Blood Redemption (11 page)

Just like that, the powerful sentinel flew off his feet and landed prone on his back,
his body immediately drawing in on itself as he contorted in pain. His complexion
grew sallow and his face became gaunt as the ancient king rose slowly from his chair
and began to walk in his direction.

Marquis took several steps back, drawing Ciopori with him.

Vanya tucked her legs beneath her and curled up in her chair.

Even Brooke ducked out of the king’s line of fire, and her brilliant blue eyes grew
wide with fright.

The king stalked forward like a jaguar, a low, rumbling growl shaking the chandeliers
and causing the furniture to shift above the hard wooden surface. When at last he
reached his fallen subject, he knelt down gracefully and planted one firm knee directly
on Ramsey’s chest. “What did you just say to me?” he whispered in a dark, unnatural
voice. His feral lips drew back and his fangs showed only a hint of extension, but
they were terrifying just the same.

Brooke found her voice. “Napolean…sweetheart… please…
stop
.”

The king didn’t respond.

Ramsey tried to croak out an answer, but he couldn’t draw a breath. His chest collapsed
beneath the pressure of the king’s knee, and the sound of it caving in was grisly.

“One soul in the house of Jadon is worth more to me than every soulless bastard born
to the entire house of Jaegar.” He withdrew his knee, and Ramsey gasped for air, finally
taking in some oxygen, but his body continued to writhe in agony. “Including yours,
Ramsey Olaru.” He bent down so that their noses almost touched, and he met the warrior’s
horror-stricken eyes with a look of iron resolve. “You are honored by me, Warrior.
Your council is welcome; your words are weighed heavily; your objections are noted.”
He purred like a lion, deep, throaty, and thick with command. “But your direct insubordination
will not be tolerated. Not ever.” A gathering of foam began to leak out of the corner
of Ramsey’s mouth, and he began to choke on the spittle.

Dear Gods, what was the king doing
?

Was he killing Ramsey from the inside out?

“Now then,” Napolean said calmly. “You have five seconds to correct this insanity.”
With that, he released whatever hold he had over the warrior and waited patiently—so
quietly one could have heard a pin drop—while the warrior coughed, swallowed his bile,
and struggled to his knees.

Ramsey fell into formal protocol immediately.

He raised one knee so that the other was bent, bowed his head, and crossed his arms
over his chest, still sputtering. Once he had finally composed himself fully, he extended
his right hand to Napolean and offered him the Crest Ring of the house of Jadon in
an act of reverence and contrition. “Forgive me, milord.”

Napolean took his hand and kissed the ring. “Speak...
f
reely
.”

Ramsey drew in a deep breath, trying to find his words. “They will try to kill Saber.”

“Of course they will.”

“They may try to kill you.”

“And which one among them can succeed?” At last, his voice softened. “Rise, warrior.”

Ramsey struggled to his feet, and Napolean took a measured step forward. He palmed
the back of the warrior’s neck, drew him brusquely forward, and kissed the top of
his head. Placing a firm hand over Ramsey’s heart, he released what looked like a
surge of energy, and the sentinel’s chest returned to its previous state of health.
“Look,” Napolean said, speaking as if the entire incident had never happened, “I agree
with you and Marquis: I have no love loss or sympathy for our dark cousins, and I
am not at all convinced that Saber can—or should—be allowed to live. Still, I believe
we need to let this play out. Perhaps the betrayal of those he still believes to be
his allies is precisely what our prisoner needs to finally cut those ties; or perhaps
his stubborn loyalty to them, in spite of such a betrayal, will grant us the permission
we need to allow him to die. Either way, we must let it happen.” He stood straight,
stretched his back, and turned to face the entire room. “Saber Alexiares has yet to
taste his soul, yet the truth of it lies on his tongue. We must allow him to swallow
this bitter pill so he can make choices going forward…with all the information.” He
looked at each vampire present and furrowed his brow. “Now then, the issue we must
address next is a logistical one, how to conduct the meeting: How do we meet safely
with our dark cousins in a place as open and potentially volatile as the Red Canyons?
Who do we choose to bring? And what security measures do we put in place?”

The words wafted to Vanya’s ears like smoke from a campfire. They swirled around her
head and coated her body like a waiflike scent that was real, and she shuddered.

She had already tasted Saber’s soul.

And it was beyond redemption.

While the warriors continued to strategize and plot, making plans for the next night’s
meeting of delegates in the Red Canyons, Vanya was discreetly interrupted by a smartly
dressed human woman with short, neatly layered blond hair: Tiffany Matthews. Apparently,
Tiffany had been Brooke’s dearest lifelong friend in the human world of business before
the capable Ms. Adams had been claimed by the king as his
destiny
. Since Brooke’s conversion, the king’s consort had taken over all marketing and PR
of Dark Moon Vale, Inc., the house of Jadon’s considerable and lucrative business
holdings in the valley; and Brooke had immediately hired Tiffany as CFO of DMVPrime,
the branch of the corporation that focused exclusively on sales, to oversee all of
the advertising campaigns, annual budgets, and payroll concerns. It was rumored that
in her spare time,
Auntie Tiff
spent a considerable amount of time watching Phoenix, the young prince and future
king of the lighter vampire, whenever Brooke and Napolean were tied up with Vampyr
business: It was a labor of love that Tiffany didn’t mind in the least.

Now, shifting the young prince from one hip to the other, Tiffany bent over to whisper
in Vanya’s ear. “There is a lady at the door to see you, Saber’s mother, Lorna.” Apparently,
Tiffany was not one to dance around a subject, a trait Vanya deeply appreciated. “I
saw her approaching the manse and let her into the foyer before she could ring the
bell.” She swept her hand around the room, gesturing at the considerable mixed company
in the house. “I thought you might prefer some privacy for your visit.” She hoisted
Phoenix higher on her hip, and the young prince reached up to swat at a dangling earing.
“No, no, Phoenix,” Tiffany whispered, her voice stern but kind. “You must leave Auntie
Tiff’s earrings alone, remember?” The little vampire squirmed with disappointment,
but soon found another distraction in Tiffany’s necklace. “Oh, Lord,” Tiffany sighed,
sounding only mildly exasperated. “Should I escort Lorna in?”

Vanya held up her hand instinctively. “No, no. Gods forbid she should be thrown into
this tank of sharks and subject to her own round of the Vampyr Inquisition.” She huffed.
“I will meet her in the foyer. Thank you, Tiffany.” As quietly as possible, Vanya
slipped out of the room, watching as Tiffany made her way back down the hall toward
the little prince’s rooms.

The king’s foyer was a large, magnificent receiving room, surrounded by high, coffered
ceilings and several dimly lit, arched niches, each one custom painted in a muted
but exquisite pictorial of a Romanian landscape. It opened up on the left to the formal
living room, where the warriors were hard at work, and on the right, to the king’s
private conference room, where as many as sixteen could be seated around an oval mahogany
conference table. If one traversed the space vertically, it would lead to the main
hall of the manse, which led occupants to the first-floor suite of rooms, the kitchen,
laundry, and storage area. Lorna looked distinctly out of place in the grandiose space,
swallowed up by the size of the foyer as well as the grandeur.

“Mrs. Dzuna,” Vanya said by way of greeting.

To Vanya’s surprise, Lorna curtsied in the manner of the Old World. “Princess Vanya.”
She averted her eyes respectfully.

“Please,” Vanya said, not knowing how to react to the visit, especially considering
the highly delicate situation that surrounded it. “Just call me Vanya.”

Lorna raised her head and nodded politely, her kind brown eyes meeting Vanya’s with
warmth. “I brought these for you.” She held out a magnificent bouquet of cerise lilies,
red roses, and light green carnations, all surrounded in vibrant greenery, and extended
it forward. “They’re from Saber.”

Vanya held her tongue out of respect. It would not do to take out her considerable
angst—and anger—on this clearly uninformed woman.
What in the name of the gods was the dragon up to now?
Vanya took the flowers and raised them to her nose, deeply inhaling the sweet fragrance
of the lilies and then the roses. “They’re beautiful. You have exquisite taste.”

“Saber wanted you to have them.”

Vanya arched her brows. “Again, I repeat:
Y
ou
have exquisite taste.”

Lorna looked away and nodded softly, unwilling to argue the point. And then, appearing
to gather her courage, she faced the princess again, this time lifting her jaw in
determination. “I spoke with Sabino—
with Saber
—earlier, and he has asked me to invite you on a stroll this evening, perhaps a short
walk beneath the canopy of the forest, with a healthy escort of guards, of course.
He’s considerably drained, and if he has to be chained, I suppose that is okay as
well.”

Vanya’s mouth fell open in disbelief.

She started to say something flippant but thought better of it: By the look on Lorna’s
face, the sudden deepening of the lines around her eyes and the unmistakable anxiety
that stiffened her otherwise delicate features, Vanya knew that the female was
this close
to falling apart. And why wouldn’t she be? The situation had to be every mother’s
worst nightmare. She loved her son, and her hope sprang eternal. What must it be like
to have a monster for your progeny?

Despite her compassion, a rush of laughter escaped Vanya’s lips. “A stroll? Around
the forest? With Saber?” She took a gentle step forward and clasped Lorna’s hand in
her own. “My dear woman, I…I hardly know what to say. I feel so deeply for you and
your husband; I cannot even imagine what this is like, but—”

“If it’s all the same,” Lorna interrupted, “I would rather not be patronized.” She
took a deep breath and pushed forward. “I have lived with an ever-present heartache
for eight hundred years; and I am no stranger to awful events. I know what Saber is,
what he has been all this time. But he is still my son.”

“Of course,” Vanya said, withdrawing her hand. She linked her fingers together and
held them gracefully up to her chin, dropping her head and sighing. “And I appreciate
your desire for an honest exchange.” She tilted her head back up and brought her linked
hands down to her thighs. “In that case, let me be frank: The male is not my long-lost
son, and there is no love lost between us. I have neither the goodwill nor the inclination
to meet him anywhere, for
any
reason.”

Lorna started to wilt in response to Vanya’s words, but to her credit, she dug back
in. “I understand. He told me of your…history.”

Vanya’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Did he now? He told you—”

“Well, not anything specific, just that there was a history; and it was…not good,
to say the least.”

Vanya regarded her sideways, frowning. “Unfortunately, Mrs. Dzuna—”

“Lorna.”

“
Lorna
. The details are quite…disturbing; and if you did know—”

“Forgive my constant interruptions, Princess,” Lorna said, rushing the words. Apparently,
she was beginning to feel a bit desperate. “I don’t mean to be so rude; I’m just”—she
wrung her hands together and shifted her weight from foot to foot—“I’m just so nervous.”
She licked her dry lips. “You have to understand: There is so much as stake, not just
for you and Saber, but for me and his father as well. For the people.”

Now that last line hit home.

Her dream
.

What really was at stake here?

Vanya lowered her voice to a chilling whisper. “If Saber has told you anything at
all about our
history
, then you must know that I find him to be a savage beast, a threat to my well-being,
and a blight to the house of Jadon. Frankly, the audacity of this request takes my
breath away. Name one good reason why I should meet this male…anywhere.”

Lorna nodded her head slowly and took a steady, even breath. “Eight hundred years
ago, due to no fault of his own, Saber was lifted from his bassinette as a mere infant.
He was ushered into a world of violence and depravity beyond our comprehension, consecrated
to the dark lords of the abyss, and raised by a den of…hyenas.” Her voice trembled
slightly, and her throat constricted as she continued to speak. “He has never known
love, kindness, or tenderness. He has
no
frame of reference to draw upon, not one single example of goodness to light his
way. And in twenty-eight days, he will be dragged into a cold, sterile chamber to
be executed as he has lived: in agony, cruelty, and alone, as a disposable, uncounted
being who was never worthy of life to begin with.” She dropped her head in her hands
and struggled to regain her composure. Finally, looking back up, she continued. “I
will have to live with that forever. Our king will have to live with that forever;
and yes, Princess, you will have to live with that forever. Will one walk beneath
the moon at his side make any difference to you—to us—when it is all said and done?
Probably not, but it may very well be the only compassionate gesture he receives in
his otherwise pitiless life, the first and only act of mercy he will ever know. Is
not love”—she waved her hand in front of her to dismiss the word—“is not
benevolence
a reward unto itself? Saber has never met his conscience. He reacts like an animal,
giving vent to every basic urge, acting on every primal instinct. But you and I, those
of us raised in a world with celestial gods and goodness, we have been reared with
a higher standard, with reason and choice as our guides. Are we not held to a higher
standard than the Dark Ones? If we meet savagery with savagery, then what makes us
different?”

Before Vanya could respond, the small woman smoothed the hem of her shirt and bent
to one knee, genuflecting before the princess as she bowed her head. “Please—”

“Don’t,” Vanya pleaded as her breath rushed out of her.

Oh, dear gods…

Lorna reached up and grasped Vanya’s hand, unrestrained tears rolling down her cheeks
in deep tracks of sorrow. “Do not do it for him, milady. Do it for me.” She folded
her other leg beneath her and descended into a full kneel. “I am begging you as his
mother.”

Vanya swallowed convulsively, feeling as if she just might faint. As if the entire
world was upside down. This was wrong,
so
very wrong
, on so many levels. “Please, Lorna, get up.” She tugged on the woman’s arm.

Lorna lifted her head and met Vanya’s gaze, her eyes brimming with sorrow. “What choice
do I have left? What pride is greater than my guilt? What act of contrition is too
lowly for my son? My only child is going to die a desolate, hideous death, never having
known love or goodness. Or the gods. And all of it is partially my responsibility—I
let them take him.”

Vanya could not bear to hear another word. “No!” she insisted. “You did not. Rafael
did not. It happened. It was a tragedy, but no one is to blame.”

“Perhaps,” Lorna whispered, “yet everyone will pay.” She shook her head slowly then.
“I don’t pretend to believe that one stroll, one moment in the presence of your light,
will penetrate a heart so deeply entrenched in darkness that my son will find his
way to the light, discover his soul, or emerge redeemed; but I do know that you are
perhaps the only person alive who can reach him, should there be any hidden treasure,
whatsoever, still buried inside.”

Vanya released Lorna’s hand and staggered back.

What had the woman just said?

It was her dream…all over again.

“Get up, Lorna.
Please
. I will not continue this conversation with you on your knees.” She felt suddenly
nauseated, and the room began to spin around her. “I cannot bear it.”

Lorna rose slowly and waited in hopeful, deafening silence.

Vanya exhaled slowly, trying to calm her nerves. “Even if I could agree—if I
would
agree—the king would never allow it.”

“You’re wrong.” A deep, husky voice reverberated within the foyer, ringing in Vanya’s
ears. As the princess spun around to face Napolean Mondragon, her eyes opened wide
with surprise, and she inexplicably took a step back.

“Lorna’s request is as compelling as it is impassioned,” Napolean said tenderly. “I
don’t believe it will make a difference; but I, too, would like to live my life without
regret, without blame, at the end of this Blood Moon.” He took a deep breath, and
it was obvious by the solemn look on his handsome face that he was forcing himself
to make a choice based on conscience rather than conviction. “If you can stand to
be in Saber’s presence for even a short amount of time, I can arrange for your safety.
If you are willing to do this thing, Vanya, I will allow for fifteen minutes. That
is all.”

Before Vanya could reply, Brooke Adams Mondragon strolled into the room, her signature
confident stride preceding her as she stepped to her husband’s side, gently wrapped
her arms around his waist, and pressed a soft kiss against his broad shoulder. Although
Vanya did not possess the supernatural hearing of a vampire, even she could make out
Brooke’s softly whispered words: “Thank you, my king. This is the right decision.”

Napolean placed his hand over Brooke’s and nodded almost imperceptibly, and then he
turned his attention to Vanya. “Princess?”

Vanya shut her eyes and silently prayed for strength.

For wisdom.

She turned to regard Lorna. “What time would this
outing
take place?”

Lorna shrugged. “He has a terrible fear of the sun—so the later the better—but anytime
that works for you would be a gift.”

Napolean shifted out of Brooke’s grasp and stepped forward then. “It will take a few
hours to put an adequate security escort in place. The presence of the sentinels is
a must—no one understands safety and its orchestration better than my guards. In addition,
I would like the wizard, Nachari, to join you from a reasonable distance: He has developed
certain powers that will prove both exacting and expedient should Saber give into
some base impulse.” Ignoring the look of horror on Lorna’s face, he continued: “It
goes without saying that I would like to be there, myself. It will be several hours
before I can break away, but this condition is not negotiable.” He turned to regard
Lorna squarely. “You must know, Mrs. Dzuna, that I don’t take this request lightly.
I am willing to accommodate this…experiment, but should your son make even one threatening
move against the princess, I will put him down where he stands, forever. And the whole
subject will be finished. No apologies. No regrets.”