Dulcea sighed, her posture slumping.
“I did not foresee that Delbin would betray me,” she said. “I could not imagine that a Silver Elf would betray his own kind.”
“That is unessential,” Krath said. “It does not matter who he was or where he came from. There is always a traitor or a fool somewhere—ready to murder you out of fear or jealousy, or some other grievance, or just for a sack of gold. If it hadn’t been this Delbin, then some other fool would have done it. Do not tell me there haven’t been attempts on your life before this?”
---
Sraeyn, Crown City Vyronh. Planter’s Moon (spring season 7090).
The third year of the Rebellion.
The struggle for the capital’s dominion was without mercy. By the fifth day of fighting, the white stone houses of Vyronh had turned crimson and grimy. The streets crawled with rats and other rodents feeding on dead, decomposing flesh. A fire raged in the city. The foul smell of burning flesh was everywhere.
A fortnight later, the Caerynian rebel army declared victory. The capital was theirs again. The Saruseans had failed their last stand. Dulcea stood on the wall walk connecting the castle to a guard tower. Down in the city, the Caerynian rebels were still outing the last of the Sarusean stragglers, but up on the wall walks the situation was calmer. Dulcea leaned over the fortified wall, commiserating the view over the ruined city. Faint footsteps reached her ears, and she half turned, expecting a patrolling soldier or one of her generals. She had no reason to feel alarm; her own guards stood sentry on the castle and guard tower entrances to the wall walk.
She did not expect danger, and it cost her a precious second of reaction time. By then it was too late. Someone grabbed her from behind and crushed her slender body against the sturdy stones. The impact knocked the air from her lungs. Dulcea kicked with her feet, her fingers grasping at the hard rock. Low, mewling sounds came out of her throat. A thick male leg pushed between her thighs, trying to lift her off the ground and over the parapet. A heavy, well-aimed blow to her head ceased all her struggling.
To open her eyes again was a wonder. Dulcea blinked, her countenance twisting into a grimace. Her guards stood in a circle around her, and a rangy figure shrouded in a hooded cape was crouching over her.
“A-are you all right?” He tried to help her up, but his hand trembled too much to be of any use.
She could not see his eyes from under the hood. The only things visible of him were a narrow streak of pale skin and a glimpse of sun-kissed copper hair.
“What happened?” Her head throbbed, making it difficult to focus her gaze.
“He saved your life,” one of her guards said.
“We didn’t know there was an unguarded trapdoor to the wall walk,” another one said.
“Y-you had to know where it was to see it.” The stranger stood up, drawing his hood tighter down his head. “I didn’t like the look of that fellow. He did not seem to belong there, in the armory.”
Dulcea groaned, attempting to rise to her feet. One of her guards bent down to help her. The cloaked stranger bowed to her, muttered some excuses, and then hurried off, almost bumping into Myoden who was running down the wall walk to meet her. Dulcea’s mouth fell open in flabbergasted shock.
“It’s a little strange, you concur?” she said to Myoden a few days later, sitting on a bench and letting the priest tend to her. She had come for her check-up. His fingers on her sore arm were more caressing than professional, but Dulcea did not mind. His touch felt nice.
The priest gave her an uncertain smile, looking up from re-bandaging the arm she had injured on the wall walk two days prior. “… What are we talking about?”
“Oh, sorry. Nemnyan. That Wild Elf smith. He says he wants no one to know he saved my life.”
“I think he prefers the name Nian.”
Dulcea rolled her eyes. “Not the point, Myoden.”
He laughed. “Sorry. I think it’s admirable. Not everyone hopes to profit from you.”
“I guess you’re right. I’m so used to my name being exploited; it’s turned me cynical.”
---
Dranmore, Camp Fort Izar. Quickening Moon (winter season 7091 - 7092).
The fifth year of the Rebellion.
Dulcea stared at the letter in her hand. Her shaking fingers made the paper rattle. The words it contained were ominous. She felt like she could not breathe.
Know that I have saved you from the beast… for now.
There was no signature, nothing to identify the sender. The ink was still fresh, staining her fingertips. The soldier on duty swore that no one had come demanding to see her, and no one had tried to lure their way past him into her tent.
And yet the letter had found its way to her desk.
Time ran on, and winter’s reign gave way to spring, and fall followed summer. Dulcea looked at the world with new eyes.
Something was different. It was subtle and often disintegrated into meaningless little details when she considered it, but it was still there. It could be the blatant way that a stranger looked at her, or the tantalizing way that things sometimes seemed just too perfect. Dulcea was unsure if it was because she was looking for irregularities or if there really were more.
The second letter, when it arrived in late Harvest Moon, was even more disturbing than the first.
This is the extent of my power. The beast has broken its chains. Beware that it not come after you.
---
Dulcea rubbed her arm, feeling awkward under his intense stare.
“Yes, there have been attempts on my life before, but never by one of my own.”
“That is rare. Many times, it is one’s own dissatisfied kinsmen who attack first. I hope this teaches you something, my lady: you cannot detect them all. You cannot smoke out all the traitors and enemy assassins, but you can protect yourself. You should have protected yourself.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you know about my protection, my lord?”
“Everyone talks about you, my lady.” He shrugged. “You are Lady Lightbringer, a beacon of hope for your people. One need not spy on you to know your habits. You often walk alone without your personal guards. The common folk cheers at your courage and approachability, and no doubt this is the effect you wish to produce. You are their shining star who fears nothing. This, however, is irresponsible of someone in your position. Your generals are doing you a great disservice, allowing you these little freedoms. It is mere luck you survived this long.”
“What do you suppose I ought to have done then?” Dulcea crossed her arms.
“You did not understand your position. You should have kept your guards around you at all times.”
She snorted. “I thought I had my guards with me when Delbin captured me. Turns out I would have been much better off without them. He somehow had my guards replaced.”
“If you always had your guards with you, then no one would have been able to replace them,” Krath said. “But you dismissed them more often than not—did you not, my lady?”
Dulcea could not come up with a reply. She had already been down this road herself and knew there was no excuse she could make. Her recklessness was the reason she was here now.
“Yes, I was foolish,” she said at length, gazing down at the board. “I know I’ve but myself to blame.”
Then, as it was her turn again, she took the Lady she had been shielding until now and trapped his Sovereign with it. Krath’s eyes narrowed for the briefest of moments.
“I can tell you are getting better at this,” he said. “That was quite good…” Dulcea was one move away from beating him, but he had already gotten his pieces into position. He took his Castle and knocked her Sovereign into the Moat. “But not good enough.”
She smiled at him.
“Shall we play again?”
“Persistent, aren’t you?”
“Persistence is one of my virtues. I also learn from my mistakes.”
He grinned at her with something akin
to approval.
“All right then. I will have the maids bring you some refreshments. If we are to play all night, you might as well eat something now and stretch your legs. We could take a turn in the garden.”
“That sounds lovely,” Dulcea said, her voice tinged with excitement.
She loved the great outdoors. In the Silver Elves’ culture, even the poorest folk maintained a garden getaway, and the used greenery revealed more about people’s personality than even their house or clothing did. Humans had a different attitude to plants, but she was eager to see what a garden belonging to a vampire looked like.
The servants brought food up to the solar. Dulcea was not hungry yet, having eaten the whole meal brought to her room at dusk, but she snacked on some fruits and roasted nuts. She took her time with it, not wishing Krath to think she was in any hurry to get outside. She could not allow him to think she was studying her surroundings for an exit. When she had eaten, Krath requested her to walk with him. He did not offer her his arm, which she appreciated. Dulcea was not comfortable touching him, and it would have been a strain to conceal the fact.
He led her downstairs and out of the main keep into the castle garden. A male servant hurried down the corridor ahead of them, opening doors for them as they passed. Outside the sky was overcast, and there was no moonlight. It had rained not long before, and the air was fresh and held the pleasant smell of leaves, the approaching summer, and moist earth. The mossy path was soft under Dulcea’s feet.
The garden was dark, but an array of lanterns held up by statues placed on both sides of the garden trail illuminated the path before them. An aura of something ancient pooled in their steps and twined around the statues as they passed. Noble faces stared unseeing into the dark, their stone bodies fashioned into pleasing shapes. Their look was familiar, and after a moment of study Dulcea recognized them for representations of the gods Lordanys and Diorenne.
She turned to face Krath. “Did you choose these?”
Lordanys and Diorenne were the antitheses of what Asherac and Sarosha represented. Peace and war, restoration and destruction. Life and death, prosperity and ruin. Neither were her gods, but Dulcea had no problem with what other people worshiped. Her second-in-command, Myoden, was a high priest to the god Lordanys, and many Sraeynian priestesses prayed to Diorenne. Dulcea herself served none of the Four Gods, nor the High Gods Solorion and Lunara. She reserved her prayers to Holy Damianos, the Mistress of the Arcane.
“No.” He seemed amused. “That decision falls on the same noble house that built this castle.”
It made sense. It would have seemed odd to her to find a vampire lord decorating his garden with symbols of life and prosperity. The statues were beautiful, though, and the faded pale gray stone suited the ruinous atmosphere of the place. Vine grew over them, and it looked like the creeping tendrils kept the statues of Diorenne arrested to her poses. Lordanys, too, was sinking into decay, vine dangling from his upheld hands like manacles from the wrists of the condemned.
She swallowed. “What happened to this… noble house?”
“The line died out,” Krath said. “The last distant relative brought with him a cult that took over the castle and its lands. Gwyndoorn saw some dark times then.”
“Darker times than yours, my lord?” Dulcea raised an eyebrow at his words.
He grinned at the jab.
“Much darker, as difficult as you might find it to imagine,” he said. “This was long the hideout of monstrously cruel people. They did not exercise great power outside their own limited sphere, but they did unspeakable things to any a poor soul who ended up in their clutches. I put an end to it all when I took possession of this place, although I did not kill the rumors.”
Her breath faltered. Dulcea realized why the name Gwyndoorn had sounded familiar.
Two months back, poring over an old map together with Myoden, the priest had tapped his finger at a spot near the Ghardar Mountains. It was as far as they needed to go. The land beyond it was eerie, dominated by a ruined keep where the traps of a long-since perished cult still remained. Gwyndoorn, haunted by some ancient evil, was best avoided.
Dulcea twined her arms about herself. “Does anything remain of them here?”
The notion that Krath might have heaps of cursed artifacts stored away in his cellars made her stomach queasy. She fought to suppress a shiver.
“Not to my knowledge,” he said. “I viewed those miscreants with as much distaste as you seem to, my lady. I destroyed everything belonging to them.”
Relief washed over her, although she found it difficult to voice her pleasure. Krath did not speak, either. They continued further into the garden. At first, Dulcea could not see any flowering plants, only thick shrubs and vines that sometimes grew in arches over the path. As they ventured further, she detected a faint scent of roses in bloom and noticed that a different vine grew along the castle walls around the garden. Dulcea examined it. The black flowers were hard to see at night, and she had to touch one to make sure it was real.
A Death Rose. Considered an ill omen, most people tore them down at once if they saw them growing anywhere near their houses. Dulcea had seen its kind but once or twice before. Realization struck her. This could not have been the previous owners’ preference. The ancient noble house responsible for the statues would not have liked it, and Krath had destroyed everything brought by the cult. This must have come after the vampire lord took over. It was eerie but fitting.
“It is beautiful here,” she said with complete honesty.
“I am glad you like it. I will tell the maids to guide you here whenever you desire some fresh air.”
“Thank you,” Dulcea said, turning her head away to hide a smile. “I appreciate that, my lord.”
He showed her back to the solar, and they sat down to play. They played until dawn, the warm light of the sun replacing the candles and lanterns. Dulcea’s luck was no better, but the tantalizing near misses at victory held her captive, and she was now certain her host was enjoying himself, too. Violetta brought her breakfast at some point, and closer to noon Krath at last called the game to an end. Dulcea acceded, admitting she was tired, and he bid her farewell and called a maid to see her back into her room.
Dulcea told the maid she wished to bathe first, and she took her down to the baths. Afterward she returned to her room, and the door locked behind Mey. Dulcea felt relieved. She undressed and got ready for bed. She had indeed survived the night, being sufficient entertainment for the vampire for him to keep her alive. Perhaps she could repeat this success the following night. Lord Krath was not unpleasant to be around. She could not fault his behavior.
Dulcea lay down with a sigh and pulled the sheet over her. She was soon asleep and revisited the dream of her captivity, but that nightmare was more distant now, unreal.
Asherac’s temple was deserted and overgrown with vine.
She woke up at dusk. Rising from the bed she had an odd sense of something being different about the room. Dulcea glanced around herself. The Dominion board was still where she had left it on the table, but next to it in a silver vase stood a large bouquet of black roses.
Chapter 6
Knowledge and Reason
Dulcea grabbed the bedsheet, her fingers shaking. Someone had been in her room while she slept.
Dulcea placed her feet on the floor and got up, approaching the table on which the flowers sat. Death Roses. Last night in the garden she had looked at this plant. She bit her lip. That must have been why. Lord Krath had perhaps fancied she might appreciate a kind gesture, but the fact the roses had appeared while she slept chilled her. It meant he either did not understand or respect her wish for privacy. Maybe that was deliberate. Perhaps he meant this as a reminder of her precarious position or even as a warning.
Dulcea tiptoed around the room in nothing but her undergarments, looking for her clothing. The dress she had worn earlier was not where she had left it. The wardrobes were full of capes and other accessories, but
they held nothing she saw fit to wear. She had no choice but to ring the maids.
“I will need some clothes,” she said to them as a key turned in the lock, and Violetta and Lucindra entered the room. “Please be quick about it. I would like to go down to the garden before the sun sets.”
“At once, milady.” Violetta curtsied and turned on her heel.
She did not ask the maids about the flowers—they would only report back to Krath. Dulcea wanted to ask him herself, without giving him the opportunity to mislead.
Violetta returned a moment later with an exquisite, embroidered dress of rustling turquoise silk and a pair of matching shoes, and the maids helped her into it. Lucindra began to arrange Dulcea’s hair, but she waved the girl aside.
“Just brush it and leave it down,” she said.
Afterward, Lucindra accompanied Dulcea through the castle and down into the garden, leaving her there. The garden lay between the castle’s outer walls, forming a green retreat among all the dark stone. Dulcea sighed, stretching her limbs. She thrilled at the chance to enjoy a free moment under the open sky while it was still light outside. The sun was low, but it still hit the upper part of the eastern wall.
Dulcea wandered the garden paths, grateful for the lenience the vampire lord was showing her. The memory of the Sarusean underground base made her shudder. She had thought she would never see the sky or the sun again. To her surprise, the garden was much larger than it first appeared, and Dulcea kept finding new corners between the hedges she had not even noticed in the dark. The northwest end of it was a graveyard, most of it too overgrown to be recognizable as a burial ground, but a few headstones were still visible under the greenery. The epitaphs, if there had ever been any, were unreadable.
She walked along the garden wall, considering the rose plant clinging to its surface. The sturdy vine reached the top of the wall. It was an old plant, thick where it met the earth, and it had dug its tendrils deep into the cracks between the stones. Dulcea wondered if she could climb it. The thorns were a problem. Perhaps if she was desperate enough, she might make the attempt, but that would only get her up on the wall walk.
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