The fae before him was pulsing with raw power, barely restrained by the artificially generated frequencies emitted by his crown. He wore it with his head held high in defiance and the confidence of a prince. Arden wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he was one. He didn’t know what Eric had in mind for these two, but he feared the worst and felt ashamed for it. He’d killed countless elves and vampires, but there was something about murdering a creature who had existed in harmony with nature for thousands upon thousands of years that made even his withering soul retreat within him.
“To what do we owe this rare treat?” Vaeyr asked, looking once more at the men before him like they were another appetizer that had been brought out for his approval. Eric was skilled at many things, and foremost among them was his ability to play his allies as well as his enemies. He learned what made a person tick and what weaknesses he could exploit. It was clear to Arden that the chief weakness he’d found in the Emperor was lust of every kind, and appealing to the man’s prejudice by parading two particularly stunning specimens of his mortal enemies had certainly won the man’s favor.
“You asked me earlier if my Puppets could withstand the unleashed magic of the Vale,” Eric answered. “I thought it more appropriate to show you rather than continue to ramble on about their capabilities.”
Vaeyr’s eyes widened. Even Leopold seemed shocked by the insinuation and he was the first to speak his mind. “You’re not going to remove their crowns in here.”
“You seem to forget that I’m the one who restrained them in the first place,” Eric said, clearly irritated by his guest’s lack of faith. “But tell you what, since you’re so hesitant, we’ll do it one at a time. Arden?”
Arden hesitated a moment to be sure of what his Master was acting. He reluctantly stood and faced the blue-haired fae. The man flinched when he reached out, but he pressed the disconnection module on the electronic crown and felt the metal grow still as the vibrations ceased.
The fae’s eyes widened and he sprang to his feet as the metal fell from his temples. He looked at Arden, then at Eric in disbelief. In an instant, his markings sprang to life, gleaming with such powerful golden energy that Arden was temporarily blinded.
The other fae gave a muffled cry of warning to his friend. Evidently, he knew what this display was about. The freed warrior let out a fierce snarl and lunged at Eric, crackling golden energy dancing between his fingertips.
The vampire sat back calmly, his gaze flitting to Arden rather than the monster he’d unleashed. That brief instant of eye contact was enough to pass an understanding between them, but even if Eric had ignored him entirely, Arden’s action would have been the same.
He moved so swiftly he saw the blur of his own form before he ended up between the fae and his Master, absorbing the current of lightning that was meant for Eric. The fae’s claws dug into his chest as the current pulsed through the vampire, and his eyes widened in shock as Arden’s hand closed around his wrist.
Arden winced as the painful energy coursed through him. It would have been more than enough to kill even a powerful vampire like Eric, and the gasps and shouts of fear around the room as the guests fled demonstrated their awareness of just how close they all were to death. Although the fae weren’t gifted in physical combat, they had the ability to store up vast sums of energy akin to a nuclear blast when greatly distressed. Arden knew now why the collar had seemed so inadequate at suppressing the fae’s power. It was designed to store the energy, not stop it. Eric had wanted a grand display to pit his Puppet’s abilities against, while simultaneously proving Arden’s willingness to die for his Master, and the looks of dismay on both the Emperor and his nephew’s faces said he’d done exactly that.
The fae looked horrified that his chance at revenge had been redirected away from its true target, but while the shock would have killed any other creature, the pain was already fading. The fae had used all of his energy on the attack and Arden knew what was next.
“Do it,” Eric said casually, looking at something more interesting across the room.
Arden swallowed hard, tightening his grip on the fae’s wrist. Rabbit, as he’d termed the other, looked away with a pained grimace, as if he knew what was coming.
Arden had never before felt hesitation over a kill. It felt as natural to take a man’s life as it did to breathe. Sometimes it took even less effort. He was made to take lives, to fulfill the will of his Master, and the fact that he was hesitating even for an instant was unforgivable.
“Arden,” Eric said in a warning tone he had never had the occasion to use.
The Puppet swallowed hard. Right and wrong were not concepts that existed in his world. There was only Eric’s will, and nothing else mattered, yet as his fingernails lengthened and hardened to become bladed claws, he felt like something was pulling his arm back. He overpowered it along with the foreign sensation of dread pooling in his core and swept his outstretched hand across the fae’s neck. It was over before the red line appeared across his throat and the spray of silver blood bathed Arden in a coat of paint that usually filled him with pride.
As the light faded in the fae’s eyes, the blood felt like a mark of shame. A sign that he had gone against the will of nature itself, committing a sin that even his maker couldn’t absolve him of. The other fae’s shoulders sank and a sound of unadulterated grief came from him as his friend’s body hit the ground. The sound shook Arden to the core, even more shocking than the kill itself had been. He stood frozen, and when the living fae’s red eyes met his, the fact that they were full of even greater pity than before was too much to comprehend.
He’d just killed this man’s friend, perhaps even a brother, and he was certain Eric would ask him to kill the other fae next. What reason did he have to pity the vampire?
“What did I tell you?” Eric asked smugly, wiping off a bit of blood that had hit his cheek.
Vaeyr stared at the dead body in abject horror and when his eyes met Arden’s, the lust in them was gone, but replaced with a far more pressing desire. “Incredible,” he murmured in a reverent tone, looking up and down the Puppet’s bloodied form. “He absorbed the Chrysalus energy.”
“And he’s capable of far more than that,” Eric said in a smooth tone that should have filled Arden with pride. Instead, it made him shudder. “Shall we continue our demonstration?”
“No,” Leopold interrupted, stepping up. Vaeyr stared at his nephew in surprise, but Leopold’s blank expression betrayed none of the horror that had been there a moment ago. “You’ve proven your point. There’s no need to take another risk for theatrics’ sake.”
“Very well,” Eric smirked, waving his hand. The other fae was led away, his head hung low.
Arden jolted when Eric touched his arm. “Go clean up,” he said kindly. “You did well.” The ice in his tone from Arden’s momentary hesitation was gone, and all seemed forgotten. The evening had obviously gone exactly the way he wanted it to. The Emperor was all the more enthralled with him, and he knew what he would be facing if he chose to turn on his new allies.
The Emperor cleared his throat. “What we spoke about earlier…?” he asked pointedly.
Eric sighed in recognition. He took Arden’s hand and pulled him in to whisper. “Once you’ve bathed, wait in the Emperor’s room and do as he says.”
Arden bristled at the implication, but as degrading as it was to be treated like one of the royal courtesans, lent out for the pleasure of any visiting dignitaries, he had never refused an order from his Master and didn’t plan to start now. “Yes, Master,” he said, bowing to Eric before he took his leave.
3
Arden
After washing the metallic blood off his skin and out of his hair, Arden changed into a robe and made his way to the room the Emperor was staying in. He could smell the ghoul before he opened the door. It wasn’t an unpleasant scent. More the absence of the lifeblood that marked all living things. A dusty, papery smell that was neither pungent nor aromatic.
He opened the door and found himself startled by the grotesque mask the servant on the other side wore to conceal the lower half of his face. The mask was fashioned to resemble two rows of sharp, oversized teeth fit together over bone, with thick straps that disappeared into his dark hair. Wisps of hair fell into his eyes, which were a pale white hue like most of the ghouls’ were. What little was visible of his face was young and becoming, but Arden had seen enough ghouls to know that the mask likely concealed a far more unsettling reality.
The servant bowed respectfully and looked on in silence.
Arden frowned, tying the sash of his robe a bit tighter. “Where are the servants I had earlier?” He’d expected Harding, if not the human men who had been picked out for him.
“They are indisposed,” the servant answered in a surprisingly gentle voice. There was a slight accent to it. German, perhaps. “They call me Vox. I am here to serve you.”
“Vox?” Arden echoed. That was a strange name, even for a ghoul. Whatever names they’d borne in their human lives got left behind along with their humanity when they were changed. Most were called by a simple word name, depending on the fashion of the vampires they served, and Vox was unique to say the least.
Even though the ghoul’s lower face was completely covered, his eyes betrayed the fact that he was smiling. “My maker was a bit strange.”
“I see.”
The ghouls always made Arden uneasy. They were physically weaker than vampires, though a good deal stronger than humans and most shifters. Maybe it was the fact that if not for an extreme statistical improbability, he would have been one of them.
The door opened and Harding stepped in, a sullen look on his face. “What are you doing here?” Arden demanded.
“I’m your lady in waiting tonight,” he said dryly. “Emperor’s orders.”
Arden frowned. The evening ahead of him promised to be unpleasant enough without dealing with more of the guard’s attitude. “Well, you can both leave,” he said flatly. “I’m more than capable of handling things myself.”
The only thing there was to do at that point was sit and wait for the Emperor to get tired of rubbing elbows with the vampires, and he certainly didn’t want Harding around for what came after.
“Yeah, well, his majesty has other ideas,” said Harding, dropping the bag at his side. He pulled out some metal contraption that looked like a less pleasant variation of Vox’s mask and a pair of thick handcuffs. “He wants you all trussed up for when he comes in.”
Arden’s stomach churned at the thought of donning that gear to please a man he wouldn’t have given the time of day, and it especially chaffed him that Harding of all people had been sent to prepare him, but he knew what Eric expected of him. Every time he was released from his prison, he held out hope that he would get to spend at least a bit of time at Eric’s side as his reward for a job well done. Being Eric’s right hand was his greatest pride, but if he wanted Arden to be his whore now, so be it.
“Get on with it, then,” he muttered.
“You look like you know more about these than I do,” Harding said, tossing the muzzle to Vox. The ghoul caught it without a word and approached Arden, hesitating for permission to fasten it. Arden nodded impatiently and Vox fastened the thick metal grate over the lower half of his face. He wasn’t shocked that the Emperor had some dark fetishes, but he suspected it had as much to do with fear of his conquest as it did his kinks.
“Hands, pretty boy.”
Arden shot a glare at Harding, but he held his hands behind his back. He was sure the guard was eating this up. The cuffs were secured a bit tighter than seemed necessary, but a pain in his neck drew his attention. It was sudden and sharp, over as quickly as it began, but the moment Arden looked up and saw the needle in Vox’s hand, he knew he’d fallen into a trap.
Confusion and rage spilled out from his chest as he thrashed against the restraints, but a coldness was beginning to spread from where the needle had pierced his jugular. Whatever they’d injected him with, it was working fast. It wouldn’t kill him. Nothing could, and soon these fools would come to realize that.
The muzzle kept him from screaming and the cuffs were sturdier than he’d expected. Arden tore out of Harding’s grasp and thrashed until he fell back onto the bed. The poison was making his movements jerky and he could feel the effect on his panicked mind. His thoughts were disjointed, taking second place to raw emotion and betrayal.
“Why the fuck isn’t it working?” Harding snapped, grabbing Arden by the shoulders to pin him face-down.
“It should be,” Vox protested, watching nervously. His eyes seemed clearer. “I loaded that thing with enough carfentanil to take out a herd of elephants.”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have skimped!”
Carfentanil? Did these idiots seriously think that was going to take him out? It might knock him out for an hour or two at the most, and he could already feel his consciousness fading, but if they planned on killing him, they had another thing coming.
Then again, maybe that wasn’t the plan at all.
“Damn, he’s strong,” Harding muttered, pinning him down with a knee in his back and all of his bodyweight. If Arden didn’t know better, he’d think the guard sounded impressed.
“I think it’s starting to work,” Vox said urgently. Like clockwork, Arden felt his movements slow down as time itself seemed to halt. He could feel himself being separated from his body, floating above as the two insurgents dragged his limp body over to the balcony door. Try as he might to regain control, every moment sent him further away from his physical form.
“The truck had better be out there,” said Harding.
“There, look. By the bushes,” Vox whispered.
Harding hoisted Arden’s lifeless body into his arms with surprising ease and leaned over the balcony to look at something. Arden could hear the sound of an engine rumbling below and felt an awful dropping sensation as the guard leaped over the railing with Arden in his arms.
The impact was not light, but Arden could no more feel it than he could anything else. Vox leaped down, far more gracefully, and the surge of the stars overhead told Arden they were on the road.
The two men were arguing about something, but it was difficult to keep track. Something about containment. Good fucking luck, thought Arden. As soon as this shit was out of his system, he was going to unleash hell on the both of them, and whomever they’d roped into being their getaway driver. Then, they’d have to answer to Eric.
“Get it open, quick,” Harding grunted. “I think he’s starting to come to.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Don’t fucking tell me it’s impossible when I’m the one looking at him!” Harding barked.
Vox let out a heavy sigh, followed by a creaking sound, like something swinging on hinge. Arden could barely keep his eyes open, despite what Harding seemed to think, but when he saw the coffin Vox had uncovered in the bed of the truck, he realized they hadn’t come unprepared at all.
Harding placed him inside the coffin, surprisingly gentle despite the fact that Arden’s body was numb to everything anyway, and their eyes met for an instant as his hand rested on the lid.
“Sorry, kid,” Harding muttered, looking down at him. “May not seem like it now, but trust me, we’re doing you a favor.”
A favor? Arden wanted to tell him to go to hell, but the curse died out in his throat. The lid closed, plunging him into darkness, and the natural urge to fall asleep teamed up with the drugs to take him under.
Every time the coffin lid opened, it took Arden a moment to remember where he was and what he’d been doing the last time he’d gone in. This time took longer than most as he found himself staring up at a low white ceiling he didn’t recognize.
The memories came back all at once, and he sat up violently, snarling behind the metal mask. The room was empty, save for an intercom on the wall. He froze. Every wall was made of some sort of crystalline material that was imposs
ible to see through and seemed unfathomably thick. He’d never seen anything like it, but he’d watched Eric torture enough prisoners of war to know what an observation room looked like. He had no doubt that Harding and the others responsible for taking him were having a grand laugh on the other side of those walls, but the final laugh would be his.
Did they think these restraints would hold him now that the coffin was open? It was the only thing standing between them and certain death, and they were about to find out just how insufficient those walls were, whatever they happened to be made of.
“Arden,” said a strangely familiar man through the intercom. “I’m glad you’re awake.”
The voice was soft and sympathetic. So gentle that he almost wanted to believe it.
“I’m sure you’re upset and very confused right now, and I apologize,” he said, every bit as sincere despite the absurdity of his words, given the situation. “I wish it didn’t have to be done this way, but it was the only way we could extract you.”
Arden listened, seething as he pulled at the restraints behind his back. He was stronger than a natural-born vampire and the metal broke easily enough now that he was in possession of his full abilities, but the mask proved more of a challenge.
“I’m not surprised you got out of those so quickly,” the voice said with a hint of amusement. “I think you’ll find the muzzle a bit more difficult, but I’ll be happy to help you out of it in time. First, you need to understand why you’re here.”
Arden froze. The mask kept his lower jaw locked in place, making any intelligible speech a lost cause, but maybe the idiot on the other end of the intercom would give his plan away without Arden having to speak at all.
Puppet/Master (The Vale Chronicles Book 1) Page 4