by Evie Byrne
Eva made a subtle downward hand gesture. Chill. “Obviously, the market potential is huge.” She spread her hands and lifted her brows, hinting the obscene buckets of money to be made off of condom-weary vamps. The Brunnrheimers couldn’t even imagine what they were sitting on.
Alya ’s expression remained cool. “What is it composed of?”
“Local herbs. The formula, though, is not simple. We’ll need their cooperation to reproduce it.”
“Cooperation comes in many forms,” Mikhail murmured.
“As does resistance,” Maren shot back.
“She doesn’t know anything at all about us, does she?” said Gunnar, angry, triumphant and oh-so-badly timed.
“Gunnar—” she said, a warning in her voice. A warning he ignored.
“She would have known all this if she read my dad’s blood.” He took a step toward Alya. Wat grimaced and reached for him, but Gunnar shrugged him off. “But you couldn’t, could you? You killed him, and you drained him, but he still beat you.” Gunnar pointed at her forehead. “Is he in there somewhere, shaking his cage?”
Alya stepped close to him, so that they stood toe-to-toe. Taller than Gunnar, she glared at him down her long nose. As always happened when she was very angry, she spoke in quiet and evenly modulated tones.
“Child, your father was insane. I’ve not read his blood because it is bestial and dark and ugly—just like your sordid little lives in this godforsaken forest. There was no strength to be taken from him, or wisdom, because he was a joke of a prince. But you’re right, I don’t know all your little secrets. Thank you for reminding me, because it strikes me that all I have to do to gain those secrets is drain you.”
Gunnar shied backward, but Mikhail caught him from behind and held him tight.
Wat began to move, but Eva gestured for him to stand down and shot a look at Maren, who’d opened her mouth to protest. She was 85% sure Alya was just jerking the boy around. Besides, she, Wat, Maren, and Gunnar combined were no match for Mikhail—or Alya alone—much less the two of them. At this moment, they could do anything they wanted.
Alya ran her fingernail down Gunnar’s throat, tracing his leaping pulse. “Ending you now would kill two birds with one stone. I’d get all those memories and rid myself of a particularly annoying figurehead.”
To his credit Gunnar held his own. “You’d better kill me, because if you don’t, one day I’m going to suck him right out of you. I swear it. Here! By our gods!”
“Don’t make oaths you can’t keep in the Grove,” Wat growled. To Alya he said, “It does not become your honor, ma’am, to threaten a boy.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, the poor lamb. Freysson, this boy is a would-be assassin, one who participated fully and eagerly in his family’s scheme to murder me and my mate.” Lifting Gunnar’s chin with the tip of her finger, she added. “He chose the restraining equipment they meant to use to expose me to the sun. He bragged about it.”
Gunnar said, “We would have done the world a favor if we’d succeeded.”
Alya turned from him, disgusted. Mikhail released him, and Gunnar staggered to one side, rubbing his arms. Alya said, “I’ve heard enough. Sosa, these people are as intractable as I’d expected. If they had any sense, they’d be on their knees right now, begging for forgiveness.” She raised a brow in their direction. “That was a hint.” None of them moved. She shrugged and said to Eva, “The contraceptive is intriguing, if it exists, but they’re vindictive enough to sell us poison. It’s not worth it. None of this is worth it.”
To Gunnar and Wat, she said, “Party’s over. I want to see your ‘folk’ heading up that road in ten minutes. Anyone who is not gone in ten minutes will be shot. Then we’re burning this place to the ground.” Moving as one, she and Mikhail turned heel and strode toward the exit.
Chapter Nineteen
Eva scrambled after them. She had to run to keep up with their long legs. “Wait. Please.”
“The same goes for you,” Alya said, not slowing her pace. “Since you’re boning the regent, you can stay with them. I didn’t think your brain was located between your legs.”
“I married him, goddamn it.” At this, the two princes granted her identical, surprised glances. “I’d think you’d know something about falling in love with your enemy.”
Alya gave her a deadly look. “But I didn’t betray my prince to do so.”
You know, fuck these people. She’d survived a storm, fed on various unlikely critters, talked to ghosts, turned water to blood and fallen in love. Weird was her new normal. Mikhail and Alya? When you got down to it, they were just souped-up city vamps. Boring. Eva’s fingers caressed the handle of the blade in her pocket, and she realized she wasn’t afraid anymore.
She answered Alya. “No, you didn’t have to make that decision. You two can do anything you want. Too bad we can’t all be princes.”
“I trusted you to protect my interests.” Alya hissed, truly angry now, not just posturing. “You were my best Hand.”
“I’m still the best! A Hand can form a fist, but it can also make a cup. A cup to hold all advantages, all possibilities. That is what I’m doing for you. If you weren’t so hell bent on revenging yourself on a bunch of innocent—”
“Shut. Up. Be on that road with them, or you will be the first to be shot.”
“But you can’t—”
With a casual swipe, Mikhail knocked her out of their path. She tumbled backward, found her balance, and sprinted after them again, reminding herself way too much of a little terrier biting at their ankles. This time, though, she kept out of striking range. “Listen! You can’t kill them. You need their genes. They’re light-walkers.”
“Fairy tales,” Mikhail scoffed.
She ran on, trying to get in front of them. “Truth. They’re genetically unique. All of them.”
“Bullshit,” said Alya. “Your husband is obviously no light-walker.”
“Wat is burnt because he was outside midmorning yesterday for nearly forty minutes. Forty minutes of direct exposure! He can walk safely in low light. Any of them can. It’s not a fairy tale. It’s not perfect. It’s only partial resistance, like sunscreen. But it’s a hell of a lot better than what we’ve got, and it’s in their genes. The protection will pass to our offspring if they mate with one of us. If you need proof, you can have a demonstration at dawn.”
Mikhail stopped in his tracks. Alya, in perfect synchronization with him, stopped as well. He said to her, “Imagine an army of light-walkers. The strategic advantage to us.”
“There aren’t enough of them to start an army. There are barely enough of them to start a bowling league.”
“Not our army,” Mikhail said. “Our grandchildren’s army. The empire’s army.”
Eva looked back and forth between them. Empire? Holy shit. These people thought big.
Alya nodded, catching her mate’s excitement. “All we’d need to do is collect sperm—”
Eva stepped forward. “No.” Her voice echoed off the trees and filled the Grove, unnaturally amplified. She couldn’t stop to wonder how. “Don’t you even think it. They will cut off their own balls, they will kill their children, before they let you exploit them. This gift will not be taken. It will be earned. And the exchange will benefit both parties. Deal or no deal?”
In unison, Alya and Mikhail said, “What are your terms?”
“This village will not be harmed. Not a stick broken. They may stay here and live as they always have. Those who have fled can return.”
“As if nothing ever happened.” Alya said. “As if they did not try to murder us.”
“There will be concessions on their part. Painful ones.” Eva drew a deep breath, knowing she was going into deep waters. An inner voice told her this would work, but she didn’t know how she’d ever convince Wat, Gunnar, and Maren to go along with it. “You want your subjects to have a crack at these genes? The only way to do that is through cultural exchange. We’ll follow the traditions of nocturnal s
ociety. The roadmap is already there.”
Mikhail caught her meaning and raised a brow. “Treat them like royalty?”
“Maybe we can all be princes, after all.” Eva smiled, her confidence rising. “The fostering system builds strong ties. Settle Northwoods fosterlings with good families in your territories. They will learn our ways. When they come of age, they can choose to return to the woods or stay in the world. But in the meantime, they’ll make friends. Maybe even fall in love. Some will stay.”
Alya crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s not enough. There’s no surety at all.”
“There’s no surety in this whole world. What I’m offering is a chance to impress them, to build loyalty, to inspire passion. You do that well. Young people fight to serve you. Some of the fosterlings will, too.” Eva ran on, ideas blossoming as she spoke. “If relations are stabilized, there could be more openness among the adults, as well. Many of them have lost their partners in the fighting, and with the population so reduced, they don’t have much hope of finding someone new. If any of your people are open-minded enough to come courting up here, they might meet with success.” Or maybe we could just send Ivar on a solo mission to impregnate willing women up and down both coasts. Eva paused for a little air, and then raced on. “And think of the research possibilities. If the light-resistant genes could be isolated…”
“But we must keep their abilities secret,” Alya said, and Mikhail nodded in agreement. “If this were known, they’d be snatched in an instant by other princes.”
A bite! A palpable bite! “Yes. It’s delicate. You must be their best friends and fiercest protectors. The children must go to families that are absolutely loyal to you.”
Alya asked, “At would age would they start their fostering. Ten?”
“I was thinking sixteen.”
“Ridiculous. Legions of little Gunnars to manage? No, thank you. Twelve.”
“Fourteen. I think I can do that. The terms are fourteen to eighteen, after which they are free of all obligation, free to come home.”
Alya lifted her palm in agreement. “It’s workable. Agreeable in outline. But your hairy friends don’t know you’re bargaining with their children, do they?”
Eva sidestepped. “It’s the most sensible choice open to them.”
A twist of Alya’s lips acknowledged the evasion. “I’ll also want Gunnar fostered to a princely family, one of my choice. You’ll make sure he’s agreeable to that. And I want the contraceptive. You have one hour to convince them.”
She didn’t have to add the “or else.” She didn’t have to tell Eva that she and Mikhail would be brainstorming creative ways to capture the genome should the Brunnrheimers prove uncooperative.
Mikhail added, “They are to be reminded, too, that they are now our subjects. They do know this?”
“You told them about our Gift,” Wat said when she returned. He leaned against one of the sheltering trees, propped between two roots. Maren and Gunnar squatted nearby.
At her nod, Maren made a sign of protection. Gunnar buried his face in his hands.
“It’s no longer a strategic advantage,” Wat said in her defense. “Not when they have a helicopter parked in our front yard.” He grimaced at Eva. “But you know what I worry about.”
“And I do, too. We must take precautions. We have to let everyone know that Alya and Mikhail know about the Gift, because I’m sure they’ll try to snatch bodies if the deal goes bad.”
“What did you work out?”
Eva sat down cross-legged and planted her fingers into the cold, moist leaf mold. “Once upon a time, the world was a very large place, and your people could live as they wished. The world is now very small. And since the assassination attempt, everyone knows about you. You know you can’t hide anymore.” Nods all around. “And it works the other way. The world is shrinking, and it calls to some of you. Gunnar, your father didn’t want to live without modern conveniences. Wat, your mother wanted to live by the ocean. And if your teens are like teens everywhere else, they want to wander. Maybe it’s time to be more open to the world.”
“What are you suggesting?” asked Maren. “That we agree to move after all?”
“No way.” She touched her heart. “Everything I do is in the service of the Spring and its people. I can save Brunnrheim. Alya and Mikhail will leave it untouched and in your hands…”
“But?” Wat prompted, sounding wary.
“But nothing is free.” She turned to Gunnar. “You remember when we talked about fostering you out to a princely family? Would you go, to guarantee peace, to save this place and your people?”
His eyes widened. “Of course.”
“I knew you would say that. Do you think any other young person here would do less?”
Wat said, “Eva, what have you done?”
She tucked her lank hair behind her ears. There was no gentle way to say this. “In exchange for peace, we agree to foster out your children at age fourteen. Until they’re eighteen, they’ll live on one of the coasts and learn the ways of nocturnal society. At eighteen, they can return, free of obligation.”
Maren put a hand to her mouth. “Our children?”
Eva nodded. “Alya and Mikhail have every incentive to see them treated well. Just as well as Gunnar will be treated. Believe me, if they are under Mikhail and Alya’s protection, no one would dare harm them. Their special abilities will be kept secret. Alya and Mikhail understand that, insist on it, even, for security purposes.”
Maren was still reeling. “Our children, alone, among the profane? My Thom?”
“They’d be with people like me,” Eva broke in. “We’re not so bad once you get to know us.” As she spoke, she gave Wat a smile. He did not return it. Crap. “Better people than me. They would be fostered with good families, people with children, steady homes.”
“Where they’ll be thoroughly corrupted,” Wat said.
Thanks for the support, Wat. So much for your promises. She shoved her emotions aside—anger, resentment, hurt—there was no time for them. She had to make this work. If the regent wouldn’t cooperate, she’d rely on the prince. “Gun. What do you think?”
He looked between her and Wat and bit his lip. “I…don’t think they’d forget about this place. Their families. I don’t think they’d forget the taste of the hunt. But they might like to see what else there is out there in the world. I don’t think it’s such a bad idea.”
“Contingency plans for the children. Is that what this is?” Wat said. “You introduced Gun to human blood, and now you want to do the same to all of our children. I thought you’d changed.”
She stared at him, open-mouthed, no longer able to repress the hurt. How could he turn on her like this? Not even consider her plan, not for a second. “You—you think this is all a plot? My big evil scheme to corrupt your pure civilization? Wat, I’m doing my best here.”
“It’s not good enough,” he said, glaring at her. She glared back.
“You’re not a mother.” Maren sighed, bowing her head. “You can’t really understand what you’re asking.”
“Damn it.” She got up, mostly so she could point down at them. “I know exactly what I’m doing. You think you can get out of this for free? That the automatic weapons out there are going to magically disappear because you are all such good people and deserve to be left alone?”
“There has to be another way,” Wat said. “Some other concession.”
“Some other concession you can refuse to make? I know that game, Wat.”
Meanwhile, Gunnar seemed to have figured out what was going on. “Adad and Faustin want us kids to stay in the South, to interbreed with their people. To give them an advantage over other princes.”
Eva nodded. “Obviously. That’s their incentive to leave in peace. They want your genes introduced to their territories. But not by force. None of the kids would be exploited. I’ll make sure of that. It’s about creating ties between here and there.” She wanted to say them and us bu
t at this moment, she didn’t know on which side she belonged. Seemed neither side wanted her. “Don’t you see? It’s already happening. You’ve already lost a lot of people to emigration. All this plan does is formalize the process and give your kids something to return to.”
Wat hauled himself to his feet and walked away.
Maren said, “The gods gave us the Gift because we don’t feed from humans. They could take it away.”
“They won’t.” Because it’s an environmental adaptation. “Remember, I’m the Guardian of the Spring.”
“That’s what you are, all right. You’re protecting the place, just as you should. But I am the guardian of our children, and I don’t like this. Not at all.”
“Once you told me there were worse things than dying. Do you really think this is one of them?”
Maren bowed her head.
Wat made it about halfway around the perimeter of the Grove before he collapsed, panting, to lean against another tree. He couldn’t remember ever being so weak. His exhaustion almost eclipsed the pain. He looked up. A totemic mask hung above him—a long-nosed trickster with pointed ears. Of all the trees in the Grove, he’d had to choose this one.
He buried his face in his arms. If he wasn’t so tired and hungry and sore, he could think. He could find his way through this mess. With his eyes closed, all he could see was Eva’s hurt and startled expression. And yet, he was too angry to apologize. What was she thinking?
Someone cleared his throat. Faustin stood above him. “May I join you?”
Wat shrugged. “Why the hell not?”
Faustin flicked up the tail of his long coat and sat next to Wat, his back against the trunk, his legs outstretched. The high polish on his black boots reflected the lantern light. He folded his gloved hands—lambskin, black—and raised his face to the stars. Their pale light seemed to gather eagerly on his austere, symmetrical features. Wat grunted and scratched the scabs on his chin.
“I love trees. I love the snow. The cold.” Faustin said, addressing the stars. “This is a magnificent place. There are so few wild places left. The lack of them destroys our souls.”
