by Nathan Spain
Outside the frail wooden walls of their shelter, the night slowly faded into traumatic memory as a new day prepared to dawn.
----
Though daybreak had gotten dangerously close by the time Rosanna returned, she did not come back empty-handed: She carried the body of a mangy-looking dog slung over her shoulders.
“It’s hardly fine cuisine,” she said as she dropped the carcass on the ground, “but it’s fresh.”
Draven and Ariadne approached to examine the dog. Its neck had been broken, a quick, clean kill without a drop of blood spilled. It was scrawny, half-starved, with barely any meat on its bones. But it wasn’t the meat they needed.
Their tools were limited to what was on hand, but they managed to find what they required in the barn: something to make a cut, and something to contain the blood. Ten minutes later, they were taking sips of the thick red liquid from a rusty bucket. It was not the most sanitary dining experience, especially in contrast to the clean glasses they’d drank Wineblood brews out of just a day earlier, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Every vampire, even before the Devastation, knew what it was like to have to take their blood however they could get it.
That said, they took their meal with more than a little grimacing. Although they could keep their bodies functioning temporarily on such fare, it lacked the invigorating quality of fresh human blood. A vampire drinking dog’s blood was like a human eating dog food – it was technically edible, but not meant for them.
Rosanna in particular had a hard time; her face screwed up in displeasure as she drank. Draven noticed that Ariadne, on the other hand, barely expressed any discomfort at all. He supposed at first that she might just be too consumed with worry over Damian to care much what she drank, but then he remembered that he had very little idea what kind of circumstances she was accustomed to these days. He knew only that she had spent much of the last few decades living outside the comfortable confines of Wineblood Manor.
“Do you know what this reminds me of?” he said to Ariadne, as Rosanna finished off the last of the bucket’s contents.
She glanced at him, an eyebrow raised. “What?”
“Those first few days after you turned. Here we are again, fleeing from enemies and journeying to the Manor. Funny how history repeats itself, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Funny. There’s one major difference, though, between then and now – my father’s not with us.”
“Ariadne –” he began, but she rose to her feet and turned away.
“I’m going to get some rest,” she announced. “Thank you for the blood, Rosanna.”
“Uh, no problem.”
Draven watched as Ariadne strode over to a far corner of the barn and lay down in the straw.
Rosanna turned to Draven. “She okay?”
“She’s just worried about her father.”
“I heard the rumors about you three,” Rosanna said quietly. “Something about you getting exiled for making friends with humans and drawing the attention of the Sons.”
Draven picked at the straw. It hardly felt important now, but he supposed he should set the record straight. Who knew how far from the truth the rumors had become by the time they’d reached the Stormfangs. “It was Damian who did that. He botched his first hunt and let people catch him in the act. He was my responsibility at the time, though.”
“You turned him?” Rosanna questioned.
“Yes. I did it to save his life. And then Ariadne, later, for the same reason. The Sons didn’t realize she was still human when they attacked us. And why would they? A human willingly aiding a vampire would have been unthinkable to them. There were a lot of Sons in the Northwest in those days, and they had been trying to track down and eradicate the Winebloods for decades. We were supposed to be laying low, so Selene had no choice but to punish me for endangering the clan’s secrecy.”
“And do you regret your choices?”
“I…” Draven glanced over at where Ariadne lay. She wasn’t moving, but he knew she must still be awake. He had never known her to be a deep sleeper. “I regret bringing down unintended consequences on them. But Ariadne had already lost one parent when she was a child. I couldn’t let that family lose anyone else.”
“But then you were banished, and you ended up losing her yourself,” Rosanna observed. “You had to lose her to save her.”
“For a time. But not, I hope, forever.”
Rosanna looked at him, her face hard-set with concern. “Forever might not be much longer for us if Thanatos and Brone get their way.”
“Let’s not despair just yet. Thanatos wanted a quick and easy coup, using you and Selene as hostages. You threw a bit of a wrench into that plan by escaping with us.”
“It still doesn’t sit well with me – running from the fight, leaving my people behind.”
“I understand, but you’re safer with us than alone. We know the territory here. Try to find your missing people, or to make it back to your own clan’s land, and you’d only end up getting caught.”
Rosanna let out a frustrated half-sigh, half-growl, but her shoulders slumped. “You’re right. I’m too valuable to those bastards to risk it.”
“Exactly. Were they to kill you, or Selene, our clans would merely name successors and go to war. Whereas with you and Selene both held captive, the clans would find their hands tied. But as it is, the situation is more complicated, for both our side and Thanatos and Brone’s.”
“So, what’s the plan? You suggested we warn the Winebloods.”
“The Wineblood court knows me and Ariadne. If we tell them what happened, they’ll believe us. And perhaps we can get a message to your own clan’s court before the Nightcloaks or the Blackwings get there first. Their plan was to send messengers with their demands to force your clan’s cooperation, remember? But if we can find a way to inform the Stormfangs that you’re still free and working with us, you could help incite resistance to our foes even if you aren’t there to lead your people in person.”
Rosanna crumpled a fistful of straw in her hand, then sighed and said, “Looks like my people’s fates are bound with yours for now, Draven.”
“So it would seem, my Lady.”
She gave a humorless snort. “You know, it’s funny…turns out the summit did serve to unite Stormfangs and Winebloods under a common interest. But I very much doubt this is what Selene had in mind.”
“No,” Draven sighed. “This is definitely not what she wanted.”
The worry he felt must have come through in his voice more noticeably than he realized, for Rosanna was quick to add, “Don’t worry. Selene can take care of herself. I’m sure she’s hanging in there…and Damian, too, if he’s with her.”
Draven exhaled slowly, releasing the tension in his body and mind as best he could. “I hope you’re right, my Lady. I really, really do.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The first thing Damian noticed, as he made his way back to consciousness, was a groaning sound.
It was coming from somewhere nearby. Damian opened his eyes and blinked when he found himself unable to see anything. Wherever he was, it was pitch black.
He sat up and gave a low groan of his own – his head throbbed, and he felt dizzy.
"Damian," a voice said weakly. "You're awake."
"Selene," he exclaimed. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw her slumped against the wall beside him. Her crimson dress was torn at her stomach, and a thick bandage was wrapped tightly around her waist. Her head drooped slightly forward, her eyes half-closed, her breathing slow and shallow.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"Still in the lodge. The cellar, it would appear."
"What happened? The last thing I remember is the fighting.”
Selene groaned again, and she spoke through clenched teeth. "The battle...did not go our way."
"You're wounded,” Damian observed, not bothering to hide the concern in his tone.
Grimacing, Selene said, "I'm healing. Slowly and painful
ly. It'll take my body time to fully regenerate after that kind of internal damage, but I'll be okay."
"What about Ariadne and Draven? Did they escape, or are they locked up somewhere, too?" There was a third possibility, of course, but he didn't want to voice it.
"I'm not sure. I'm afraid I somewhat lost track of the battle after being impaled on a sword."
"Understandable," Damian said sympathetically. Fear welled up inside him, but he shoved it down. Ariadne and Draven could handle themselves in a fight. Whatever had happened, surely they were unharmed. They had to be.
He scanned the room. Their enemies had turned it into a makeshift prison, which made a certain amount of sense; though not designed for that purpose, it was probably the most secure room in the lodge. The only way out he saw was a door at the top of a flight of stairs at the far end of the room. He assumed it would be locked, probably with guards posted outside as well.
Aside from him and Selene, the room was empty; he smelled traces of old wine, and the more recent, powerful aromas of the Wineblood brews, but everything stored there must have been cleared out. Thanatos would not have left them anything they could fashion into a weapon.
He crawled over to the wall next to Selene and sat beside her, leaning his aching head against the stone. "What a mess this has turned into.”
Selene sighed and closed her eyes. "It's not what I had hoped for, no.”
"I should have known something like this would happen. How could I have been so foolish as to think I could sway the minds of men like Thanatos and Brone?"
"The blame is not entirely yours to shoulder," Selene said. "I also gravely underestimated them. I should have given more heed to the warning you and Draven brought me. I thought I knew how to handle them, but I never imagined they’d do something like this.”
"You believed in the chance for a better way. A better world, for everyone.” Damian’s throat felt constricted; hot tears stung his eyes, and his voice threatened to crack as he spoke. “I'm not sure that's possible anymore."
Selene reached out and put a steadying hand on his knee. She looked at him in the darkness and said gently, "There is honor in the attempt we made, whatever the outcome. And our fight is not yet over, my friend. For good or for ill, the world is not done changing."
The words had barely settled in Damian’s mind when the door opened.
Two Nightcloak soldiers descended into view, stopping at the bottom of the stairs and staring at the prisoners. Their hands rested on the pommels of the swords strapped to their waists.
“Lord Thanatos of the Nightcloaks requests your presence,” the left-hand soldier announced in a rigid, formal voice.
“Requests,” Damian snorted. “And what happens if we refuse this request?”
The soldiers said nothing, but tightened their grips on their swords.
Damian got to his feet. “I suppose we had better go and see what our gracious host wants from us. Can you stand, my Lady?”
He extended a hand to Selene, and she took it. Although she wobbled a bit and wore a strained expression on her face, once upright she stood straight and proud. “Let’s get on with it then,” she said to the waiting Nightcloaks.
The soldiers stepped forward, seized them roughly by the forearms, and marched them up the stairs and into the lodge.
The building looked a little worse for wear. The hallways were littered with broken and overturned furniture and dark red stains. Though the major battle had taken place outside, the initial struggle had resulted in both a lot of property damage and more than a few casualties; evidence of the fighting remained, though the bodies had been cleared away.
The question of what had been done with them was soon answered. The smell came first, faint but foul in Damian’s nostrils. As they passed the front entrance, he caught a glimpse out the window of a heap of corpses piled in front of the lodge. The bodies were on fire, the dead vampires’ flesh burning in the bright mid-day sun, sending up a thick plume of dark smoke into the sky.
His stomach churned and he looked away, feeling sorrow and fury in equal measure. Those were good men and women, he thought. Thanatos and Brone must pay for this.
They were led to the far corner of the lodge, where Thanatos awaited them. The Nightcloak ruler sat in a chair by a roaring fire, sipping blood from a glass. Arranged on a table in front of him were two other glasses and a bottle of a Wineblood brew. He looked up as they approached, then dismissed his men with an idle wave. The guards released Damian and Selene and went to stand at attention a short distance away.
“Please, have a seat,” Thanatos said. When they did not immediately move, his lip curled upward in a slight sneer, but his eyes seemed to harden. He gestured to the couch across from him. “I insist.”
They did as they were bid, while Thanatos casually poured them glasses of blood.
“You must be thirsty. It has been a trying night, for all of us.”
“We’re fine, thank you,” said Damian. “But by all means, help yourself. I’m sure all the murder has taken a lot out of you.”
Thanatos did not deign to glance at him. Instead he said to Selene, “Does this man speak for you now? Please, my good Lady, have a drink. It will speed your recovery.”
Selene arched her eyebrows at him in skepticism. “Your concern would be more touching, Thanatos, if the kind gesture did not come from the same hand that dealt the blow from which I am recovering. The least you could do is to be consistent.”
Thanatos clucked his tongue, shaking his head sadly. “Ah, Selene, you know I gave you every chance to avoid such an unpleasant outcome. But what’s done is done. It seems I am now the host in this place, and let it not be said that Lord Thanatos fails to show his guests the proper hospitality.”
“I just woke up to find myself locked in a cellar,” Damian interjected, “so you’ll pardon me if I find your talk of hospitality to be a bit ironic.”
“Your lodgings here are a necessary precaution, I’m afraid. And far more comfortable, I might add, than the accommodations I might have assigned you were I instead hosting you in my own home.”
“You are not our host in this situation,” Selene cut in. “You are our jailer. Damian is right – you ought to at least have enough respect to not mince words.”
Thanatos scowled. “Very well, then. I will speak plainly, for I want you to understand how things are going to be from now on.” He crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat, raising his chin and fixing them with a steely gaze. “You will spend your days and nights confined to the cellar, under guard, unless I see fit to summon you. Should you get any foolish ideas about, say, fighting your way to freedom, you will summarily dismiss them. You are vastly outnumbered by mine and Brone’s men, and there are armed guards posted at every exit. Similarly, you should abandon any hopes for reinforcements or rescue. As I promised, forces have been dispatched to your court to explain the new realities that now confront them.”
“That’s rather brazen of you,” Selene said. “Your actions here constitute a declaration of war. What makes you think my people will take this affront lying down?”
“Your people are not fools,” Thanatos replied. “At least,” he added with a smirk, “some of them aren’t. I’m confident I can impress upon them the importance of their cooperation. Especially given how cut off they are from any aid. The Stormfangs, your only potential allies, are far to the east, and more Nightcloaks and Blackwings are making their way here as we speak. It will not take long to amass our forces – they were already waiting at our borders before we even set foot in this lodge. You will see that Brone and I have prepared for every eventuality.”
“And where is Lord Brone,” Damian inquired, “since you mention him? Did he not wish to join us for this little chat? Or perhaps he’s still too busy sulking over the loss of his eye.”
Thanatos smiled, and Damian felt his skin prickle at the unpleasant sight. “I’ll admit your daughter showed an unexpected amount of steel when she struck that blow. Y
ou should be proud of her – defiant to the end.”
Dread surged through Damian at his words. “What do you mean, the end? Where is my daughter, Thanatos? I want to see her.” He rose from his seat, and the guards stepped forward, their swords already half-drawn.
Thanatos held up a hand to halt the guards, then gestured to the window. “Look outside. You may have noticed the bodies burning in the sun.”
It was as if the sound had drained from the room. Damian sat back down on the couch, not as a conscious choice, but because his legs could no longer support him. He looked not at Selene, not at Thanatos, but down at the floor, staring without seeing. All he could see was Ariadne’s face, floating up from memory, filling his mind. She could not be gone. He could not picture a world where such a thing was true.
Dimly, as though from far away, he heard the muted sound of Selene demanding, “And what of Draven? What of Rosanna? Are we to believe you spared no one else?”
“Rosanna is being held separately in another part of the building. You won’t be seeing her. I can’t have the two of you conspiring together. Anyone else who could aid you is dead.”
A surge of anger flared inside Damian at the sound of Thanatos’ casual, callous voice, but only weakly. Shock still ruled his mind; he was too numb to feel anything else, even hatred.
Selene’s voice was scathing as she said, “What happened to taking no pleasure in killing your own kind, Thanatos?”
“I assure you, I did not take any pleasure in it. But someone had to pay the price for your resistance. As I said, I gave you ample opportunity to surrender, and instead you chose to fight. Your people’s deaths are on your conscience, not mine.”
“You asked me to either risk my people’s safety or betray our principles,” Selene said furiously. “It was an impossible choice!”
