her chair to resume her story. “I will now skip to the year we first met you.”

  “Thirteen forty-five in my beloved old Avignon,” Aurelia said, smiling at the memory of that fateful moment when Petra and Lucius first whisked her away into the world beyond time.

  “Yes.” Petra glanced away from Lucius. “The year everything fell apart.”

  “The year I fell apart,” he repeated, his words slow, his voice taking them all back there, back to where the wounds were as fresh as the day they were made and still burned as bright.

  Part II

  1345

  Genoa, Italy

  12

  The Letters

  Genoa

  May 16, 1345

  What have you been up to this time?” Petra asked, walking into a disarray of glass shards all over the floor and work benches.

  By the looks of it, Lucius had spent the entire night in his workshop. Petra shook her head and smiled. Since nearly the beginning of their lives together, she had seen him dive headlong into all manner of inventions. He loved building things, taking things apart and putting them back together. Yet, he was methodical about it, writing copious notes about all his current projects. She was glad it helped fill his endless days with new knowledge.

  She craved knowledge, too, but in different ways. Science and ancient texts were her passions, but it was mastery of herself she sought most of all. She studied her blood meticulously, hoping to uncover the secret of her immortality. Her greatest hope was to discover a way to break Clarius’s hold over her so they could finally destroy him once and for all.

  Lucius looked up from eyeing multiple layers of glass secured with a vice. “I’m experimenting with spectacles.”

  “Need I remind you that you have perfect—and beautiful, I might add—eyes, courtesy of your lover?”

  “Oh, no. I’m well-aware of that fact, amor meus. These experiments are merely a way to fill the hours.”

  She pulled his bearded chin toward her and kissed him until he had to catch her up in his arms when her knees buckled. He tasted of dust and honey wine, courtesy of the empty cup sitting next to two drooping candles.

  “Are you tempting me to the bed I should have been in hours ago?”

  “No, actually, I bear news to keep you here a little longer.” Petra held up the two letters she had received by messenger overnight, one thin and hastily sealed and one a thicker scroll sagging under the weight of its heavy, thick wax seal. The dawn’s light shone in through the shop windows to highlight the ornate signature of the letter’s author.

  “Have we come into an inheritance from a long-lost ancestor?”

  “Once again, need I remind you that you have more money than the pope?”

  “No, no. I am likewise well aware of that fact, voluptas mea.”

  “Well, then. We’ve finally received word from Guy de Chauliac.”

  “Who?”

  “Merely Pope Clement the Sixth’s personal physician.”

  “Ah, and what in the devil would we want with him? Surely, you know far more than this man ever could.”

  “Not quite. I may have more general knowledge than de Chauliac, but I haven’t examined as many corpses as this physician. He also happens to be a premiere expert on poison antidotes.”

  “Ah. Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I’m saying so now. I’m also saying we are going to visit Monsieur Guy de Chauliac immediately, so your new spectacles will have to wait.”

  “You hope he’ll create a mortanine antidote for us.”

  “Yes. It seems prudent. At some point, a future Essentiae novitiate may change their mind.”

  He frowned. “Future novitiate?”

  “I’ve been thinking of turning more Essentiae now that we have finally settled on the rituals we want to use,” she said.

  She and Lucius had taken to calling themselves the Essentiae, mostly as a reminder to them all that they were not like Clarius. They might desire the life essence of humans, but they attempted with every breath not to act on that desire. And Petra consoled herself that at least they did not seek to drink the blood of their victims as Clarius did. She called him a Sanguine now. He lived on the blood of humans and so she called him what he was.

  They had also painstakingly built a set of laws and rituals around her bloodletting. They had split the Vellessentia into four rituals, which took place only once a year on August 13. This was partly to keep the enclaves apart from each other to reduce in-fighting. But Petra was well aware that if Lucius spent any length of time in Clarius’s vicinity, his temper would get the better of him.

  If any immortals had broken any Essentiae or Sanguinea laws during the previous year, the Vindicatio Ritual, or punishment ritual, took place. In all their years, they had never had the need for a Vindicatio. She hoped they never would.

  The Aeternitescentia, or initiation ritual, came next, which was the turning of any humans who wish to become immortals. They had only had one such ritual thus far.

  The Renascentia Ritual was the rebirth ritual for both eternae groups. Each immortal would drink from Petra, which would restore their health for another year. It had an added effect for the Sanguinea: the Quelling. They had yet to understand it, but something in Petra’s blood quelled the Sanguinea’s desire for the kill. It kept all of them safe from discovery,
so she was grateful to offer her blood to the Sanguinea every year.

  The final ritual was the Vellessentia itself, or the drawing of any immortals who wish to gain skill or knowledge from another immortal. They had yet to attempt this ritual. Petra wanted to study the phenomenon more carefully before they began to use it. She also worried that if Clarius learned of it, he would use it against them, passing strengths among his Sanguinea over the centuries to make them even more superior to the Essentiae.

  These carefully cultivated rituals kept Clarius and his Sanguinea in check, and reminded them all of Petra’s ultimate authority over both eternae, a carefully orchestrated set of rites that both protected and empowered her.

  “What—as servants? Tired of hiding in plain sight among your human servants after twelve centuries?”

  “Well, yes, if you must know, and also…” She didn’t quite know how to break the news of the second letter.

  “And?” Lucius prompted.

  Petra held out the second letter to him. Let Clarius reveal this bit of news through his own words.

  Lucius’s eyes narrowed as he read the signature scratched at the bottom. When he finished reading the note, he held the edge of the paper to a nearby candle, and they both silently watched it burn to ash.

  When there was nothing left to burn, he slowly turned toward her. “So your dear Clarius seeks a new member for his blood cult, I see.”

  “This is one of many such letters he has sent asking me to turn more Sanguinea for him.” Beyond his longtime slave, Silvio, she had turned one other: a Japanese samurai and sword expert she renamed Nicon Matsuda.

  “Clarius wasn’t asking. He was demanding.”

  “Yes,” she admitted, swallowing the sigh threatening to escape from her mouth. It made her wonder if Clarius had plans for this new immortal, plans to overthrow her. She had to tread carefully.

  He said nothing in response, but she did not miss the tightening of his lips or his white-knuckled grip on the chair as he turned to blow out the various candles littering the worktable, most of which had burned dangerously low.

  “This is our chance to even out the numbers, Lucius.”

  “With servants?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “No. I mean to seek out the most brilliant minds and strongest of bodies the world has to offer.”

  Lucius ran his fingers over his lips, contemplating the idea.

  “Yes, we do have a whole world to choose from. We could bide our time, wait for the brightest minds and the strongest of men—”

  “And women,” she said with a rueful smile, carefully omitting that her ultimate goal was to build an Essentiae army that would eventually destroy Clarius. Despite the passing centuries, she had never forgotten the thoughts she had glimpsed in Clarius’s head of his hatred for her, of his desire for her death. But to reveal it to Lucius would put them all in danger. If he knew, if she ever foolishly let it slip, he would not stop until either he or Clarius were dead.

  “Of course.” Lucius grinned back, unaware of the dark thoughts rushing through her head. “I think it’s brilliant.”

  “Let’s discuss it on our way to Avignon, then,” she replied, forcing a smile. For years she had secretly looked for a man with skill in encrypting text. She had long since recorded the histories of their centuries together as a testament to their lives, their adventures, their endless searching for the answers in her blood, their love. Yet she must turn her mind to a future hidden from all. A future full of plans to take down Clarius once and for all. First she had to find someone to help her hide her strategies—from Clarius and Lucius.

  “This physician is at the Papal Palace in France?” Lucius asked.

  “Yes, Guy de Chauliac goes wherever Pope Clement goes.”

  “And I go wherever you go.”

  “Almost.” She hadn’t meant to say it so soon, but there was no help for it. She would ask and he would have to agree. She would brook no refusal this time.

  He didn’t respond, but the muscle in his jaw tightened as he exited the workshop.

  “Lucius, wait.” She took his hand as he tried to pass her. He looked back, and she saw he was already tensing up.

  “It’s been centuries upon centuries,” she began, knowing this conversation would likely end in shouts. “I want you with me at the Vellessentia this year.”

  He scowled. “After all this time…? What’s changed? Why now?”

  “As you saw from his letter, Clarius has revealed nothing about this novitiate he wants me to turn. I have no idea who this person is. I need you by my side in case something goes wrong.”

  “I’ve told you before—” He sliced a hand through the air, a clear sign he wanted to end the conversation immediately.

  Frustrated, she clenched her fists, an anger that had been growing for centuries suddenly igniting. “No. You never want to talk about this. You never talk about our first Vellessentia. About Clarius. You can’t keep pretending they don’t exist.”

  “Pretending? Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  “I don’t know. Tell me, then. Tell me the truth. Why won’t you come with me?”

  Lucius drew his lips into a straight line, saying nothing.

  She waited a moment more, hoping he would finally tell her. He only stared at her, anger flashing in his brilliant brown eyes.

  “Clarius is different now. He’s—”

  Lucius turned on his heel and stalked off. “That bastard deserves no more than a slit throat and a funeral pyre.”

  Petra followed him, matching his pace. “You haven’t seen him since the old days. He’s changed.”

  “I don’t believe that’s possible.”

  “You doubt me?”

  “I doubt him.”

  Petra shook her head, her frustration mounting. “How does it look when the only other Essentiae will not attend the Vellessentiae rituals? We created them together. I need you by my side.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “I refuse to watch him kill you.”

  “Don’t think of it that way. You’d be coming for me. To help me. You don’t know what it’s been like all these years.”

  “I know. I haven’t forgotten the last time. It’s seared into my memory forever. I see it in my mind every year without fail. The images of… of what he did to you never leave me.”

  “I must have you there. I must. Don’t make me beg you. Don’t make me go through this alone even one more year.”

  He stopped abruptly, and turned from her again, staring off across their vineyards lit by the rising sun. “I love you too much, Petra.”

  “Then love me enough to be by my side. I need you, Lucius. I’m tired of missing you. I’m tired of being afraid. You owe me.”

  Lucius had begun to move again, but this gave him pause. Still he would not look at her. Still, he kept her at a distance. And he stood unmoving for several moments more. When his shoulders slumped, when he wiped a hand over his face and he blew out a long breath, she knew.

  “You win, Petra,” he finally said, pushing past her outstretched hand and stalking off.

  Something in the way he said it broke her. There was resignation in his voice, but she also detected the unmistakable quietness of horror.

  13

  The Physician

  Avignon, France

  May 29, 1345

  Weary of sitting a horse at a driving pace for thirteen days through all manner of spring rainstorms—and stormy looks from Lucius—Petra walked ahead on stiff legs toward the forbidding Palais des Papes in southern France. The bright limestone walls of the palace did nothing to allay her sense of foreboding, nor did the clearing storm clouds give her a sense of ease. Would de Chauliac have the answers they sought? She rubbed the phial at her neck and glanced back at Lucius. He looked as exhausted as she felt. What if mortanine had no true antidote and this was a fool’s errand?

  A portly, bearded guard approached them as they climbed the steps to the main gate. Workers milled about the main entrance, wh
ich was in a state of extensive expansion. Apparently this pope had grand plans for a more elaborate palace away from Rome.

  “State your business,” the guard said gruffly, pulling self-consciously at his whiskers.

  “We have been summoned by Physician de Chauliac.” Lucius held out the letter, which the guard snatched from his hand and perused for de Chauliac’s seal and signature.

  “His summons is of a medicinal nature?”

  “Yes, Monsieur.”

  “The physician is expecting you?”

  “Yes, though he was not aware we would arrive today.”

  “Stay here. I will fetch a page to inform him you are here.”

  “Thank you, Monsieur,” Lucius said.

  The wait was a long hour, but as the sun began its descension amid the fading clouds, a page finally came out to greet them. He pointed out the various sections of the formidable palace as they walked across the Il Cortile d’Onore where light rain began to fall onto the courtyard stones and all manner of elaborately dressed priests milling about. Eventually, they entered the far wing via the Salle de Jésus. Just past the old chamberlain’s quarters they arrived at a small office. Here they were shown into a cramped but well-organized room doubling as a small library and laboratory. In the back corner, a scribe was sketching out a set of physician’s tools into a book while Guy de Chauliac himself stood with his back to them, bending over what looked to be a delicate experiment.

  The page cleared his throat. “Physician de Chauliac, your visitors, Monsieur Lucius and Madame Petra Valerii, have arrived.”

  “Thank you, Geoffroi. You may go,” he said without looking up from his experiment.

  It reminded Petra of Lucius when he was deep into his work and unable to tear his mind away when she would interrupt him with a kiss or a summons to bed. She glanced at him, the smile the fond memory created fading in the face of the anger lacing his preternatural features.