“You seem to hold all the cards, my lord. You have me, the dragonstone, and the Staff of the Suns.”
Krath smirked. “That seems about right, my lady.”
No crisis had yet occurred in her absence. If only she could get back to camp, things might go back the way they were.
“How did you bring the Golden Staff of the Suns here?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Even if you somehow avoided the protective illusions, the dragonstone would have burned your hand.”
The ability to call dragons was a power many people coveted. Dragonstones protected their owners from theft, jealousy, and greed by burning the hand of anyone unauthorized to touch the stone. The mind link between a dragonlord and his dragon clan severed only in death.
The vampire shook his head. “I am dead. How could it hurt something it does not register?”
Her stomach dropped. Dulcea swallowed, and her palms grew moist. Was this where Krath told her he meant to keep her Golden Staff of the Suns and the dragonstone?
He tapped his chin. “I do not know, actually. I did not test it. It may work whichever way. You ask about me, when you ought to question how Delbin’s people handled your Staff. The Saruseans had manufactured a clever little box that voids all magic, and they carried the Staff in it. Anyone can touch it as long as they do not open it, and I stole the box and its contents.”
“May I see the Staff, my lord?”
“Why do you want to see it?”
Dulcea bit her lip. If he allowed her to see it, not only would she know where he kept it, but she would know for sure if he was telling the truth or not.
She shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.
“Why not? You offered to show it to me last night if I beat you in a game of Dominion.”
He laughed, baring his teeth. “Then perhaps you would like to play again for the same prize?”
“I should like that very much, my lord.”
Krath clicked his fingers, and a servant entered.
“The Dominion board from the solar,” the vampire said.
The servant bowed, only to return a few moments later with the item in question. He presented it to Krath, who placed it on the small table between himself and Dulcea.
“It will not be the same, though.” He gazed at her, his pale turquoise eyes narrowing. “This time failure has its price. If you win, I will show you where I have put your Staff. If I win, however, I will have something from you.”
Her heart fluttered in her breast. “What is that?”
“Not your life and not your virtue, but that is all I will tell you.” His lips stretched to a slow smile. “Do you still wish to risk it, my lady? You do not have to play. I will be neither disappointed nor angry. If you so wish it, I will send you back to your room where you will be quite safe.”
A tremor went through her. Dulcea considered her options. Krath was being vague on purpose. Did he mean to test her courage? Perhaps he would do nothing if she lost, or perhaps what he had in mind was so dreadful she would never consent to it if he named it outright. Dulcea sighed. Either she stayed and found out what he intended, or she returned to her room to wait for his next fancy. A safe but useless solution.
Dulcea meant to take advantage of the fact that Krath appreciated bravery; she only wished she knew if what she was about to do amounted to bravery or stupidity.
“I accept, my lord.” She raised her chin.
He flashed a grin at her. She liked to think her courage impressed him.
“This time I shall move first,” he said, nodding toward the board.
Dulcea focused on the game, trying her best to analyze Krath’s strategy. She followed his moves with a keen eye, putting effort into her decisions.
She waited until it was his move again. “Have you noticed there is a curse upon me, my lord?”
“Yes.” Krath nodded, using his Lady to take out one of Dulcea’s soldiers.
The move left his Lady exposed, but it was a trap. Going after it would cost her important pieces and maybe the entire game. She would leave the Lady alone and keep her eye on his Sovereign.
“How can you tell?” She scowled. “It is not visible, is it?”
“No.” The right corner of his mouth curled up. “But you are a master enchantress in a dire situation, and yet you have not tried to put a single spell on me. Either you are being polite to a fault, or someone has bound your powers.”
“I see. Can you tell me who this someone is?”
“My guess is it was a high priest of Asherac, but it is doubtful you ever met him in person. The curse was most likely on an object you touched. Do you remember handling anything foreign within the last few days?”
Dulcea gulped. The courting presents. She had received them in heaps since the Council of the Houses had pinned the title of Royal Adviser on House Silanquel. The prestige and desirability her name carried on the marriage market had increased to an exponential degree: creating cracks for Delbin’s poisonousness to slither through. Most likely Delbin or some other representative of House Surinquel had sent her a poisoned gift in another House and husband candidate’s name.
“Yes,” she said, fisting her hands. Her mind throbbed with a fresh surge of contempt toward Delbin and his accomplices. She looked down at the board and moved her next piece. “I think I know now how that happened.”
She did not elaborate. Lord Krath did not need to know all the embarrassing details.
She glanced up at him. “Will you help me lift this curse, my lord?”
He looked at her with an amused smile.
“Now, why would I do that? The curse does you no harm. I find it rather convenient, in fact.”
No doubt he did. Dulcea frowned. If it was a priest of Asherac who did this to her, then a priest of Lordanys should have been able to reverse the curse. If she ever got out, she would talk to Myoden about it.
“May I be direct with you, my lord?”
“Always, my lady.”
“Why are there roses in my room?”
“A mere whim, my lady,” he said. “Do you not like them?”
Dulcea pursed her lips. “Death Rose is an ill omen.”
“Perhaps it amuses me to see what you would make of it.”
She swallowed. “I do not know how to answer that.”
“No matter,” he said. “You will be here for a long time. You will have time to reflect on it.”
“Was it you who put them there?”
“Yes,” he said.
She gave him an icy glare.
“I dislike people being in the room while I sleep.” She crossed her arms.
The vampire met her gaze unfazed. “I understand. Worry not: I would never allow any harm to fall upon you in your sleep. That is not my style, but I go where I please in my own house, and earlier it pleased me to bring you flowers.”
Her disapproval meant nothing to him, she realized. It was useless to quarrel with him, and Dulcea decided she would not engage in any further conversation until she had defeated him.
She came close. Perhaps a few more moves, and she would have had him, but his skills were still beyond hers. She sighed, watching him topple her Sovereign. Disappointment soured her mood, but Dulcea faced her defeat with dignity. She folded her hands in her lap and looked up at the vampire, expecting him to name his reward.
Krath leaned back in his chair and gazed at her with a thoughtful expression. Dulcea waited for him to speak, but a half a minute ticked by, and he said nothing. How long did he intend to remain silent?
Out of nowhere, she realized she was standing. A second ago she had been sitting, and now she was standing, and Dulcea had no recollection of having wanted to go anywhere. Puzzled, she tried to sit down, but her body would not obey. Then with sudden horror Dulcea noticed she was circling the table and walking toward Krath. She tried to will herself to stop or to cry out in protest, but there was nothing she could do. She walked over to where he sat and sank down to her knees before him. He had not moved at al
l, but his eyes never left hers.
“There are different levels of mind control, my lady.” His gaze was direct and intrusive. “I am not aware how familiar you are with it, so allow me to explain. What I am doing now is its crudest form. You move and speak how I will it, but your mind is awake and trying to resist it.”
Dulcea saw this was true. No matter how fierce a fight she gave, she could not move a finger on her own. She could not even make a sound or change her expression. All she could do was to stare up at the vampire with a blank look on her countenance even though she wanted to scream at him.
Was this what had happened to Captain Saron?
---
Sraeyn, Crown City Vyronh. Planter’s Moon (spring season 7090).
The third year of the Rebellion.
Tarim tapped the papers in his hand.
“The confirmation is right here,” he said. “It is Warlord Turendar who is the highest ranking of the Sarusean generals in Caeryn. Whether he answers to another general in S’Aruse or direct to the king himself, this we do not know. There has been little communication between Caeryn and S’Aruse since the invasion: the head general practically runs the entire continent…”
“So, what you are saying is that if we defeat him, we will have freedom,” Dulcea said.
“Yeah, I suppose so…” Tarim shrugged, hesitating as his adviser, Lord Saron, entered the room.
The captain strode to his lord’s side and handed the young king a sealed letter.
Saron bowed to him. “Please, let me not interrupt you, sire.”
Tarim read the brief missive, wrinkled his nose in plain distaste, and waved his childhood guardian to remain in the room. He turned his gaze back to Dulcea, who sat opposite of him at the end of the table, between Myoden and Pendralyssa.
“We have the upper hand here now. Saron agrees with me, don’t you?” Tarim glanced at the captain. “This is all illusionary, however. We need to act now before they can send reinforcements from across the Amon Sea. If Warlord Turendar should fall, S’Aruse’s king might reconsider before risking open war again.”
Dulcea rubbed her right temple, her head tilted in consideration. She had known Tarim soon for a year, and he kept surprising her. Sometimes he was as immature as his near fifteen years of age suggested, while at other times he talked with the wisdom of past kings.
Myoden looked up from the maps spread out on the table before him. “I cannot favor that option. We need to remain here until all of Sraeyn is under our command.”
Tarim squared his shoulders. “That’s stupid! We cannot give the Saruseans any time to recover.”
The situation in the capital had been stable ever since the winter, and they all felt safe within the confines of the city’s white walls. The battles had moved away from Vyronh, and rebuilding had already started in many parts of the country.
“If I may intervene, my king: I would like to remind you not to forget about Miranma, sire.”
Tarim looked exasperated at Captain Saron’s words. He huffed.
“Honestly! What can the Saruseans in Miranma even do? They are rats stuck in a corner, and the only way they can get supplies is if Warlord Turendar sends a fleet to Sheliath! We will have our main army attack him in Dranmore, which stops him from interfering with our plans for Sraeyn and Miranma. My little brother Talek is old enough to act as a regent while I’m gone in the north.”
Saron cleared his throat. “Sabotage and espionage, Tarim. Sire. I fear they will terrorize the common people if our troops move away from the area.”
“That cannot happen,” Dulcea said. “We need to protect those we mean to leave behind.”
Pendralyssa rolled her eyes, tapping her fingers on the table. Her silence was louder than any words.
Their strategizing at a stalemate once more, the others soon left while Dulcea remained in the conference room a moment longer. She and Myoden favored making sure the country was safe, while Tarim and Pendralyssa seemed unified in their desire for swift, brutal war. Dulcea guessed they would argue about it many times to come yet.
A quarter of an hour later, Dulcea put out the candles and locked the doors to the generals’ room, turning to face the antechamber where the advisers’ desks were. Other than a guard near the stairs for her protection, everyone had already departed for the night. On a whim, she strolled out to the balcony to gaze at the dark, slumbering city.
The balcony overlooked a part of the wall walk near the castle entrance, and from the sound of it, there were people down there. Dulcea leaned against the railing, eyes fixed on the far horizon. The mighty kingdom of Sraeyn was reviving. The City of the Kings was free and would never fall into enemy hands again.
“This land will be ours again,” a man’s voice said, and Dulcea recognized it as belonging to Captain Saron. “We will drive the Saruseans off this continent and be free from our bonds.”
She peered over the railing, wondering if he had gone to the wall walk with one of their advisers.
“It will not be long now. Soon the army will free Miranma and destroy whatever wretched little garrisons we may find there. We will make this country safe. The Saruseans will not dare to attack us now that they have seen the powerful allies we have. Vyronh is safe: its glory cannot be diminished, and once we have secured Sraeyn and prepared enough supplies for the army, we will crush our enemy in Dranmore, too.”
“You are that naive then?” The other person sounded amused. “This war of yours is far from won. The Saruseans are not the cowards you think they are. Your leader has you in peril.”
Dulcea could not quite describe the unpleasant feeling she got at this bold response. Her hands shook with anger, and she was about to exclaim in protest when the captain beat her to it.
“W-what did you say?” Saron’s tone rang with fury.
“You heard me just fine, captain.” Even to Dulcea’s untrained ears, his accent was suddenly off, almost foreign. “Let me tell you a little secret. There is soon to be an attack on the city, and you are too arrogant to even consider the possibility.”
Dulcea gasped, realizing the man standing next to Saron was no guard or adviser, perhaps not even a Sraeynian. Her heart hammered in her chest. An attack on the city?
“Who are you?” Saron reached for his sword.
The stranger raised his fingers, and Saron’s whole body froze in mid-movement. Dulcea yelled out in shock and surprise, and the man turned to look at her. The sky was dark, the stranger was wearing black, and the torches outside disturbed her night vision. She could not see his face well, but from the sharp gleam of his teeth she could tell he was grinning. The sight sent shivers down her spine.
The stranger turned toward Saron, hand going to the pommel of his own sword. “I think you need to be more alert if you wish to live long, captain.”
Dulcea shouted in outrage and ran back inside, ordering the guard to come with her. When they got down to the wall walk, however, the stranger had vanished, and Captain Saron stared unseeing into the void. Panic swelled in her breast. What manner of sorcery was this?
It was a half an hour later when Saron’s body finally unfroze.
---
Dulcea gave an inward shudder. They had never caught the man. They all suspected who he had been, although it made no more sense three years later than it had on that spring night. The dark priest Gielemon, one of Lady Pendralyssa’s apprentices with an interest in the occult sciences, had gone missing that day, and they had never heard from him again. A few days later, the Saruseans had launched a surprise attack on the city, and the stranger’s warning had helped to save thousands of lives.
Krath leaned forward, touching his fingers to her cheek. Her mind snapped back to the present.
“Another variation is to put the mind to sleep while I order the body to do my will,” he said, “but I shall not attempt that on you. A sleeping mind means you would not remember afterward what happened, and I want you to remember everything I say and do.”
He stood
up then, and Dulcea experienced the helpless sensation of her own body following suit.
“And this here only a true vampire can do.” He grinned. “To charm a mortal’s mind.”
There was a strange jab in her consciousness, and everything went black, as though a huge wave had washed over her. She blinked, the world coming back into focus. A sense of blissful peace surrounded her. There was no fear or discomfort; she could not even remember her previous worries. Pleasant heat enveloped her, and everything seemed right with the world. Krath stood before her, close enough to touch without moving, and he held out his hand. Dulcea placed her hand in his. Her breath hitched, and butterflies tickled her stomach. An instant rush of joy flooded her at his touch.
“I am only controlling your thoughts now,” Krath said. “Your body is your own again. You gave me your hand just now without conscious effort, but it is not at all terrifying, is it?”
Dulcea was about to answer, but he shook his head.
“No, do not talk. What you would say to me in this state would only embarrass you later. I know none of it reflects your true feelings, so I need not hear it.”
Dulcea pressed a hand to her chest, feeling weak at the knees. Excitement bubbled in her veins. His good manners awed her, and the sound of his voice sent pleasant thrills through her body. She wanted to throw herself at his feet and pledge herself to him for all eternity.
“You would do anything I say now, and it would only give you pleasure to obey,” he said. “You would leap off this castle’s highest tower if I asked you to.”
Dulcea gazed up at him in adoration. He was right. If that was what he wanted, she would jump to her death. The thought was not frightening. She almost longed to take that plunge if it pleased him.
“You wondered about my servants’ present existence. This is the manner of control I exercise over them, although with far less intensity. I am sure you agree that while this falls short of freedom, they are not suffering.”
Jealousy twisted her heart. She resented his servants for the attention he showed them. She gave a destitute sigh, wishing she could have him all for herself.
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