Vampire Legacy (Book 4 of the Dragon Heat series) (12 page)

Chapter Fifteen

“Let the Open Games begin,” Oberon, King of the Fae People and official Master of Ceremonies, bellowed.

Every four years the Open Games were held to celebrate life and harmony between the Sons of Apa Sâmbetei, as the supernatural community called themselves. The Open Games was a five-day event created after the first Great War, which almost devastated the world and ended life in Terhem Viahta, Earth, a few millennia ago. Petran wasn’t alive then. He was old, but not that old. No, his knowledge came from tales of the Battle of No End told and recounted from generation to generation at every festival and in schoolbooks. No one knew for sure who started the war—the dracos blamed the vampires, and vice-versa, but everyone knew the aftermath of the battle. There had been no restraints when it came to feeding the vampire and draconian armies. Large animals, like aurocks, giant deer, and sea cows had been the first choice on the menu. When those beasts were nearly hunted to extinction, the supernatural communities realized if they didn’t intervene, all life on Earth would be extinct. So the Dragon Lords and Vampire Kings got together for five days and five nights trying to come to an agreement. At the end of the fifth evening, they had signed a peace treaty, and the Open Games were created to remind them all of that critical week.

The field in which the competitions were held had been strategically placed in the center of the Eastern Territories, between Romania, Moldavia, and Ukraine. The Castle of Kings, purposely built and fortified to protect its royal guests should there be an attack, was the centerpiece of the massive complex. As per tradition, the castle accommodated the Boyars, the royals, and leaders of state, while the lower vassals and participants in the tournament camped on its outskirts. The competitions and festivities went on at night, for obvious reasons.

Back in his youth, Petran used to look forward to the games having participated on many occasions, and celebrated his victories between the legs of fine maidens. As the years passed, his interest dwindled, making him choose to watch the games rather than compete, but he still cheered the event with an open heart. This year, however, he had dreaded its approach, most specifically, the Closing Ceremony.

“Mighty Soartas, they are so burly, aren’t they?” one of Hillia’s friends shrieked.

“Indeed,” his wife replied, openly admiring the two shirtless centaurs go at each other on the jousting ground below.

Petran voiced his disinterest with a sigh. They were all on the royal box, watching the first evening of the competitions.

“I much prefer the archery contest,” Yerik commented from his seat. “It requires more skill than running at each other with a large stick.”

Well, some types of lovers would beg to differ.
Petran thought, but decided to keep it to himself.

“Your wait won’t be long, my friend,” Oberon uttered. “The archery competitions are next.”

The competition arena was an open-air stadium, rectangular in shape, and bordered by two buildings, which housed the spectators. At the lower level, the long bleachers gave the plebeians the opportunity to watch and cheer for their favorite contestants. Above them were the royal boxes, which provided a better vantage point and all the comforts suited to the highest sovereigns in their society.

“Isn’t your boy competing for the archery title, King Petran?” Oberon asked.

“Yes, he is,” Hillia replied in his stead. “And he will bring the gold medal home, just like in the last Games.”

Petran was utterly bored. He couldn’t care less about who was competing against whom. His mind couldn’t stop thinking about Natalia, and wondering why in Hiad she hadn’t arrived yet.

“I would not count chickens before they hatch, Hillia,” Kalaur added from the food table. “My archers were exceptionally well trained this year.”

Petran stole a glance around the royal podium. It was almost ten meters long and five meters deep, and it was packed to the rafters with noblemen and their spouses. No, he noticed, Natalia wasn’t amongst them.
By the gates of Hiad, where was she?
He hadn’t heard anything from her since their heated encounter on her veranda. Her lips, her taste, and her exotic scent continued to haunt him. He couldn’t stop his mind from revisiting the memories over, and over again. Had she managed to convince her father not to give her away in marriage to Kalaur? No, he didn’t think so, for otherwise Petran would have heard about it either from Arthur or from Hillia. A hot piece of gossip like that would never have escaped his wife’s acknowledgement.

The crowd cheered as one of the centaurs lifted his lance triumphantly in the air, on top of his defeated opponent, who now lay moaning in pain on the ground. Almost immediately, a group of serfs rushed in and started setting up the grounds for the next competition.

“And here they are,” Kalaur stated with a sly grin. “My honorable neighbor and my future wife!”

Petran turned around almost wishing he were blind. His gut clenched and he didn’t know if it was because his suspicions had been confirmed—Kalaur was still under the impression he would marry Natalia—or if it was because she looked absolutely stunning. Her sack-back gown was made of a light-colored satin decorated by blue and silver embroidery. Its low-cut cleavage showed off a decorative stomacher, which hugged her narrow waist perfectly. The fabric at the back, arranged in the way of a train, fell loose from the shoulder to the floor. Frills and long
engageantes
trimmed close-fitting sleeves, which fell just past the elbow adding a sense of movement to her figure. A see-through ruffle trimmed the neckline, which revealed just enough of her milky breasts to please. But what Petran loved the most about her choice of gown was she wasn’t wearing the hideous hoop-skirt that all other ladies of the ton seemed to be so fond of, which made a woman’s hips look the size of a ship.

“Good to see you’re feeling better, Somenski,” Oberon said a bit louder than proper tone would allow. The plump King of the Fae People was well known for his fondness of good wine.

“I’m still alive, Oberon,” Somenski replied with a light-hearted grunt. “If that’s what you infer.”

“Alive and present,” Kalaur replied lifting his glass in a fake toast. “I thought for a moment you had forgotten about our agreement, neighbor.”

“What agreement?” Petran asked, but Hillia’s yelps muffled his response.

“Oh my,” she squealed. “You have grown into a beautiful woman, Lady Natalia. No wonder Lord Kalaur is so smitten by you.”

Natalia dipped into a short bow acknowledging the compliment, while also trying to help her father take a seat on a chair. Her gaze met Petran’s for a fleeting second.

“What a beautiful gown you’re wearing,” Hillia added.

“Thank you, your majesty,” Natalia replied quietly.

“I mean, sack-back gowns have long been out of fashion but nonetheless, yours is still a delight.”

A couple of Hillia’s friends covered their mouths pretending to hide their chuckles.

“Hillia,” Petran murmured in warning. His wife was a true viper and knew how to decimate anyone who dared shine brighter than she did.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” she replied with the phoniest apologetic face Petran had seen. “I didn’t mean to be rude, my dear, I’m just relaying what my couture masters in Paris told me.”

Petran looked away, not wanting anyone mistakenly to see him as a supporter of his wife’s bitter comments. For a moment, he felt for Lady Natalia. Her only crime was being more beautiful than Hillia and her petty friends.

“Are the rebels still giving you a hard time, Kalaur?” Petran asked, trying to divert the focus of the conversation away from Natalia.

“They are nothing but annoying flies in my soup,” Kalaur replied, his voice seeped with disdain.

“But they are advancing fast,” Somenski added. “We must contain them before they influence the serfs in my territory as well.”

“They are just a bunch of disorganized peasants, Somenski,” Kalaur grunted. “Who I will be vanquishing from this world to the next before the end of these games.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Natalia shift uncomfortably in her seat.

“I’m just flabbergasted at the ungratefulness,” one of the draconian Boyars added. “I mean, we feed them, we give them land and protection and how do they repay us? With bad crops, delayed tax payments, and revolt.”

“Exactly,” Kalaur bellowed. “What in Hiad is going through their minds to think they deserve freedom?”

“Most kingdoms in the world have abolished serfdom,” Natalia said in a strong voice, but the others promptly ignored her remark.

Petran took a deep breath and reminded himself this was not his fight. But he was itching to slap these arrogant bastards in the face—one by one.

“I personally have never had to force my people to pay tributes, or to pay them in return for their services,” Oberon uttered, helping himself to another goblet of wine.

Argh!
Petran could contain his tongue no more. “Wouldn’t your vassals be able to pay you in better time if they had the opportunity to earn their own keep?”

“Nonsense,” Kalaur bellowed. “They would waste it all on cards. Just like your boy, Petran!”

The room filled with laughter.

Petran smiled, pretending to share their amusement. “Your observation is sound, Kalaur. Tardieh’s talent for cards is directly opposite to his way with women,” he replied, ensuring his voice remained leveled, even though his blood was boiling in his veins. “Maybe you could give him a few lessons on how to manage his wealth, in exchange for a few hints on how to court a lady.”

More laughter echoed around the royal box and Kalaur’s face went bright red as the guests grasped to what Petran was hinting at. He got ready for a retort but a tall draco appearing at the door interrupted any retaliation the dragon had planned. A strong odor of decaying meat wafted over them, stinking up the air. The ladies covered their noses, trying to protect their delicate senses from the stench. Petran narrowed his eyes. Vrajitor was the new comer’s name, which meant
magician
in their old language. He understood him to be Kalaur’s right hand man and the physician who was supposed to be finding a cure for Somenski’s disease.

Vrajitor did not wait for acknowledgement, crossing the floor straight to his lord and mumble into his ear. Kalaur nodded curtly and replied something, which sounded like “Do it now, and don’t let him disappoint us again.”

After that command, Vrajitor straightened up and left without further ceremony. By the graveness of his stance and Kalaur’s small smirk, it looked like the dragon lord was about to make good on his promise.

Petran dared steal a glance at Natalia, who seemed to have thought the same, by the way anxiety filled her large grey eyes.

“Your majesty,” he heard a familiar voice call him from the other end of the podium.

Petran turned to see Arthur coming his way. His face carried a somber aura clearly demonstrating the severity of the matter. Petran gave him a knowing look then stood up from his seat next to Hillia, excusing himself, and walked out of the dragon’s den. Literally.

Arthur followed him suit.

After finding a quiet corner between two tents, far from the royal boxes, he motioned for his chamberlain to speak up.

“I’ve just returned from seeing my cousin at Oxford University, your majesty.”

“Did he manage to run the tests on the sample we took from the village?”

“Yes, your majesty,” Arthur replied. “He’s still running some results but his preliminary findings were quite conclusive.”

“The water has been contaminated,” Petran said.

“No, your majesty.”

Petran felt all the blood leave his face. “No?”

“No, the water was as pure as any.”

Petran paused and thought of the consequences of this discovery. By Apa Dobrý, what was happening in those villages? Who were those merchants who had managed to send dracos to Hiad without leaving any trace?

“However,” Arthur added. “There were some traces of a strange substance which is not found in our lands.”

“What substance?”

“That’s what my cousin is still verifying, your majesty, but he was adamant that such a constituent was foreign to the Moldavian Mountains. And there’s more,” Arthur added lowering his voice.

“Speak.”

“Young Cornel arrived at the castle,” his chamberlain stated. “And like you ordered, I gave him food and put him to work on the stables.”

Petran frowned at the strange warmth, which engulfed his chest. “How is he doing?”

“All right, I reckon. The horses like him. But the important part is that I got to talk to him a bit more.”

Petran waited as Arthur took a pause, and looked around as if ensuring no one was listening to their conversation. After he was satisfied, he continued. “He told me that one of the merchants was carrying a jacket with Somenski’s insignia on it.”

“Somenski’s? Is he certain?”

“Yes, your majesty, the boy didn’t know it was Somenski’s until he saw me carrying an official letter with his royal badge on it.”

“Bloody Hiad,” Petran cursed. “It doesn’t take a large scale operation to contaminate a well on a remote village, a spy from another country could pass by as a merchant and do the deed without being noticed,” he pondered trying to put the pieces together. “To infiltrate Somenski’s own militia, however, that’s taking it to a completely different level.”