Vampire Legacy (Book 4 of the Dragon Heat series) (22 page)

“Your reminder of our old traditions is much appreciated, King Petran,” Kalaur replied coldly. “Please accept my apologies on behalf of my future father-in-law. Apparently, he started the celebrations before us all.”

A few guests found that funny.

“Predicting he would not be fit enough to withstand this eventful evening, he pledged his approval in writing.”

“What?” Talia cried out, unable to stop herself. “Impossible!”

“No, my dear fiancée, here it is.” Kalaur pulled out a letter from his coat pocket. The bloody despot had expected the challenge all along. However, instead of handing it over to her, the rightful heir and main participant of this despicable alliance, he strolled to Petran.

Petran took the letter from Kalaur’s hand, broke the seal, and read its contents. After a moment of unbearable silence, which seemed like forever to Talia’s sinking heart, Petran folded the letter and handed it back to Kalaur without meeting the draco’s eyes. “I believe congratulations are in order.”

No, no, no!

Talia couldn’t contain her desperation any longer. She clutched her hand over her mouth trying to muffle her cries of terror. For a brief moment, she saw her own pain mirrored in Petran’s gaze, but it was so fleeting she almost doubted she had really seen it. The ladies around the room advanced in her direction, with arms wide open and fake grins plastered on their cheeks. They were coming to congratulate her for her
well-matched engagement
.

“Oh, my dear, who would have thought you would land yourself such a great catch!” the fae princesses beamed.

The closer they came, the more Talia felt her lungs squeeze shut. From the corner of eye, she saw Hillia glaring at her, triumphantly.

“We must start your wedding preparations at once,” a lady whom Talia had never seen before exclaimed, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Talia felt dizzy, breathless. She was suffocating. Black dots blurred her eyes as the royals encased her in a tight circle. She searched for Petran once again, but he had disappeared.

When darkness finally claimed her, she welcomed it with open arms.

Chapter Twenty Five

Talia covered her red mane beneath her hood and descended the stone stairs as silently as she could. The Castle of Kings was quiet, the corridors empty. She knew guests would be sleeping during the day, giving her the perfect leeway to act.

After fainting in front of everyone, she had woken up alone in her bed, and cried for hours on Martha’s shoulder. How could the Soartas turn on her so drastically? Her evening had started so well, sharing the most amazing experience with Petran—the taste of his lips was still imprinted on hers—but then, it all turned sour at such an impossible rate that it still made her dizzy.

But Talia had never had the talent for self-pity and despised those spinsters who blamed the Soartas for the unfortunate lives they lived. No, she was a fighter and fight she would. So, she pulled herself together and decided to focus on finding a solution and not letting herself sink on a downward spiral. Her nerves were still raw, of course, and she felt like breaking into a sob at any moment, but she had to be strong.

First, she went to see her father, hoping he would shed some light on why in Hiad he had sealed the alliance with Kalaur without even giving her advance notice, but he was still deep in sleep. Then, she tried finding Petran but the vampire quarters were on the opposite end of the castle, and the corridors were under heavy surveillance. It was much too risky.

Things were not looking promising, so she triggered yet another plan. Sneaking into the kitchen, she grabbed bread, water and a sharp knife, and made her way to the dungeons.

Two sentinels were guarding Ivan’s cell.

“I brought bread and water for the prisoners,” she told the guards.

“We weren’t told about any meals being given today,” the chubby one replied. The other just burped his support.

“This is the Castle of Kings,” Talia said, trying to keep her voice as steady as possible. “It was built to remind us how kindness shall prevail above discord.”

They looked at each other as if unsure of how to respond to her statement.

“I am simply trying to ensure our guests get a good entertainment at the beheading. What fun would it be if the prisoners are completely numb and half-dead, looking like empty potato sacks?” she added. “And how impressed would your Lord Kalaur be with your services, if that happens?”

That did it. Their indifference turned into tangible worry before her eyes.

“All right, you can give them food, but we’ll inspect it first.”

So predictable.

They tore the loaf of bread apart and dipped their filthy fingers into the water.

“Should we search her too?” Belcher asked Chubby, who promptly ate her alive with his eyes, probably contemplating how thorough his search would have to be.

Talia narrowed her eyes at him. “I apologize for my manners. I should have introduced myself. My name is Natalia Somenski, Daughter of Lord Somenski, Duchess of Moldavia, and newly Lord Kalaur’s fiancée.”

Her plan of getting in and out anonymously was now blown out of the park, but at least she was confident she’d put a dead bolt on any funny ideas.

Belcher opened the iron gate and stepped aside to let her through. “Just be quick about it.”

Talia walked along the dark corridor lined with cells. The stench of sweat and other more disturbing odors made her gag. Why a castle built to celebrate peace had a dungeon was beyond her. She kept moving until she found a cell with only one man in it. He was lying on the floor, his back facing the other way but she would recognize him anywhere.

“Ivan,” she murmured, hoping he was awake.

“Talia?” he mumbled back, pushing off the ground. “Oh, my princess, I thought I would never see you again.” He came to her and clasped her hand with his.

“I brought you food,” she replied, offering him the battered bread and the jug of water. “Where are Dimitri and Grotski?”

Ivan shrugged, already wolfing down a chunk of the loaf.

“We must find them.” Talia stole a glance at the guards, just to ensure they couldn’t hear her. “Your execution is scheduled for two nights hence, after the games.”

“You have to get me out of here then!”

Talia flinched at Ivan’s choice of words. “Keep your voice down,” she said shushing him. “I don’t have much, but I managed to get you this.” She moved sideways pretending to pour him a glass of water, but effectively blocking her actions from the guards’ view. The knife’s sharp blade sparkled as she pulled it from underneath her corset.

Ivan’s eyes beamed with hope. “That’s my girl.”

He quickly snatched it from her hand but before he could hide it in his breeches, the blade skipped his fingers and clashed on the concrete floor.

Talia didn’t think, but simply acted. Her hand opened and down went the glass and jug of water, splashing on the floor and making a bigger noise than the blade.

“Sorry,” she yelled to the guards who threatened to check up on her. “I’m so clumsy.”

“Time is almost up, Lady Natalia,” one of the guards grunted.

“Thank you, guard,” she replied and crouched down to pick up the jug, which didn’t break by some miracle. “I will have horses ready for you at the stables. If you—”

“What is that?” Ivan growled, pointing at her neck.

Talia jumped startled at his rude interruption. “What’s what?” she asked, and then realized that when she crouched her hood had fallen back. Ivan was pointing at her bite marks. 

“It’s nothing. I scratched myself, that’s all,” she mumbled lifting the hood back into place.

Ivan’s hand clutched hard around her wrist stopping her from successfully hiding the proof of her encounter with Petran. “This is no scratch, these are vampire marks, you whore!”

Talia’s jaw dropped in shock. “How dare you call me that?”

“That’s what we call females who open their legs all around,” he growled between clenched teeth then grabbed a chunk of her hair, pulling her face against the cold steel bars. “And these are from King Petran’s fangs, are they not?”

“Stop it, you’re hurting me!” Talia tried to free herself, but his hold was much too strong. “Ivan, the guards will see you!”

He finally let go of her with a grunt but the look of disgust in his eyes told her he was far from finished with her. “I knew you had given yourself to that bloodsucker the moment I saw you by the pond. How could you betray me like that?”

“I did not betray you,” she countered in hushed tones. “Whatever happened between Petran and I has no effect on my loyalty to our cause.”

“To Hiad with the cause,” Ivan growled. “You betrayed me, Talia, and with a vampire nonetheless. I thought we had a future together, I thought you loved me.”

Talia’s reply got stuck in her throat. He thought she loved him? “Ivan, I’m sorry if my devotion for our cause has lead you to believe that I…” She forced her heart to calm down and tried again. “I hold you in high esteem, Ivan. I truly believe you can change our race’s destiny, lead us to a new era, but my heart is…”

“Your heart is what, Talia?” he asked. Bitterness flooded out of his words. “Your heart belongs to a filthy bloodsucker?” He
humphed
in disgust. “I should have taken you when I had the chance. Maybe if I had gotten in first, you would have fallen for me instead.”

Talia opened her mouth to defend herself but nothing came out. The shock of hearing such vulgar accusations from her esteemed friend, someone she had risked her life for, had stalled any replies from her mind.

“I wish you good luck, Ivan Milek.”

Without giving him another glance, she turned around and left the dungeon the way she had come.

Chapter Twenty Six

The sky over Oxford, England was gloomier than Petran’s homeland but somehow the ever present clouds painted an interesting portrait against the purple sunset. The sun, his race’s greatest enemy, had just fallen behind the horizon. He closed the lapels of his fur coat and crossed the courtyard toward the Oxford Medical School. On other occasions, he would have waited for the safety of complete darkness before leaving his chambers, but tonight time was a luxury he couldn’t afford to waste.

The Gothic style building towered over the many students who came and went. Even though evening was approaching, the esteemed medical school refused to give up any signs of calling it a night. Following Arthur’s directions, Petran crossed to the main doors toward the research laboratories. A couple of young students wearing white coats passed by him carrying a tray of mutilated corpses. Touché. Petran followed them down the corridor and soon saw Arthur emerge from the direction of where the interns disappeared.

“Your majesty,” Arthur exclaimed with surprise. “I was coming back to Romania and report on my cousin’s findings.”

“No time for that, my friend,” Petran replied.

Arthur bowed slightly then led the way. As promised, Arthur had taken the sample they collected from the draconian village’s water well to be examined by his cousin, a scientist who had worked for many respected universities in Europe.

A strong smell of ether invaded his nostrils as they entered the laboratory. A shorter and younger version of Arthur stood hunched over a strange device on the bench. The equipment looked like a vertically suspended cylinder with a narrow end pointing at several magnifying glasses.

“Oh, you’re back already,” the younger version of Arthur exclaimed, but only after noticing them there.

“Cousin, this is King Petran of Romania,” Arthur said. “Your majesty, this is Edward Jenner, my cousin.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, your majesty,” Jenner stated with respect, bowing low.

“Thank you for taking time out of your research to aid us, Doctor Jenner,” Petran replied. “Arthur tells me your work with smallpox is destined to revolutionize medicine as humans know it.”

“It is true that my research has saved a few human lives already, but I’m afraid my cousin has more faith in me than Apa Dobrý, your majesty.”

Petran let the corner of his mouth lift on a half-smile at the men’s cunning spirit, but time was of essence. “Please, show me what you have discovered.”

At his words, Jenner rushed around gathering several test tubes, sheets of paper and books. “This poison is like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“How so?” Petran enquired.

“Because it doesn’t behave like a poison...it’s quite fascinating!”

Petran lifted an eyebrow at the physician. Maybe Arthur did have too much faith in his cousin.

“It actually behaves more like smallpox. It attacks the host’s blood and multiplies quickly,” Jenner added. “Please, take a look through the microscope,” he suggested, motioning for Petran to look through the strange device.

Petran glanced at Arthur then did as the doctor instructed. He leaned forward and placed his eyes on one of the small cylinders. Several moving globules seemed to be bathing in red liquid.

“What you see is a sample of Lord Somenski’s blood,” Jenner explained. “The blobs are what we call cells. Can you see the double-stranded circles around them?”

Petran nodded affirmatively.

“A normal cell in draconian blood has only one rim, not two!” He beamed with pride.

Petran straightened up and gazed at Jenner. When the surprisingly slow doctor didn’t get the hint, he lifted his eyebrows. “And two rims are bad because…?”

“Poisons usually course through the blood cells, but this one actually attaches itself to them.”

Petran didn’t fully understand what Jenner was saying and how that could possibly be a breakthrough, so he tried again. “Doctor Jenner, are you saying that someone developed a poison that resists being flushed out?”

“Exactly!” Jenner beamed again. “Therefore, it’s not a poison, because it behaves like bacteria.”

“So, it’s bacteria,” Arthur suggested.

“Not really. Bacteria also behave differently. This is a completely new element to science, but I’ve seen it before.”

“Where?”

“When I was researching the anatomy of birds as a young student, I came across a rare species of African Ostrich which had the double-rim around some of its blood cells. I found out then that the outer rim helped the cells cool down in the height of the African summer. The double-coat, as we started calling it, somehow stopped the inner cells from overheating, maintaining the host’s body at a level temperature.”

“Fascinating, Doctor Jenner,” Petran remarked in an unimpressed tone. “But what does an African ostrich have to do with my draconian neighbor?”

Jenner looked at Arthur then at the device, he had called a microscope. “I’m still working on that, your majesty. The findings from my old research, along with samples of the bacteria I found in the African Ostrich are currently at the Université Paris-Sorbonne, where I used to teach. I will go there at once and conduct a few more tests using those original samples. I just need a bit more time, your majesty.”

“This is good work, Doctor, but time is the one thing we do not have in abundance.”

Petran left the laboratory and strode out of the building. Damn the Soartas!

It was good knowing it wasn’t a poison which was killing the dracos, but they still had no idea how, and without the how, there was no way of finding a cure. Somenski was deteriorating by the minute and now with the Sultan openly backing him, Kalaur had decided not to wait for the old sod’s death to show his claws. Petran had read and inspected Somenski’s alleged letter of consent himself. The draco had truly signed the agreement, officially sealing his daughter’s destiny to Kalaur’s.

Petran had to find a way of stopping the wedding at all costs. The thought of Talia marrying that filthy swine disturbed him on levels he never thought possible. His fists clenched at his sides, crushing his hat. Kalaur would tear her down for sure. He knew the Dragon Lord and the many stories surrounding his name. He would torture, and humiliate her until he broke her beautiful inmã into little pieces, leaving nothing but a carcass. No, he couldn’t allow it.

The moments they shared together filled his thoughts—her kindness, her sauciness, her unexpected wantonness—but it was too dangerous to continue seeing each other. After the victorious capture of the three rebels, Kalaur had filled the castle with his own guards. Petran knew he could not trust himself around Talia, and knew if he didn’t keep his distance, if he didn’t lay low, someone would find them out. As it was, her father’s seneschal almost had. No, he would help her as much as he could, but from a distance. Watch her, aid her, and admire her…from a safe distance.

“Your majesty,” Arthur called out from behind him. “I apologize for not having better news.”

“It’s not your fault, Arthur. Please reassure your cousin I am impressed with his work but unfortunately, it’s not enough to save us.”

Arthur lowered his face and released a tired breath. “Jenner is conducting further experiments, your majesty. He is very close to finding a cure.”

“In a fortnight, we won’t need one.”

**********

Even though the Castle of Kings had been built to celebrate peace and harmony, its dungeon was as filthy and impenetrable as any other prison. The architects of such a fortress had anticipated the need for such a war-like area, for they knew the vision of a land where all sons of Apa Sâmbetei lived in harmony was a load of bullocks.

Kalaur descended the dark stone staircase, and a rare smile lifted his cheeks. Two nights hence would mark the beginning of his rise to eternal fame. Historians would document his deeds in books, his triumph sung in war lullabies, and children of future generations would learn of him at school. It would all start with the decapitation of the rebels. Kalaur would make sure to savor every second, starting by laughing at that stupid rebel’s face.

With the Sultan from the Dry Lands as his official ally now, no one could stop him. Of course, he’d had to negotiate a bit more than what he first planned, but it was worth it. In exchange for the daemons’ military support, Kalaur promised to give the vampire territories to the Sultan. True, they would need conquering first but with the help of his new allies, Kalaur could smell the beautiful scent of victory already. King Petran would not know what hit him. The Sultan was a single-minded ruler and nothing would sway him from his goal. Pretty much like Kalaur, he had to admit. Sultan Osman had even moved his troops to the edge of his territory, as close to the border with Petran’s lands as possible without raising any suspicions. After Kalaur’s marriage with lovely Natalia, he would take over Somenski’s lands and prepare for battle. Together, they would attack Petran from both sides, trapping him and making his castle his very own prison. He would have no other choice but to surrender.

The beauty of Kalaur’s master plan had not come from his coalition with the bloody daemons. No, he had to give credit to yet another alliance. Sultan Osman thought he was running the show, but he wasn’t.

Kalaur’s silver bullet would come from someone far more cunning than all of them combined.

He was not daft nor was he inexperienced in the art of war. He knew very well, there was no such thing as a bond sealed by loyalty. Partnerships only lasted as long as the smarter party allowed it to. Life in this world was a race and the proverbial
survival of the fittest
had become the survival of the astute. In this case, it was Kalaur. Of course.

“Justice will be served, father,” he muttered to himself. “The day I will make history is not far away now.” He would conquer the vampires once and for all, he would make good on his promise to his father, who died under the filthy fangs of Vlad the Impaler, Petran’s great grandfather.

“Open the gates,” he ordered and was promptly answered by the guard watching over the prisoners. The overwhelming stench of mold, damp and excrement reached his nose, but he didn’t gag. That was a reaction for the weak.

He strolled down the dark corridor until he found his target. His mouth salivated in anticipation.

“So, what do we have here,” he drawled, coming to a stop in front of Milek’s cell. “I must say, Milek, I thought you were much taller. For someone who could deflect my entire army, and create such a noise about a few dead serfs, you are surprisingly short.”

The crushed rebel glared at him for a moment, but didn’t reply.

“Why, no smart remarks, no cries of…out with despot leaders?” Kalaur added, ensuring every word was drenched with sarcasm. “But fret not, rebel leader, your miserable solitude will soon be over. And despite what people may say, I am a merciful ruler and to prove it, I reserved you a farewell ceremony worthy of your fame.”

No reply. Milek kept his focus on the stone wall in front of him, as if ignoring Kalaur’s very presence. Kalaur frowned. The son of a whore seemed not to care about his destiny, even about losing his head on the guillotine. What in Hiad?

No problem. Kalaur could break anything or anyone, given enough time. He smiled. He had all evening.

“The Closing Ball will take place in two nights, and I am delighted to confirm that you will be the main attraction,” he added, trying to poke the draco where it hurt.

Milek lifted his eyes, but did not meet Kalaur’s.

“Don’t look so miserable, little rebel,” he added. “You can cross the Rivers of Apa Sâmbetei knowing that your death served a purpose. Well, not the purpose you wanted, but a mighty purpose nonetheless.” Kalaur chuckled, unable to contain his excitement. “Your little resistance made my reign stronger, helping me seal alliances never before accomplished. Now your death will bring my name to the heights it deserves.”

“So you think,” Milek snorted.

“What did you say, little rat?”

“You think your alliances are solid,” the rebel retorted, finally addressing him face to face. “But you have no idea what is happening under your very nose.”

Kalaur narrowed his eyes at the draco behind the bars. “I don’t think my alliances are solid, I know they are.”

“Then you are a bigger fool than I expected,” the impertinent prick replied.

Kalaur’s jaw popped in anger at the prisoner’s insolence but then, a loud laugh grew inside him and reverberated in the cold stone walls. “I must admit, rebel, I do admire your audacity.”

Milek stared at him for a moment, and then a sudden fire lit up in his eyes. He pushed off the filthy floor and approached the bars. “Have you ever wondered how I managed to escape your raids every time? How I had the means to hide and buy passage to anywhere I wanted?”

It was Kalaur’s turn to remain quiet. He kept his face neutral, disinterested, but deep inside he sensed a change in the rebel’s inmã, as if Kalaur had become second in line on his list of enemies. Something definitely had happened.

“I know you have wandered,” Milek carried on, “because you sent your brother to interrogate my family and villagers who aided us, with little success, I might add.”

“I captured you, did I not?”