Vertus State (Vassal State Book 1)

by K. M. Mayville

  She leaned on his shoulder as they neared her quarters. “Will you sleep?” she asked him.

  “No,” he said without hesitation.

  “Will you stay?”

  “Yes.” Again, he didn’t hesitate.

  “Then let me apologize… and you can forgive me in the morning.”

  “Shouldn’t I be the one to apologize for assuming your intentions?”

  She broke away from him to open her door. She gestured for him to go first as she said in a barely controlled voice, “You are literally challenging my intentions right now, Angelos. Do you want to sleep in the corridor?”

  “N-No,” he said quickly.

  He dipped into the total darkness of her room and she closed the door behind them both as she purred, “I don’t want you to either.”

  Not five hours later and the aviary received an urgent flier from the northern watch tower and a runner was dispatched to the Private Wing with the seal still unbroken. Misha, clothed in nothing but a sheen of sweat, took the letter from the blushing soldier, and simply nodded his reception, assuring the messenger that he would get the note to Lord Deutran personally and without delay.

  Lord Deutran, waiting in the dark, took the note from him without word and read its contents without comment.

  “How long?” Misha whispered as he crawled back into bed.

  As he laid down on her chest, she wrapped her arms around him. Her mind was an island and he was on the mainland on the other side as she intoned gravely, “We have less than a day. They’re only five horses.”

  “We can destroy them.”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes we can.”

  “Will you?”

  “I’m yet undecided.”

  “If you don’t…”

  “I know.”

  Misha rubbed his stubble against her chest. His arms tightened around her. “But if you do…”

  “I know.”

  “I hope he’s worth all this.”

  “So do I, Treasure. So do I.” She nuzzled the top of his head and asked, “This is the sanctity of the boudoir… What would you do?”

  He took a long time to answer her, but when he did, he huffed a humorless laugh and said wordlessly, “If she’s rude, I’d annihilate her… but she has a right to demand her vassal, not knowing the circumstances of his being here. We can keep him for the law. His life is ours for the spilled blood on our own soil. But if she takes this to the highest court, we’ll have to answer for our choices to delay his punishment and take him on as our own.” He kissed her belly and whispered against her, “Let her shake her little, entitled baby rattle. The worst she can do is spit up on you.”

  “I love how you think,” she agreed quietly. “You meet dread with jokes.”

  “Schadenfreude,” he huffed. “Nothing is more cathartic for a vassal than watching a lord squirm.”

  “Is that right?”

  He chuckled. “Have I ever lied to you?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, on countless occasions. Remember España? The charter I found in your vanity? And you, pretending you weren’t absolutely ruined from the night before. You still have a weakness for drunk blonds and cards.”

  He sounded wounded as he said, “You were never going to let me go on that ship alone. I just wanted to bring you back something nice.”

  She laughed, the sound only filling the space between them. Dreamer, she thought affectionately. “And Diego didn’t find El Dorado, did he?”

  “No, but you and I did renew our vows. On the sea, no less. Only took us four hundred years.” He kissed her again, trailing warm kisses up her torso. When he got to the frozen pulse hovering in her neck, he pressed his teeth against her, but didn’t bite down. He held there for a small eternity before he said against her silently, “Would you marry me again?”

  She hummed for a moment, feigning consideration. He nipped at her, not drawing blood, but warning her he would. She laughed and turned her head towards him, catching his lips against hers and banging against his teeth as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down on her. She thought to him, “Anyone who has ever said that there are no stupid questions… has never heard you ask me questions.”

  “We can’t stay in this room forever,” he replied gruffly to her as he fumbled for one of her legs and got his shoulder under it.

  “No, but we can certainly try to,” she thought.

  He laughed out loud as he pulled their blankets up over them.

  Ribs and Hatred

  Mercenary

  Mercenary was told to ready himself before the sun had even set. He couldn’t remember having been up so early in his unlife. Is torpor not a thing here? he wondered to himself as he dragged his body out of bed.

  He had been given human blood—actual human blood—the night before in the form of a small gelatin capsule. Misha had laughed at him after he’d bitten into it instead of swallowing it, spurting red down his new shirtfront in a rather undignified way. After that, he’d thought he’d receive a flogging for the waste, but Misha had just passed him another horse pill and told him not to choke on it.

  Because of the blood, he hadn’t needed to indulge in any torpor, but it was a habit—a comfortable act in all the strangeness that surrounded him. He could take everything in stride, but to not sleep as day broke felt like too much of a betrayal.

  How was he to escape into dreams otherwise?

  He went to the vanity where a pitcher, a bowl, and a new set of clothing had been laid out. A note had been stuck to the pile with a laundry pin, reading: So you don’t look homeless in front of our guests <3 The Other M

  Guests? He picked up the trousers and tunic and made a face in the mirror. Renaissance fans? Then he saw the chainmail and the high-necked gorget under the cloth pile and had an inkling that guests meant invaders. “Fuckin’ Castello,” he mumbled under his breath. A flutter of apprehension seized his guts. He glanced once at the shuttered window facing the east and wondered if ten floors would be enough to kill him.

  He doubted it.

  A knock at his door startled him from his dark ruminations and he dropped the cloth to answer it. A woman wearing a tweed waistcoat and spectacles greeted him with a startled smile. Then she seemed to falter a moment before she said, “Oh, did the candle-lighter not warn you? Are you really not dressed yet?”

  He opened the door just a little more and asked, “Help ya?”

  “‘Scuse me, I’m Rinal?” She said it like it was supposed to mean something to him. Her English accent was overly prim, almost parody, but he guessed Neu-Deutsch was her native tongue. She blushed and said, “Well, I never. The nerve. Misha didn’t mention me?” Her indignation rolled off her in waves. She was human, but the way she carried herself was far more lord-like.

  Internally, Mercenary berated himself. Better get used to it, Vassal. You’re in a man’s world now, according to Mister Misha. Still, her attitude seemed rather impetuous for a human woman. And she wasn’t dressed according to the Cairn’s aesthetics by a long shot. All the maids wore skirts. Even Lord Deutran consigned herself to dresses. This woman was in a pantsuit.

  He frowned at her, narrowing his eye. “He didn’t mention.”

  She rolled her own eyes and tucked a lock of curling black hair back into her bun as she said, “As expected. That vamp has no sense.” Mercenary nearly choked on his own tongue as she said as much. Then she barreled passed him into his room and said, “Well, I’m Lord Deutran’s chemist. I’m here on her orders to administer you a fresh dosage of blood and other appropriate stimulants before the confrontation.”

  Pardon? He still had a hand gripping the door knob. Could he tell her to leave? Could he tell her that none of that was necessary? What would refusing her do? He didn’t need any more blood. He didn’t require healing and he wasn’t hungry. Stimulants sounded like the concoctions that Lord Castello dreamed up for him during some of their longer sessions; potions that left him itchy, catatonic, or fidgeting for days.

&nb
sp; A tiny girl. A tiny needle. A tiny girl.

  Rinal had opened up a small messenger bag and had emptied its contents onto his bed. He finally got his breathing under control and very slowly pointed to the doorway. “Get out.”

  Rinal didn’t register his distress, or she ignored it. He didn’t know which response was worse. Instead, she prepared a collection of pills from various bottles and then began assembling a needle. All the while, she talked. “It’s all routine. Any time the Cairn comes under attack, we prepare the vampires for a fight. You’re new, but you’re still subject to those preparations. If you think about it, none of this would be happening if not for—”

  “Get out, Miss Rinal.”

  This time, the middle-aged woman looked up, found his eye. She smiled sympathetically. “The needle isn’t for you. It’s to draw my blood. You keep squeezing that knob and the crystal is going to shatter. Now park dein hintern on that chair over there and we’ll get underway.”

  She had a governess’s air about her. He let go of the knob, but only managed a step toward the chair before he asked, “What’s a chemist?”

  A tiny grave.

  Rinal smiled, fixing a couple cotton swabs to some metal clamps. She said, “A doctor, a scientist, an alchemist, a magician… Take your pick of vocations. I used to work down in Merda. They called me an inventor there, or verrückter Jungfer, depending on who you ask.” She chuckled when she noticed he still hadn’t made another move. “I discovered you could use a waterwheel to not only crush grain, but also generate particles of energy. This bottled fire could then be forced through a series of rubber tubes that when—Oh. I've gone off. What am I saying?” She shook her head. “You probably don’t even know what I’m talking about. Suffice it to say, I got Lord Deutran’s attention and I’ve been put up here ever since to study and practice my many arts. Here.” She passed him an empty glass and three pills of various sizes and colors. “Get some water from that pitcher over there and take these.”

  “What are they?”

  “Liberty, Murder, and Irritable Bowel Syndrome,” she said, waggling her fingers at him. When he grimaced at her, she shrugged and said, “Ein witz—A little joke… One is to dampen your psychic aura, another to strengthen your bones, and the blue one is meant to make it so you can vomit and shit.”

  “Why would I—?”

  “In case you drink too much blood.”

  “Why would—?”

  Rinal put up a hand, staving off his questions for the moment. “Am I to understand you really have no idea how to be a vampire?” This time it seemed she genuinely wanted an answer from him.

  He was a little put off by the question. “Do you?” he asked.

  He had meant it as an insult, but Rinal’s confused face broke apart into amusement. “Yes, in fact, I do.”

  Mercenary chose to turn his back on her and retrieve water from the pitcher, grumbling something under his breath about pushy know-it-alls. Then he swallowed all three pills and gave the chemist a little bow for his efforts. “Happy?”

  “Splendid work!” Rinal said, her tone only a tad sarcastic. Then she said, “Now get dressed. You were supposed to be at the gate at sundown. You’re going to be late at this rate.” Before he could say anything in reply, she stabbed a finger at his clothing and said, “I suppose we can knock out your physical at the same time while we’re at it, so strip. Hop to.” She rolled up a sleeve as he closed the door and tentatively stripped bare. With quick, practiced movements, she strapped a tourniquet to her bicep, squeezed a fist, and then stabbed herself with the glass syringe. The smell of blood filled the air as she untied the tourniquet. An eternity or a second later, she withdrew the needle and pressed a piece of cotton into her elbow. She slapdashed a bandage around her arm, rolled down her sleeve, tamped the needle, and let a drop run out to ensure there were no air pockets.

  Just as Mercenary got his button-down up over his head, Rinal jabbed the needle into his neck and he yowled in surprise as she unloaded the blood into him. It felt like she’d injected him with fire as he stumbled back and knocked the metal pitcher off the vanity, his hand going to his neck in alarm. “The hell did—?!”

  “Calm down, you’ll feel like a diamond in a couple seconds, Luv.”

  “What did… you… do?” Mercenary got out as he looked down at his hands and noticed the flush in them; the melanin returning. He’d been so used to seeing the stony cast of his skin that he’d almost forgotten what he really looked like. His scars too, thinned into their basic shapes and lines, no longer red and angry, but silvered and just slightly embossed.

  He was still marveling at the simple return of his color when Rinal said, “It’s true… Someone cut you up after you were already made, but while you were blood starved. What a maniac.” She said it like she was impressed more than repulsed by the thought. When Mercenary looked up at her, she winced at him and said, “They should get you a patch. Exposed like that, you’ll be prone to pains. Alternatively we could sew it shut. Personally, a false eye is just going to make you look silly, what with how off your ears are.”

  He cupped his ears reflexively. “Nothin’s wrong with my ears.”

  “No, they’re perfect, which is why they look wrong.” She came close enough that he could feel her fascination like it was his own. The sensation irked him. It wasn’t a relieved preoccupation though—a kind of thank goodness that’s not me attraction. It was more like medical magnetism. She genuinely wanted to understand him so she could help him. He didn’t know how he felt about that yet. “Whoever worked you over reattached everything evenly. In nature, even on attractive people, facial features are never symmetrical. Yours are. It’s uncanny, like looking at a painting. Your scars too look like constellations. Was that on purpose? I suppose it had to have been. Most of them look steady. Deep, yes, but practiced. How terrifying.”

  A tiny needle. A tiny needle. A tiny needle.

  He didn’t know how to reply, so he didn’t say anything. From there, she simply measured his skull, asked him to open his mouth, took notes on any larger scars, mapped out any misalignments to his skeleton, and marked anything in her cursory examination that would need revisiting later. “Let’s hope everything goes to plan and you manage to stay here a while longer,” Rinal said conversationally. “By your leave, I’d like to have a look at some of the wounds you’ve sustained. If you don’t mind, that is. Purely for my own academic studies, of course. I find vampire physiology endlessly interesting. Every vassal is different and I’d like to see where your strengths lie. It could be a beneficial exchange. I promise we’ll only go as far as you’re willing.”

  He was dubious, of course. “Mister Misha accepted your offer?”

  “After much cajoling on my part,” she said with a snort. “Lord Deutran refused, however. Understandable. Now get dressed. I’ve kept you too long as it is.” Then, as he was getting ready, she asked, “Were you exclusively fed vampire blood during your stay at Lord Castello’s?” Your stay—as if he’d had a choice regarding his residency.

  A tiny girl. A tiny house. A tiny grave.

  He shrugged. He’d only had human blood five times in his entire life. He counted himself blessed in that regard. “Might as well,” he answered.

  She made a face like she’d just witnessed someone trip down a flight of stairs. “Woof. Apologies in advance.”

  He squinted at her as he pulled trousers up over his boxers.

  Rinal packed up her belongings as she said, “I only mean… Human blood is a strange imbibition. It’s something like a drug to most vampires. You can develop a dependency. You can even become tolerant to its effects. Some vampires don’t need it to survive. Others can die without it. It all depends on the vampire’s blood line. I’m not certain how it will affect a vampire that’s only subsisted on second-hand for all their unlife. Perhaps it will be more potent for you, or maybe it won’t do anything at all. For Misha and Lord Deutran, blood is like a cup of coffee. It gets their ol’ tickers working into ov
ertime, but little else. They’ve lived so long that it’s… lost its novelty, I suppose. For some of the younger vassals who have visited however, human blood is like a bitter tincture of spirits and cocaine; a good primer for battles and long-term mind control exercises, but decidedly detrimental in copious amounts."

  He fingered the spot where she'd stuck him. "How long will it last?"

  A tiny plane. An explosion. A ringing.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

  "If you don't get hurt, those twelve milliliters ought to last you a week of continuous regeneration potential. That's a phrase I coined myself." She smirked when he gave her a wan smile. "Put it this way, your back was broken and then you bit Oren. He shot you four times with silver bullets. You didn't scar and you were upright when you were brought to court. How much blood did you take from him?"

  He'd barely got his teeth into the man before the trapper had wrenched away from him. Looking embarrassed, Mercenary admitted, "Not much." Enough to taste it. Enough to feel like an out of control berserker. Enough to realize he'd made an awful mistake.

  Rinal nodded knowingly. "My blood will sustain you and strengthen your healing abilities. If you've got any blood-drawn talents, those too will benefit. Hopefully it won't come to that."

  "Blood-drawn talents?"

  Rinal nodded. "Like super strength or speed or hearing. Have you any—Wait. Don't tell me." She gave him one more once over, then snapped a finger, making him jump slightly. "Super sight! The irony."

  He pursed his lips. "… No."

  "No? Hm." Then she asked uncertainly, "Claws?"

  "No."

  "What about extra fangs?"

  He shook his head. "I don't think I have a talent, Miss Rinal."

  "No? Hm. Every vassal has a talent." She nodded adamantly, having made up her mind about him, apparently. "You'll discover them soon enough, now that you've had human blood."

  He doubted it, but he didn’t dispute her. He slipped the chainmail over his head and started tying it before Rinal let out an exasperated sigh and said, "We're going to have to work on stretching out your joints. Watching you fumble around makes me want to strangle whoever decided to mess with your perfectly functional hands." It was the highest compliment she'd paid him so far and it filled him with an exasperated affection as he let her tie his mail. Then she took the liberty of attaching his gorget and baldric for him.