Vampire Legacy (Book 4 of the Dragon Heat series) (34 page)

“Talia, I need you to be very careful,” he said resting her face against his chest. “Kalaur has spies everywhere. He has caught my son and is holding him captive somewhere, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot find the location. That is the only reason why I have not held a full-blown attack and taken my castle back. I do not even want to think what will happen if he captures you again.”

“I am not going to be captured,” Talia replied with confidence, and for some strange reason, he believed her. “And with regards to your son…”

“No one knows where he is being kept,” Petran added. “Arthur has been trying to find out for the past month. He has searched every corner of the castle, every draconian prison known to us, and still nothing.”

The corner of her lips lifted into an irresistibly wicked smile and Petran knew he was in trouble. “I know someone who can help us find him.”

Chapter Thirty Nine

The red titled roofs of Dubrovnik’s town lay before him in the early hours of the morn. The moon hung low in the blue and purple sky.

“The sun will be rising soon, your majesty,” Arthur murmured behind him. “We do not have much time.”

It was a gloomy and rather unnecessary reminder but nonetheless, he was right.

“Come, I know a short cut,” Talia said, jumping over a small fence in front of them as if she were still wearing lad’s clothes.

The commoner’s dress Arthur had fetched her was much lighter than her usual highborn gowns but she still treated the long skirt like if it was made of leaves, not heavy cotton. She looked beautiful in the colorful, hand-knitted dress, which also brought with it a matching bandana to cover her ravishing red hair. Petran was far from complaining, but the neckline was a little too low for his liking. He would definitely ask her to wear it again but only behind closed doors and only for him.

Silently scanning every corner, and every shadow, he followed Talia along the streets of the old town. Its uniquely cream-colored cobblestones reflected the light from the oil lamps above, casting interesting designs along the narrow alleyways.

They crossed the main piazza then entered the inner circle of the central area, filled with taverns and gentlemen houses. A few drunkards stumbled across the street, while others stumbled on top of prostitutes baring their breasts out. Petran released an irritated sigh, as worry and jealousy pumped through his veins. Talia looked far too comfortable coming this way. For Hiad’s sake, he would have to convince her to hire an escort.

Beside him, Arthur also tensed. He threw a knowing gaze at his chamberlain, and received a nod in reply. Oh, yes, Arthur was also ready to pounce at anyone or anything, which slightly resembled a threat.

After turning and crossing several streets, they reached a cul-de-sac with a tall stone house at the end. The sign
Daughters of Soartas
hung above a teal blue door. Talia stopped in front of it and turned around.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

“The Hiad you will,” he growled in response.

She jumped surprised at his curt reply.

“I will certainly not allow you to walk into that place without me,” he uttered. “No matter how many times you have done so in the past.”

She lifted her brows at him but to his surprise, she did not argue. “All right, but don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”

She turned back around and opened the door. A sea of females was displayed before him.

There were at least two dozens of them in the room—some reading palms, some smoking cigars, while others just chatted amongst themselves. They looked relaxed and blasé. Petran had never seen a place like this before, well, not for females at least.

“What is this place?” he whispered closing the door behind him and Arthur.

“This is a female-only club,” a tall woman, who looked like a feminine version of his grandfather uttered from the other side of the room.

The chatter stopped at once and every female stared at them.

Great.

“No males are allowed on the premises, Natalia, you know the rules,” another one added.

“They are my crew,” Talia replied. “I sail north tonight and I’m recruiting deckhands for my ship.”

Petran frowned at the odd explanation.

A tall, beautiful woman with exotic features, bright honey colored eyes, and long dark hair stood up. “I can row.”

Petran recognized her at once. She was the draco who had broken into the Castle of Kings the night before Kalaur arrested Natalia. She was in it with the rebels. Her name was Zoricah.

Talia gave her a short nod in reply, and then led them back out, followed by the tall woman. Apparently, the odd conversation about
sailing north
was a code amongst the rebel forces. Clever.

As soon as they reached a safe place, away from prying eyes and ears, Zoricah spun around and pinned Petran with her forearm, forcing him back against the wall.

What in Hiad?

She was as tall as he was and her knuckles were dangerously pressing against the soft spot on his neck.

“I should kill you right now,” she growled, “and end this war once and for all.”

“Z, stop,” Talia ordered in a leveled voice.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur pull out his dagger. Petran lifted his hand, stopping his chamberlain-turned-warrior from retaliating.

“Yes, you should kill me, draco, but you will not,” Petran replied, not wavering his gaze from the woman’s golden eyes.

“And why is that?”

“Because you know damn well, I am not the enemy.”

She didn’t like his answer but nonetheless, after lingering a moment longer against his neck, probably just to make a point, she stepped back.

“What are you doing with this scoria?” Zoricah barked at Talia. “Has he not hurt you enough?”

“He did nothing but protect me, Z,” Talia replied. “Kalaur was the one who hurt us.” 

“Kalaur and that filthy turn-coat, Milek,” Z added between clenched teeth. “They killed them all, Talia, all our friends chased down in plain daylight, in the middle of the streets, entire families murdered by Kalaur’s thugs. They never saw it coming.”

“I feel their pain too, Z,” Talia said. “I too suffer the agony of Ivan’s betrayal on my skin, but I am not giving up. If you want to hit Kalaur and Ivan where it hurts the most, then help us.”

“How would helping a fallen vampire king help me get my revenge?”

“Because apparently, you can retrieve the only thing that is preventing me from storming into Kalaur’s castle,” Petran replied.

“And what is that, bloodsucker?”

“My son, Tardieh.”

The draconian woman let her head back as her laughter echoed in the empty street. “That’s the most amusing thing I have heard in a very long time. Precious, really.”

“Z, please, listen to what he has to say.”

“I will not do such thing, Talia,” Z retorted. “I do not understand why you have chosen to trust a vampire and forgive him despite everything he’s done, but
I
do not have to.”

“I am not asking you to trust me, warrior,” Petran growled back. He was tired of the pointless chitchat, of her accusations, and he could feel the sun calling him from the horizon. According to Talia, this draco had special talents which allowed her to find people and uncover secrets no one else could. Talia did not know how, but the draconian fighter had never disappointed her. So now, they faced convincing Zoricah to find Tardieh before it was too late.

“Kalaur is the one spreading the Curse among your villages,” Petran explained, forcing the annoyance out of his voice. “But I am not asking you to believe me. All I ask is for you to investigate and see it for yourself. His shadow, Vrajitor, may be a good place to start.”

Zoricah regarded him with suspicious eyes. Then she gazed at Talia, to Arthur, and then back at Petran as if deciding what to do. “And then what? What if I do find it is Kalaur’s putrid work, do you think I will trust you to just take him to justice and let us be? I was not born yesterday, bloodsucker, I know very well of your ruses to take our lands, starting with seducing my own friend here.”

“Z,” Talia complained, but her friend bid her no attention.

“What guarantees me that things will change, that you will protect the truth and leave Moldavia alone?”

She had a point. Nothing could guarantee her those things. No one could promise that old rivalries would not resurface in a few years’ time. He and the other land lords in the Eastern European countries had too much history under their belts, too much blood had been shed. It had started with his great-great-grandfather and had never stopped. As Talia said, it was time for a change. Modern times were knocking on their door and it was up to them to lead the way or be swallowed by progress.

“I am through with this country and politicians who care for no one but themselves,” Z growled, then turned around and stalked back toward the club.

“You are right, Zoricah,” Petran consented. “Nothing can guarantee I will change or that even the dragon lords will change, but what if the circumstances were different?”

Zoricah stopped on her tracks.

“What do you mean?” she asked after turning back around.

“Yes, Petran, what are you saying?” Talia murmured beside him.

“What if a new ruler was crowned—a new king? A fresh one, who is product of modern times, and who prefers the company of other races better than his own.”

“Are you telling me you will step down and let your playboy son take over?”

“Tardieh is not a playboy. He simply wants us to believe he is.”

“All right, your majesty,” Zoricah retorted bitterly. “Promise me your son will impose justice, take Kalaur down, and let the dragons be, and I’ll help you find him.”

Petran exhaled a long breath. “I cannot promise such a thing because I am not my son,” Petran replied.

“Typical,” the female warrior snorted.

“But I can promise you I will let him make the choice. I will not interfere with his decision.” Hoping she felt the weight of a new era on her shoulders, he carried on laying out all his cards on the table. “Once we free him, it will be up to you to change his heart. The same way Natalia changed mine.”

Zoricah stared at him as if she could see deep into his inmã. He held her glare, knowing very well this was the last duel, the last test she was levying on him. He did not waver, nor did he press her to give her final answer, even though he could feel the first rays of sun greeting the horizon. 

She finally nodded. “I will accept your offer, bloodsucker, but know this, I will find your son, and if he does not come true with his word, I will hunt both you and him down.”

Petran bowed curtly. “As you please, warrior.”

He hid a secret smile for he was almost certain his son would even like the idea of being hunted by a dragoness.

**********

His castle was in full swing. As per Talia’s observations, the front towers had been turned into weapon forgeries where dozens of draco serfs worked tirelessly to forge swords, spears, bullets, and every silver weapon one could think of. The kitchens, which had barely been used during Petran’s reign, were now filled with busy cooks preparing meals for the new owners of the manor.

Those bloody dragons had ruined his castle. He should not have run, he should have stayed and fought the Desert Daemons when he had the chance. But his son’s life had been at their mercy so the parent in him had overtaken the outer sovereign, and he had fled to win the battle another day. Now, he found himself in this troubling conundrum, but hopefully not for long.

Concealed from his enemy’s eyes by his cloak of smoke, Petran floated across the west wing of his castle, and past the Grand Hall. The stench of stale beer, sweat, and other gut-churning odors hit his senses like a punch in the face. His Grand Hall was now Kalaur’s army’s sleeping quarters. The beautiful seating arrangement and expensive furniture had been replaced with makeshift beds, cheap card tables, and pissing pots. Several dracos were in the room, some playing cards, others drinking mugs of lagers, and others slumped on the stone floor, obviously too drunk to even crawl to their mats. Hillia’s exquisite paintings and tapestries, which she had proudly brought from Paris and the Middle East, were now acting as fuel for the fireplace.

An uninvited wave of childhood memories flooded the front of Petran’s mind as if in protest. His crowning as King had occurred in this very hall after his father’s death. Decades before that, his mother had taught him how to waltz here. Now it had been turned into a sleeping camp for Kalaur’s filthy, smelly, and grotesque army of dracos.

Bloody Hiad.

His jaw popped in anger at the sickening sight, his hands closed into fists, his fangs emerged wanting to draw blood and claim his revenge right here, and now, but he suppressed the urge. After all, a good commander knew that chopping the branches off was the most inefficient way to kill the creeper. You had to go for the root and extinguish it before it could grow any larger.

Taking a deep breath, Petran ignored the thirst for retaliation and focused on what he had come here for.

After the bizarre encounter with the female draconian, Zoricah, he had managed to convince Talia to return to her father’s castle with Arthur. Petran needed her safe so he could go ahead with a plan, which had formed in his mind the moment he saw her at his home in exile. Talia had protested, of course but after a few tense moments, he had convinced her that he needed her father’s army of dragons to support his wild plan. Secretly, he very much doubted Somenski would be willing to join him, despite what Talia had told him. Joining forces seemed the only way forward but Petran feared the old sod’s conditions. Nonetheless, he’d do anything to make sure Talia was as far away from Kalaur as possible, and that meant she had to be far away from where he had to go.

Truth be told, the official plan was rather simple. Petran would sneak into his castle, and free Hillia, while Arthur gathered the remnants of his royal army and prepared for attack. Zoricah would find Tardieh’s location and report back. All three parties were to rendezvous at the old chapel outside the city walls at midnight. Then, Petran would lead his royal army and rescue Tardieh.