by Iris Walker
“You will not wield it, slave,” Fausta spat, choking on her own blood. “It is not your place.”
“It wasn’t Hadriana’s place to cut down her own kin,” Lucidia said, hefting the weapon up. It was so heavy that she had to call on her abilities just to raise it. “It wasn’t Seldon Lexos’s place to behead Gideon Myron, but he did that, too.”
“Both Hadriana and that strongblood scum are dead,” Fausta growled. “As you will be, too.”
“I don’t care what happens to me, as long as I take you down first,” Lucidia murmured. She walked to one of the sconces, yanking the small canister of lamp oil from its rusted holder. In a slow, deliberate motion, she turned the canister upside down and doused the blade until it glistened with the slick oil. Lucidia raised it, striking it against the stone pillar, feeling the massive weight of it swing as a spark flew from its impact, igniting the fire at once.
“The revolutionary is dead!” Fausta spat. “You are just a treasonous mutt that’s lost her status, her standing, and her father. You prove nothing by wielding her weapon against me.”
Lucidia’s hateful eyes raked over the ruined queen. “I prove that nobody is above justice. You dirty her memory, Fausta Morgada Ambrose. You sully her legacy, and it is you who are not worthy to wield her weapon,” Lucidia growled, bringing the flaming sword down in a brutal arc, cleaving the vampire queen apart with a ragged war cry. Metal met flesh, and then bone, and then cold rock as Lucidia met her mark and sent Fausta to meet her maker. Lucidia’s heart pounded, her chest heaving with triumphant breaths as she watched the blood sizzle on Retribution’s searing blade. Her eyes were wide with the kill, with the gravity of what she’d done and the magnitude of the weapon she’d grasped. A glimmer of movement pulled her attention, and she looked up. At the doorway stood Darian Xander. He was disheveled from the fight, his own uniform torn, blood spattered across his face like carnival paint. “It’s over, Darian,” she said softly, a triumphant smile spreading on her lips. “I did it. I killed her.”
For a moment, there was silence, cut only by the steady drip of Fausta’s blood on the stones. And then, Darian’s eyes widened in panic. “No,” he said, a horrible, pained sound. “Lucidia, no.”
Her eyebrows drew together as she struggled to understand his reaction. Darian rushed towards her, pulling his purple velvet cloak to the front and yanking the corner off in one rip. In an instant, he was before her, working in a frenzy. He wiped her arm, her hand, still coated in the thick blood, and then her face, dragging the velvet across her skin in hasty, careless motions.
“What are you doing?” she asked, scowling deeply.
His mind was far away as he uttered his reply. “We must fix this…”
“Stop,” she said in confusion, pulling away. He paid no mind, every ounce of his attention focused on removing the blood. The evidence. She searched his clouded gaze, her own eyes sharp with anger. “Stop!” she screamed at him.
He drew in a sharp breath, his burning red eyes piercing her. “It cannot be you, Lucidia.”
A fresh wave of anger crashed over her and her lip curled up in a snarl. She understood now; it made perfect sense. She’d been the one to predict where Fausta was slinking off to, and she’d been the one to fight with the grace and prowess that had bested an age-old vampire queen, but nobody would ever know. Nobody could ever know. The emotion boiled inside of her, indignance and rage colliding, threatening to explode. “It was me.”
Darian’s reply was firm; an axe in the dusty air. “No.”
She trembled from exhaustion, from the exertion, and now from this betrayal. “I’ve trained my whole life for this…”
He shook his head in an impatient motion and outstretched his palm. “There is no time for argument. Give me the sword.”
She stepped away from him, tightening her grip on the handle, white knuckling it until her fingers ached. “No,” she vowed, words deep, warbled by anger.
“Are you going to make me take it from you?” he spat, his silver hair trembling around him.
“This victory is mine!” she cried. “I earned it. Not you. It was me.”
“But it cannot be you!”
“Why not?” she threw back. “I found her. I wielded Retribution, just as Hadriana did. I took up arms against Fausta, and I beat her. After all that I’ve done, after everything we’ve worked for, why not?
Darian’s reply lashed at her like a whip, sharp and cruel. “Because you are beneath us, always!” he snapped, words venomous as they sunk into the air between them. “Vampires are too old to change their ways. When are you going to get it? How many times will it take for you to understand? For this, Lucidia, they will have your head. They will kill you. Do you understand that, or do I have to beat it into you as Adonis did?”
She shook her head, manic and angry. “No. You told me we were equals,” she spat. “I’ve proven that we’re equals.”
“I brought us together for the battle,” he countered, spreading his arms wide, a bitter smile on his lips. “And we have triumphed. But there must be a path after the violence, and that path starts with me, ending Fausta’s life. They will not accept anything else. This is the way things must be.”
“But you didn’t kill her!” she cried, tightening her grip on the handle, feeling its grooves etch into her slick palms. “No more lies, Darian. You weren’t even here.”
The meager patience that Darian had attempted dissolved, his rage now bare to the world in a way that Lucidia had never seen before. “Why must you forever be so difficult!” he shouted, blurring up to her in an instant, his red eyes roiling in fury. For a split second, icy fear shot through her; she’d never had Darian’s true rage turned on her like this. She’d never seen him so visceral, so… vampiric.
“What do you want? Do you want me to hit you?” he yelled, smacking the side of her head, leaving an inflamed welp on her temple. “What will it take to get it through your thick skull, Lucidia!” He smacked her again, and again, until finally she staggered back, bringing the sword up, eyes clouded with rage as she stared at his furious gaze, down the blade of the weapon.
“Stop,” she commanded, grinding her jaw together.
“And will you use it on me?” he jabbed, words biting, patronizing her. Lucidia’s arms trembled, resolve faltering as the gasoline of her anger kept pouring into her mind, clouding her judgement. Darian rushed forward, gripping the blade with his marble fingers, bringing it up to his throat and leaning against it. “Go ahead, fierce warrior. If you hate me that much, then rid yourself of the monster you make me out to be,” he said sharply.
Lucidia choked back a sob, angry tears springing forth, pooling in her eyes as she gripped the blade with all her might, feeling it against his skin. All the anger, all the oppression, all the rage welled up inside of her, screaming at her to do something about it, to stop the pain. Screaming at her to use her fists, as she always had. Her pulse battered her brain, the tension beating her like a hammer, until she let out a cry of anger and wrenched the blade to the side, letting the tip clash against the stone, her breath coming in sharp pants as she fought to regain her control. Moments passed, until she spoke with subdued rage. “Don’t take this away from me,” she whispered harshly.
Darian’s hands gripped her arms, shaking her with a fierce jerk. The rage faded, and his anguished expression returned. “It was never yours in the first place. It should have been me. For you…” he said, pulling in a ragged breath. “For you it is a crime punishable by death. No one can ever know.”
She brought her burning purple eyes up to his, drilling through him, letting all her anger surface. “You’re a coward,” she accused.
Darian shook his head, conflict plain on his face. “It is the world we live in.”
“You know this is wrong.”
“And you know it must be me!” he roared, shaking her once more.
“But you don’t deserve it!” she seethed, glaring daggers into the vampire. “You would be dead without
our help!”
“Enough!” Darian bellowed. For a moment, they hung there, locked in fury and white-hot rage. Then, Darian leaned forward, his face only an inch from hers, his words like a viper. “There is no time for this, Lucidia. Give me the sword or I will take your arm with it.”
Another blade of emotion pierced her heart, sharp and stabbing, and she felt a cruel smile curve onto her lips as her fingers released Retribution, letting the fierce weapon clatter to the ground. “It’s always you, isn’t it? It’ll always be you.”
He let out a venomous laugh, reaching down and clasping the weapon’s handle. “There’s the anger,” he muttered bitterly, voice full of searing self-deprecation. “My eternal companion, come to greet me once more.”
“Oh, give it a rest!” she shrieked, her voice growing ragged as she lost all semblance of control.
“You all hate me for these moments, so angry at me for making the hard decisions. The ones that keep you alive. You may have forgotten your oath to me, but I have not forgotten mine,” he hissed.
Lucidia shook her head, a hot rock of emotion lodging in her throat at his words.
“You pledged to serve me,” he chided, his voice lashing like a blade. “But what did I promise you? Do you even remember the words?”
“Of course I do!” she screamed at him, biting back her tears, fists clenched in anger.
Silence slipped into the catacombs, cut only by the flicker of torches, the ragged heaving of their breath, locked in anger, locked in their eternal battle of wills, until Darian’s cruel whisper cut through the air. “This I pledge to you…” he began.
“Stop it,” she hissed.
“I will keep you, for all your years, I will shelter you, I will bestow upon you the gift of fruit; the fruit of the mind, being knowledge, the fruit of the body, being sustenance, and the fruit of the soul, being your good works, dedicated to me, for me, in my honor,” he started, voice rising in intensity until he was nearly quaking in rage. His grip on the sword tightened, both hands holding Retribution like a lifeline. “I will protect you! No longer shall you be nameless, for just as though your blood is my blood, your name shall be my name, and your house shall be my house.”
Lucidia wiped her face, turning away from him, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood.
“You may hate me for it, but I will always keep my vow to you, you spiteful, angry little girl,” he seethed.
She swallowed hard, her lip quivering as she drew in a breath to speak. “I gave you everything, Darian. I gave you my life, I gave you my father, and now… now I’ve given you your victory.” Another wave of sorrow mounted inside of her, constricting her throat. She ground her jaw together, forcing the words out. “It’s taken a long time for me to understand, as you’ve said. But I do understand, now, that things will never change for you, and that’s exactly how you want it. So you win, vampire king. You win.”
She stepped back, further and further, tears brimming in her eyes, just like she was a little girl again, just like she’d been twenty-five years ago, dragging her own father to his imprisonment. Just like she’d always be, under his rule. It cannot be you, his voice echoed, stabbing through her. “You know why they call you the ruler of stones, right?” she muttered bitterly. “It isn’t because you’re so stoic. They say that at the end of time, we’ll all be dead, and you’ll be left alone, the last one standing, king of the rocks and the dust. Right where you belong.”
She brought her hand up, feeling her armor for that delicate pin, Vere Fidelis, that symbol of her fealty, ripping it off and holding it in the air between them. We will never change… Lucidia closed her eyes, sending another wave of burning tears down her cheeks, snaking under her chin, as she drew in a long breath and let the pin slip from her fingers.
Ping.
Lucidia watched the metal pin glint on the ground, the firelight dancing off its bevels, shining in all its regal glory. Darian froze, the sound of it bringing him back from whatever rage-fueled frenzy he’d been raveled up in. Slowly, he turned his wounded gaze to the small piece of metal on the ground, and in that moment, Lucidia knew she’d hurt him worse than words ever could. She also knew that it would never compare to how he’d hurt her.
Footsteps grew louder, and Lucidia turned to see Zane barrel through the doorway, eyes full of concern. “Lucidia…” he began, his gaze flicking around the room, taking it in. She walked to him, slowly, silently, her eyes on the ground in front of her. More footsteps echoed, coming closer with each second until one of Darian’s generals strode through the room, weapon raised. He walked past Lucidia and Zane, her eyes tracking him numbly, watching as he rejoiced at the sight of his master standing over the slain queen. Lucidia felt another wave of sorrow stab through her and she turned away, wrapping her arm around Zane’s bloody, ripped armor. “It’s time for us to leave,” she whispered, walking up the stairs without casting a glance back.
Chapter 18 Parting Ways
Megan
Things had definitely taken a turn for the worse.
Megan hadn’t left Fausta’s suite in weeks, but there was something in the air, something that had settled across the entire castle, seeping into its bones and casting everything in a tense, eerie light. Duncan and the other royals had left, though they periodically returned. Each time, Duncan seemed a little less open, a little more reserved. When the floor began rumbling underneath them, Megan knew it had started again. By the look of their expressions, Todd and Magnus knew it as well. It wasn’t long after that that Duncan came bursting into the room, holding a pack and an armful of clothes. “Fausta has been defeated,” he rushed. “She was cut down in the catacombs of House Albus. We must hurry.”
A bolt of fear dug straight into Megan’s heart, her mind racing at the thought of another siege.
Todd was the next to speak. “What’s happening down there?”
“Her empire is falling,” Duncan said ruefully. “The wolves have overthrown the vampire guards and are ripping the entire castle apart. Fausta’s forces are barely holding their own, but in the midst of it, I was able to secure our passage.”
“What about the kids?” Megan asked. “There are hundreds of wolf children in the-”
“They will be fine,” Duncan said harshly. “Believe me when I say they are not on your side in the matter.” Megan scowled, her heartbeat racing. Duncan tossed the bundle of clothes over to them. “Put those on. They will fit well enough, I hope.”
Megan and Todd acted out of panic, pulling on the normal, human clothes. Megan had a deep maroon sweater and some black jeans. She didn’t even know where they’d come from. When they were ready, they glanced over. Duncan had gotten Magnus out of the chains, out of the cage, and given him new clothes, too. Megan’s eyebrows furrowed at the sight of him. He looked so normal. Aside from the scraggly beard, and the dirt and grime that coated his face, Magnus looked like an everyday Joe. Well, considering he was about six-five and had a frame like a barrel, maybe not normal, but as close as he’d ever get.
“We have mere moments. Take whatever you want, and do it quickly,” Duncan said.
“Where are we going?” Megan asked.
“The human world,” Duncan replied, grabbing armfuls of scrolls and trinkets from Fausta’s chests. “There is a small gathering of rogue royals who have fled through the past months.”
Megan ignored the urge to ask where in the human world, considering that it was kind of a big place, and turned to Todd. He’d begun rifling through Fausta’s vanity, where he took a silver dagger, and several other things that she couldn’t see. She worked quickly, bundling up her ceremonial garb and shoving it in the canvas pack that Duncan had thrown her way. Something caught her eye on the bench, and she stared at it for a moment, transfixed and torn by the sight of the collar. Tearing her gaze away, she grabbed it hastily, bundling it up and shoving it in her pocket. Magnus had begun the same process, rifling through the dresser, through the cabinets, taking silver, jewelry, finery. As he
made his way through her belongings, he tossed things behind him, to the wayside. A small bottle caught Megan’s eye as it skittered across the floor. She knew what it was; she didn’t need to smell its sharp, acidic scent to confirm. A wave of panic welled up inside of her and she grasped it quickly, shoving it in her bag, to the very bottom. When she turned back, Duncan was looking at them, ushering them forward. “Megan, Todd, you can operate a vehicle, yes? You know the roads?”
They nodded.
“Here. Come quickly.”
Megan walked forward, looking at what he was gesturing to. She realized that it was a secret passageway, behind the built-in bookshelves that lined the fireplace wall of the suite. “Holy crap,” Megan breathed.
“In, everybody. Before we are found,” Duncan whispered harshly.
Inside, it was pitch black, until a flashlight flickered on, and Duncan passed it to Todd. Magnus was at the front with his own flashlight, leading them through corridor after corridor, barely wide enough for Magnus to fit through. They snaked down the secret passageways, coming closer to the sounds of battle. Fear rooted deep inside of her as she relived the torture, the terror, the panic of being chased through these halls, of being hunted by Fausta’s soldiers.
She clenched her fists, whipping through another hallway, glancing at the slight slivers of light that showed where they were. When they’d been walking on even ground for several minutes, Megan heard a voice that she recognized. She drew in a sharp breath, pressing up against the wall and straining to see him. When her eye finally focused, she could just make out his figure, standing in the bloody remains of the grand hall. Megan recognized the room but found that they were standing behind the throne area, inside of the walls.
