How to get back down on the other side was another matter…
She wondered how things were at West Ford. Myoden and Nemnyan had to be frantic by now, but they would attempt to hush up her disappearance in order not to demoralize the troops. Did Haden and the other generals over at East Ford know she had gone missing? Delbin would be there, but Dulcea had trouble imagining what he intended. Would he try to spread lies about her kidnapping, or would he remain silent and pretend he knew nothing about her disappearance?
Dulcea fisted her hands. How had she never realized to suspect him?
---
Miranma, port city Sheliath. Long Nights’ Moon (winter season 7090 - 7091).
The fourth year of the Rebellion.
The chill of the morning was still sharp in the air when Dulcea approached the port city. The tall stone palisade of Sheliath loomed before her: painted a stark, contrasting white against the deep blue of the Shanod Sea. Sheliath was forever in a state of constant busyness. A squadron of large warships had docked in the harbor, and a small band of road-worn warriors carrying the Caerynian army’s banner were camping outside the city walls. On approaching, Dulcea realized them for warriors of her own lineage. Their captain she recognized by face and name. Her step faltered.
Lord Delbin. Dulcea wanted to groan in displeasure. The man was an asset on the battlefield, but he was intolerable in person.
She paused, altering the concealment charms she wore on her person to include the Silver Elf party on the roadside. Their alert gazes relaxed a little as they recognized their commander.
“Lord Delbin.” Dulcea nodded at him, struggling to keep her distaste out of her voice.
“Lady Dulcea.” Delbin bowed to her, as did the other men in the group. “I hope to find you in good health, and that things are in good hands at the camp.”
“I am well, thank you. The camp I have left to the capable hands of General Myoden.”
“I am surprised he let you go alone.”
“He did not let me. Amparo did. I am not as alone or powerless as you may think.”
Dulcea fisted her hands. She needed to remain calm. Today was important, and it would ruin the whole of Chief Hai’Mezene’s plan if anyone were to realize her identity as the liberator of the south. Large groups attracted attention in the city, whereas a lone southern traveler seeking a beverage in the tavern would not. She could not hold Miranma without the barbarian chief’s help.
Delbin snorted, his lips twisting into a sneer. Dulcea turned to address his comrades. It was perhaps in bad form to ignore their captain, but she could not talk to him one second more.
“How is the city?”
“Safe enough for you to travel, my lady.”
“Will you need any help in getting yourself to the Black Seagull, Lightbringer?” another asked. “There are some suspicious characters around, and not all of them are Sarusean. No, those filthy rats have barricaded themselves into empty houses and are not coming out—these men, however, hang in every street corner and prey on helpless travelers.”
Dulcea shook her head. “No, I doubt that is necessary.”
From under a disguise of illusion magic, she would appear plain and uninteresting to any a passerby.
She smiled. “I will take your word for it, though, and err on the side of caution. I will steer clear of anything that looks like trouble. Await my return.”
She bid them good day. Lord Delbin merely stared at her, his expression unreadable. Dulcea thought there was something hostile in his gaze. Jealousy? Distrust? She would mention it to Myoden later. Dulcea took a deep breath, heading toward the gates.
The guard in the tower glanced at her, uninterested, and shrugged as she passed him.
---
The shadows grew long. Dulcea turned her gaze up to the dimming evening sky, watching the sun as it continued to trek beyond the high walls of the castle. As she stood there, Lord Krath materialized in front of her from thin air. She could not help but jump a little.
“My lord!” She pressed a hand to her chest.
“My lady.” He nodded at her. “How are you this eventide?”
“I am well, thank you.” She glanced at him from head to foot.
She had not expected him to approach her before nightfall. The evening was darkening, but the sun had not yet sunk beyond the horizon. He had been with her this morning after sunrise, but that had been inside the castle, and Dulcea had imagined that perhaps the walls protected him somehow.
“Did I startle you just now?”
His amused tone made it clear he knew the answer, but Dulcea did not want to say it out loud.
She frowned, resorting to diversion. “I did not know you could suffer the daylight, my lord.”
The sun no longer hit the bottom of the garden where they stood, but the day’s rosy light still reflected off the clouds.
“Ah, I see. That old legend.” He laughed. “Neither the light nor the weather affect me.”
“I see. That is… not what I thought.”
He inched closer to her, and she retreated an uncertain step. He smirked.
“What other old wives’ tales have you heard about vampires? I would be glad to set you straight.”
The lore was different, depending on in which part of the continent you posed the question. Different races told different tales, although they all shared a common point of origin. Vampires were evil spirits raised by necromancers, and as nourishment, they drank the blood of living creatures. That never changed. The Silver Elves believed that if pursued, vampires could abandon their corporeal bodies and turn into mist. Sunlight was lethal, and they could only move about at night. Both the Mist Elves and the humans told other tales.
“Are you able to change shape?” she asked him. “Mist, or an animal, or… another person perhaps?”
“No,” he said. “Shapeshifting is difficult and costly magic. Why be someone else when there are more effective ways to get what you want? I have always worn this body and looked as I do now.”
She tapped her cheek. “The humans say your kind has an aversion to garlic and holy objects.”
“The first part is nonsense,” he said with an amused smile. “Garlic does not deter me any more than a turnip or a carrot would. As for holy items… that would depend on the item. If its specific purpose was to ward off the undead, then yes, it would cause me some discomfort.”
“And being undead, are you able to enter a temple of Lordanys or Diorenne?”
“An interesting question, my lady. I believe I have never tried.”
She gazed up at the clouds, rosy from the sunset. “And sunlight or water would not kill you?”
“Correct.” The vampire bared his teeth in a grin. “I am not much different from a mortal man, except I would not drown even if immersed in water for an extended time.”
Dulcea hesitated. Krath’s gaze seemed more direct and intense than she remembered.
“Go on, my lady. I’m sure you got questions still.”
Despite the words’ outward pleasantness, she detected something feral beneath them.
“The priests at Asherac’s temple were trying to kill you.” Her voice turned apprehensive. “It seemed to me they could not hurt you. Are you immune to their curses?”
“No,” he said. “I am, however, rather accomplished at deflecting or evading such attacks.”
“Would a sword through your heart kill you?”
“No.”
“A wooden stake then?”
Krath let out a brief laugh.
“Now that’s just ridiculous; the material doesn’t matter. The only difference is that some pointy objects cause me more pain than others.”
“So…” She pursed her lips. “You feel pain?”
“Yes.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What about fire?”
“What about it?”
“The barbarian tribes from Miranma claim your kind fears fire.”
“Like the wild animals of the plains?”
Krath chuckled. “No, fear is an overstatement, although like any a sane creature, I have a healthy respect for it. It affects me the same way it affects mortals, although I’d recover from burns that would kill another.”
“And do you… sleep in a coffin?”
“No. I do not sleep at all, and even if I did, I assure you I would choose something more comfortable to lie in than a coffin.”
Dulcea opened her mouth to speak, but Krath shushed her silent.
“You know what the problem with your questions is, my lady? You liken me to the lore you know about vampires, but you forget we are not of kin. Your questions are clever, but they are all wrong.”
Dulcea frowned. He was right: she was trying to fit him into a mold.
She tried a different tactic. “What do you do with yourself all day?”
Despite his impressive powers, Krath’s existence sounded dreary and isolated to her. How did he remain sane, living here alone on the fringes of civilization, forgotten by the world?
“I mean, what do you do with your immortality and all the time you have in your hands?”
He shrugged. “I study the world and record my observations.”
“Oh? Like a journal?” She was both pleased and curious. Journal writing was mundane enough and something with which she could identify.
“Yes. I have been watching nations rise and fall for over a millennium. I’d like to think of the journals as an impartial account of everything that has happened these last fifteen hundred years.” He paused, tilting his head to the side. “You are in my books as well, Lady Dulcea.”
Dulcea fell silent. Of course, she was. She was Dulcea Lightbringer, the first dragonmistress since the fall of the High Kings, and the leader of the first successful rebellion against the Saruseans in six centuries. He would have been a fool not to mention her in his books. His occupation did not bother her, but the context in which he would write about her from then on did. She was a fallen star, and Krath had witnessed her defeat firsthand.
Dulcea felt vulnerable before his gaze, but she reminded herself not to show fear. She pulled herself straighter and lifted her chin to muster what remained of her pride.
“So, what is your unbiased opinion of me, my lord?”
He watched her in silence for a moment before answering.
“Brave above any other.”
“Is that all?” Her heart danced to a fast, dizzying rhythm in her breast.
“Oh, no. There is plenty I could say about you, but that is the crux of what I think of your character.” He towered over her, his gaze intense. “Brave. Rare.”
Krath took her hand in his without warning, raising it to his lips. Startled by the unexpected gesture, Dulcea tried to snatch her hand away, but the vampire was faster. His fingers tightened their grip and trapped her hand. Krath looked at her with a strange expression in his eyes, like something between mirth and hunger. Dulcea stood frozen still, her heart beating to a mad pace of fear and distaste.
It was easy to tolerate his proximity, but she could not help recoiling from his touch the same way she would recoil from touching a corpse. A shiver went down her spine. She was all too aware of her hand in his cold, steel-like grip, but she did not dare to pull it away. She could not risk offending him more than she already had.
Dulcea forced her voice calm. “Pardon me, my lord. You surprised me.”
“Forgive me. I forgot myself.” He released her hand. “I should have guessed how you would react, but you have charmed me with your presence, my lady, and I have enjoyed our time together.”
Her breath hitched. He had? His words sent gears moving in the back of her mind. To be in his good graces was what she wanted: any influence she held over him was to her benefit.
Emboldened by his reaction, she smiled at him. “I am glad if I have proved a pleasant distraction to you, my lord. I enjoyed last night a great deal.”
He scowled. “You did?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Krath shifted his pose, the difference in their heights becoming more pronounced. He looked down at her, his expression cold.
“Let us be frank: I know I have abducted you, my lady,” he said. “I hold you here against your will, and you think you need to amuse me because you fear for your life. I make no apologies for that. However, I dislike being lied to. Your reaction just now was honest, and I do not hold it against you, but I resent your words because they sound like a sweet lie designed to please me.”
Dulcea’s fear dissipated. That was good; she would not have to pretend. Besides which, she had told the truth, so she was safe from his displeasure.
She met his eyes. “It was not a lie, my lord. I enjoyed my time with you last night. You were kind and generous, agreeing to my requests to keep playing the game, and I appreciated our conversation. When you brought me here, I did not know what to expect. You are undead, and that frightens me, but last night you allowed me to see the man behind the mask.”
Krath’s expression became thoughtful, and after a moment he nodded.
“I see. I believe you now, my lady.”
He glanced up at the darkening sky then, and Dulcea thought he looked troubled.
“The maids will show you back to your room when you wish to leave.” He gave her a small, polite bow. “I bid you a good night, Lady Dulcea.”
He vanished from her sight, leaving her alone in the garden. Dulcea blinked, her mouth agape. This could not be it. How long would it take before he deigned it worth his time to speak with her again? Was this to be her lot from now on? Dulcea found her lonely confinement to be tiresome, and he was her only hope of escaping it. She refused to let him treat her like an afterthought.
“Wait!” The words left her before she could check herself. “Please!”
She took a few steps forward and shot a glance around her. It was useless. Dulcea knew he must have stepped into the Netherworld, and no eyes in the land of the living could detect him.
“Please come back!”
Nothing happened. Her shoulders sagged, and she heaved a small, disappointed sigh.
A dark voice spoke from behind her. “What is it?”
Dulcea spun around, astonished to see Krath. He had come back at her call! Her palms moistened and heat rose to her cheeks.
“I… I thought,” she said in a breathy voice, “you would wish my company again, my lord.”
“Tonight is not a good night.” His tone was curt, clipped. “If that was all…”
He intended to leave again. Dulcea bit her lip. He was different tonight, brooding and dangerous. Was his gallantry last night just an act? Had he grown tired of it already? But she was not her uncertain self from the previous day, either. Dulcea had more confidence in her own charm now, and she did not intend to just retire back to her room to wait for his next fancy.
“I would not wish to bother you, my lord, if you have important things to attend to,” she said. “But I hope you will have time for me soon. There are things I wish to discuss with you.”
By the slight scrunch of his features, he seemed to consider her entreaty.
“All right then.” He shrugged. “I suppose I can stay and answer your questions if you’d like, but it might end up costing you more than you are prepared to trade in exchange.”
This chilled Dulcea’s eagerness somewhat.
“My life?” she asked, her hands trembling.
“No, not your life.”
Dulcea swallowed. “My virtue?”
“Indeed? Are you truly a maiden?” He sounded amused.
Her cheeks pinked, but she held her head up high. “Yes.”
In most Caerynian cultures, for an unmarried noble lady to be anything but a maiden on her marriage day would be a disgrace. Dulcea had never forgotten the beliefs instilled to her from birth. She had enjoyed a little harmless flirting with some of her enchanter colleagues, but it had never led to more than a few kisses. Her parents were dead, but she would not disgrace her family’s good name by becoming so
me kind of wanton harlot. This ought to have been a source of pride rather than embarrassment, but Krath’s tone of voice made her feel somehow immature.
He grinned. “No, I have no interest in your virtue.”
“Then I would risk it, my lord,” she said.
“Fine,” Krath said, giving her a brief, fascinated smile. “You will eat first, and afterward you may ask me whatever you like.”
Chapter 7
A Battle of Wills
Krath led her back inside the castle and into the dining room. The servants had already set the table with food and drink befitting a light evening meal. Krath held the chair for her, and Dulcea sat down to enjoy the fare. The foodstuffs were excellent, and she ate like an obedient, appreciative guest. Afterward, she followed her host into a large, fabulous drawing room somewhere in the upper levels of the main keep. She had no specific topics prepared for discussion; she only wanted to find out more about him, hoping to cultivate his growing attachment to her on the side.
They sat down in opposing armchairs. A small tea table stood between them, and to Dulcea’s left embers glowed in the hearth, behind a decorative fire cover.
An idea came to her. “Are there any news you could share from the Caerynian camps?”
“Nothing specific, which ought to please you.” He shrugged. “The golden dragons are looking for you, and other search parties are on the move, too, but things are quiet.”
“Who commands the Caerynian army at the moment?”
“You do. The rebellion has not yet failed, nor have your generals pronounced you dead. They seem to believe you are in Sarusean hands, but they hope to locate and rescue you at any moment.”
“Delbin has not tried to take over?”
“No. He’s waiting for the Saruseans to raise a new Golden Dragonlord before he will step in and declare himself the emperor of the Silverwoods. But you are still alive, and the Saruseans have lost the dragonstone.”
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