Puppet/Master (The Vale Chronicles Book 1)

by Joel Abernathy

  “I suppose you have a name,” Arden said, taking the glass of wine waiting for him on the candlelit tray beside the tub.

  “I suppose I do.”

  The chimera flashed him an impatient look, and another smirk was his reward. “That can change.”

  “Harding,” he answered. “And you’re Arden. The Master Vampire’s favorite pet.”

  “Puppet,” Arden corrected.

  “Same difference.”

  “So you do know who I am,” Arden mused, stretching out with his arms propped on the thick rim of the bathtub. “You’re just insolent.”

  “Everybody needs a middle name.”

  The vampire breathed a laugh into his wine glass. “Let me guess. They picked up your team on a supply run?”

  “What makes you think I was part of the resistance?”

  “Healthy human males don’t get the chance to get scars like that unless they try to escape a farm or they’re part of the resistance,” he answered.

  “And what makes you think I’m not a perpetual escapee?”

  Arden considered it for a few seconds. “Your eyes. Something in them tells me that if you were to make an escape attempt, it would very likely succeed.”

  Harding’s rumbling laugh filled him with warmth that made the water seem tepid by comparison. “You’re not wrong.”

  “So you were part of the resistance.”

  “Still would be, if they hadn’t hauled my ass in with the rest of my platoon.”

  “And now?” Arden asked, unable to restrain his curiosity where this man was concerned. “You don’t seem like the type who accepts his fate.”

  Harding shrugged. “Not like I’m food stock. Three squares a day, sleeping quarters that don’t reek of death… it’s not a half-bad gig.”

  His words sounded sincere enough, but Arden was hesitant to believe them. Harding didn’t strike him as the kind of person who prioritized comfort over conviction. Humans were foolish that way. The stronger and more vibrant they were, the more foolish they seemed to be. Arden had never fallen prey to that side of his former nature. Then again, he had been raised by vampires, so perhaps it was more a matter of nurture.

  “What about you?” asked Harding.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can’t be content being some vampire’s personal assassin when he stuffs you back in a box as soon as he’s done with you,” he snorted.

  Arden frowned. “It’s necessary.”

  “Why?”

  The question itself ground on his already thin nerves. “If you know who I am, you know why I’m unique.”

  “Sure. You’re a loyal little lapdog while the others have a tendency to flip after a few years and kill their masters,” Harding answered, folding his arms.

  Arden’s eyes narrowed. “They’re unstable. They forget their purpose.”

  “How do you know you’re not the one who forgot yours?”

  Before Arden could respond, someone knocked on the door.

  “Twenty minutes!” Lauren called.

  Arden waited until he heard her walk down the hall before turning back to Harding. “You know nothing and you should stick to speaking on what you know.”

  Harding snorted. “Fair enough.”

  To Arden’s surprise, the guard left him to finish bathing in peace. By the time he stepped out, Harding had a towel waiting for him. He ignored it in favor of his robe and walked over to his dressing room to collect the change of clothes waiting for him over the door.

  Then again, perhaps “clothes” was too generous of a word. There were tight leather pants that left him covered while exposing just about as much as being naked would have. He picked up the leather harness and frowned. How the hell was that even supposed to go on?

  “You sure this is your party?” Harding asked smugly. “Looks like you’re the meat on display.”

  “Shut up,” Arden muttered, still trying to untangle the thing. He rarely attended these events, but when he did, he’d always been provided with a suit or a nice set of robes, depending on who was in attendance. The vampires and humans shared similar taste in clothing, while the elves preferred leather that complimented their biotech implants.

  “Here,” Harding said, coming up behind him. He held out his hand and Arden reluctantly passed the gear over to him. “I’m supposed to be helping you get ready.”

  He could see now why Lauren had given him two attendants that evening, but Harding seemed to know his way around a harness a bit too well for the casual enthusiast. “I take it you’ve worn one of these before,” Arden said, slipping his arms through the device first.

  The man scoffed. “Worn? No. But I’ve put them on for plenty of subs,” he said, stepping back to survey his work. “May I?”

  “Knock yourself out. But I’m no one’s sub.”

  “No? You jump when your master says to, don’t you?”

  “That’s different,” he muttered as Harding adjusted the harness around his chest until it fit perfectly. The thick leather bands crossed over his shoulders and down his chest before meeting again in a thick ring in the center. He was used to seeing the human blood slaves dressed this way, but he’d never thought he would have to wear such a revealing costume. Especially not in front of the elves.

  A certain contingent of the elves had worked alongside the vampires for as long as they had existed on Teros, but their relationship was not always a cordial one. The Emperor of Favros was a former enemy and Arden had killed more of his courtiers than decency would allow him to speak of, considering that they were to be dinner companions that evening. New alliances rendered old rivalries mute, and both species were willing to put aside personal feelings for a mutually beneficial arrangement. Still, Arden would never be comfortable looking vulnerable around them.

  “I take it you don’t like the outfit.” The sympathy in Harding’s tone was far worse than if he’d made another smart remark.

  “I ‘like’ whatever my master chooses for me.”

  “Lucky guy.”

  Arden frowned. He wasn’t sure what to make of that remark, or the melancholic tone that accompanied it. He didn’t have time to get any more preoccupied with this human absurdity. It didn’t matter if Arden felt equally absurd wearing barely more than a belt; Eric wanted to show him off, which meant that Arden would walk into that party with his head held high.

  2

  Arden

  Arden had only been to Eric’s penthouse a handful of times, but it was as luxurious as he remembered. The white walls and floors were tinted with a blue glow from the light of the twin moons reflecting in the rooftop pool, and the elven light streams laced through the glossy marble stone. From what he understood, the inexhaustible light source was made of the same gel-like substance the elves filled the hollow markings in their flesh with.

  Both fae and elves had once possessed the same colorful, intricate markings that ran in patterns unique to them all over their bodies, filled with Chrysalus energy--the same sentient life force that had created their homeworld, the Vale.

  When the elves had been banished from the Vale, they’d lost their connection and their markings slowly became hollow scars. To compensate, they had found a way to extract the trace quantities of Chrysalus found within human blood. The substitute concentration they created from that blood served as a synthesized form of Chrysalus that would allow them to fuel and direct magical energy however they pleased without tapping into any external source.

  Given the fact that they had already won the war, Arden decided that the elves had accomplished more with their technology than the fae had with the gifts their spirits had given them.

  The penthouse was full of elves with a few vampires Arden knew well enough sprinkled into the mix. The elves were a good deal taller with pointed ears like the fae, and their glowing markings ranged in color from hot pink to the most vibrant blues and yellows. The markings of the fae were always simple and elegant, while the current style among the Elves seemed to be mimick
ing the look of a computer chip’s circuitry.

  One elf in particular caught Arden’s eye. He recognized Prince Leopold, one of the Emperor’s closest advisors, immediately. The man was tall and muscular with shock-white hair far shorter than was fashionable among most of the males of his kind. His skin was a shade of light gray that reminded Arden of the overcast sky, shimmering with the same iridescent glow the fae bore. Arden could tell he was using his scleral network implants from the fact that his eyes were lit up unnaturally blue, two piercing spheres visible from across the room. Beneath his eyes began two simple glowing green lines carved down both sides of his face and neck, continuing well beyond the elegant collarbone visible above his vest. Snug leather hugged every generous swell of muscle on the man’s chest and arms, but the shirt underneath was rolled up at the sleeves enough to reveal the full-metal prosthetic that had replaced the man’s left arm.

  With Elves, it was anyone’s guess whether a particular prosthesis was compensating for an organic limb or merely satisfying the wearer’s urge to transcend the organic and become integrated with the machines they built to serve them. Either way, Arden knew firsthand that Leopold’s hand could easily become a shiv or a plasma rifle, depending on his whim.

  Before the war, they had fought opposite enemy lines, and the nobleman’s presence in his Master’s home didn’t sit well with him.

  Granted, more than ten years had passed since the peace treaty, but Arden had only been awake for a fraction of it. “Forgive and forget” was an easier motto to swallow when the old rivalries felt like ages ago.

  He turned away, determined to ignore the man’s presence for as long as he could get away with it. Undoubtedly, Leopold would be in the group Eric was hoping to show Arden off to. He would be the only one who knew firsthand what the puppet was capable of.

  A sudden spark of awareness drew Arden’s attention across the room. His heart beat faster as he saw his Master seated by the window, regaling a group of fashionable elves with his stories. He was a testament to the eternal beauty of his kind with flowing dark curls that fell around his limber arms and facial features as sharp and elegant as crystal. The only warmth that never faded swelled within Arden’s chest at the sight of him. His sire, his Master, his beloved maker.

  As soon as Arden came within appropriate distance of the group, he knelt with his head bowed low. It didn’t feel like an embarrassment, even though all eyes were on him. Eric was due all reverence and more. He would rather spend a lifetime at this man’s feet than inherit the highest throne of any other realm.

  “Speak of the devil,” Eric said fondly, reaching out to cup the young man’s face in his smooth palm. Arden’s eyes fluttered shut in sheer bliss as the vampire’s nimble fingers caressed the line of his jaw. If he were the type of creature who purred, he would be rumbling in that moment.

  “Master,” Arden said, opening his eyes now that he’d been acknowledged. He could feel the others watching him closely, their curious stares burning holes in his near-naked torso, but he was too focused on Eric to care.

  “My, you weren’t exaggerating. He really is beautiful,” the man beside Eric remarked, looking Arden up and down. He was every bit as brazen as Harding, but there was nothing playful about the look in his pale gray eyes. The man was so pale his skin was chalky white, and it looked like it might tear if he smiled too hard. Elves aged much slower than humans, so the deep lines around his face made it clear he had seen many centuries of living. The six empty cups before him indicated that he planned to thoroughly enjoy a few more before he was finished. The circlet around his golden hair indicated some manner of royalty, but while Arden knew their battle regalia well, he couldn’t tell the difference between an elven queen and a courtier.

  “What did I tell you?” Eric asked with a vague air of irritation. He placed his hand on Arden’s shoulder and turned him slightly. “Arden, my beloved, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to Vaeyr, the Emperor of Favros.”

  Arden’s eyes widened, but he quickly suppressed his surprise. He hadn’t expected someone so fragile-looking and unassuming to be the ruler of the highest elven nation on Teros. “Your Highness,” he said with a respectful nod.

  The Emperor cocked his head. “You do not bow to royalty, my lad?”

  Arden kept his lips tight to keep from smirking. “I recognize only one Master, my lord. To bow to anyone else would be an offense to him.”

  “Well,” Vaeyr huffed. He looked over and frowned when Eric shuddered in poorly contained laughter. “You’ve certainly trained him well.”

  “He knows his place,” Eric said warmly, ruffling the vampire’s tresses as Arden knelt beside his chair.

  “I’m sure he does,” the elf said, his gaze traveling down the leather straps covering Arden’s chest. Revulsion stirred in the vampire’s core, but he hid it well. He wouldn’t do anything to make Eric look bad, including anything that would offend his lascivious guest. “Are the rumors about his performance in other areas true as well?”

  “He is by far the most skilled assassin I have ever trained,” Eric answered, ignoring the implication in the man’s question. Arden’s chest swelled with pride at his praise and his scalp tingled wherever his Master’s fingers brushed. Surely he couldn’t be immune to the fact that his puppet’s adoration knew no boundaries, but Arden tried not to take the fact that he had never shown an interest in him as anything other than a weapon personally. He was legendary for his women, and while Arden could and would become everything his Master asked of him, he couldn’t draw his interest in that regard.

  “Perhaps a demonstration is in order,” Vaeyr mused. Arden was no longer sure which set of skills he was referring to, but he decided he’d rather not know. He looked up as Leopold came over to join them, a glass of blood in his right hand. The elves didn’t require it for sustenance the way the vampires did, but they drew their magical fuel from its essence and often imbibed for pleasure. It was a tendency Arden had always found insulting in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  “Ah, there’s my favorite nephew,” Vaeyr said warmly. “Come, join us. Eric was just introducing us to his puppet.”

  Arden looked at the newcomer in surprise. This was the first he’d heard of any familial bond between them, and there was certainly no physical resemblance between the two Elves. Maybe it was by marriage. The last time he’d gone into his coffin, the Emperor was on his fourth wife and it was obvious he was still hungry.

  “We’ve met,” said Leopold, casting a less than welcoming glance at the vampire.

  “Oh, that’s right. You probably fought against him when you were in the Army,” Vaeyr mused.

  “Actually, no. Fighting implies honorable combat. He killed three of my men in the dead of night,” the elf replied in a cold tone.

  “All’s fair in war, no?” Eric asked, lazily running his fingers through Arden’s hair. The Puppet bristled at the newcomer’s disrespect. He didn’t care what Leopold thought of him and never had, but the fact that he saw himself as high enough to speak that way in front of Eric was infuriating. Elves could declare their leaders Emperors all they liked, but no one had shed more blood for his subjects than the Master Vampire himself.

  “Besides, we’re all friends now,” said Vaeyr. “Common interest and all that.”

  “Yes,” Leopold said with a tight-lipped smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s all in the past now.”

  The uneasy silence lasted until Eric remarked, “Well, now seems like as good a time as any for that demonstration you asked for.”

  “Yes,” Vaeyr said eagerly, his beady eyes flitting back to Arden. “I’d rather enjoy seeing this secret weapon of yours in action.”

  Eric nodded his approval and a moment later, two beautiful male fae were dragged into the room. Both were shackled with electronic implants on their temples. Arden didn’t recognize the new models, but he knew well enough how they worked and that the frequency constantly broadcast into their minds was responsible for the
dulling of the exquisite markings nature had carved into their skin.

  The first male was tall and willowy with light rose-colored locks that flowed in smooth strands around his bare torso with two pointed ears peeking out. His skin was the richest shade of bronze Arden had ever seen, while the blue-haired male at his side was so pale he almost glowed. Vampires often dyed their hair to match the rainbow of colors fae tresses came in naturally, but the dye never managed to replicate the beauty before him.

  Arden watched curiously as the fae were led and forced to kneel in front of Eric and the Emperor. The pink-haired one was gagged, and the defiant look in his reddish-purple eyes told Arden the guards had good reason. Arden couldn’t help but think how much he resembled a rabbit with those innocent eyes and fragile features. It was rare for the fae to make an appearance outside their carefully guarded territory, and rarer still for one to make a mistake that would get him caught. Eric was not in the habit of making trophies of his enemies, so their presence was a mystery.

  “My, this is a surprise,” Vaeyr said, his eyes widening lustfully as he looked at the two fae prostrate before him.

  “My men caught them trying to break into the crystal vault,” Eric said, his cheek propped on his hand as he studied his prisoners. “Despite hollow reassurances of their Queen that she will uphold the peace treaty, it seems the fae are quite concerned that we might retake the Vale.”

  “Espionage never was their strong suit,” Vaeyr mused. “They should stick with what they know.”

  “And that would be?” Eric challenged.

  His remark clearly went over with the Emperor, who burst into an obnoxious peel of laughter. Arden tried to focus on the conversation, but his attention kept drifting over to the fae. Especially the one with the pink hair and red eyes. He was beautiful, yes, but all the fae were. What struck him was the pity in that gaze.

  Fae were not warriors by nature. Until their elven counterparts had decided to overthrow their tyrannic rule in the Vale, they had no reason to fight at all. The inner realm hidden within the core of the planet Teros was far more advanced than the surface world, and with all the magic they needed provided by the planet itself, they had no reason to conquer or expand. Arden had never actually seen a fae this close, and while they were descended from the same divine lineage as the elves, he was surprised at the stark contrast between the energies that filled their markings.