Peirte gave a grunt and swept downward, checking Turis Lee’s body over momentarily until he was satisfied with Keiran’s diagnosis. He stood up again and spun, black robes twisting around his thin body. His motions were incredibly fluid for a man of his age. Eyeing the servants around them, he took it upon himself to start issuing orders. “Someone remove the king from this room, and I want—”
Keiran narrowed his eyes and raised his left hand, grabbing Peirte’s shoulder to make the smaller man face him. The prince leaned in close, his displeasure with the councillor’s sudden issuing of orders obvious. “Your job, Peirte, is to go into town to the cathedral, and alert the priests there that my father is dead, and set the funeral rites in motion. You are to oversee the process, and get my coronation arranged. That is the extent of your purpose at this time. Do you understand?”
His dark eyes widened at Keiran’s nerve to stand up to him and tell him what to do. Peirte took a step backward and wrenched his shoulder free. Keiran had always been a pariah to him, and he was sickened that the prince had the audacity to touch him. His scowl suddenly gave way, however, and the most insincere smile possible came to his lips. He gave a small bow and started to storm back through the crowd. Feeling the contempt-filled stares of the servants as he moved out only spurned his anger. Peirte decided that playing along with Keiran’s demands would give him a chance to work something out. The councillor had no intention of allowing him to become king.
The others watched the despised councillor sulk out of the room. No one in the castle liked Peirte, as he’d burned all of his bridges with them long ago. The dead king was the only one that seemed to like him and had kept him as grand councillor for nearly thirty years. They may have had their fears about Keiran being a vampire and the rumors that surrounded him, but the prince had always been much more civil than the councillor.
Keiran moved around his father’s body to land in the throne, sitting heavily. He’d never taken the seat before, but the significance of it wasn’t foremost on the prince’s mind at the time. Unable to pull his eyes away from the dead man, Keiran rested his chin against a hand. “Someone should get him out of here before he ruins the floor.”
Thana, one of the servants milling around, gasped at the muttered statement, bringing a hand to her mouth. “That seems a bit callous to say, My Lord.”
His eyes closed and he rubbed his temples, long legs stretching out before him. Despite the shock he was in, his cheeks went absolutely red with embarrassment. Of all the people in the room to misunderstand him, it had to be the one girl he’d taken a liking to over the years. “No, I mean my horse.”
She gave a small nod and turned away, feeling self-conscious for the misstep. Being around the prince tended to have that effect on her, and she hated it. Thana hastily moved from the room, wanting to hide for a while.
There was an immediate flurry of activity around him, as the servants started to disband. Someone took his horse out of the castle and back to the stable. A few others arrived with a blanket to wrap the fallen king in before removing him from the room. Keiran tuned all of it out, retreating inward as he often did. The stress of having to deal with Peirte, and the dropping of the country’s fate on his shoulders had given him a migraine.
The country was in dire shape, and it was now Keiran’s job to fix it. Though Tordania had thrived for centuries, during the previous sixty years of his father’s reign, things had deteriorated badly. Before Turis Lee had taken power, their land had been teetering on the brink of an industrial revolution. Steam power had been harnessed, however, the only engine which was still functioning sat in the basement of the cathedral, churning away to run the compressor for the pipe organ.
Much of Keiran’s time had been spent with the court’s scholars, as they educated him and tried to instill into the prince more political sensibility than Turis Lee had possessed. From a young age, Keiran had been able to see the faults in his father’s system of governing. He was adept with learning and had impressed his teachers by daring to express ideas, if only to them, on how things could be better run.
Thinking about it wasn’t helping the headache he was developing in the least.
“Keiran, are you asleep?”
He opened his eyes slowly to see Corina standing before him, holding out a cup. Sitting up a little, he reached out for the cup, giving his personal attendant a faint smile. “No, I wasn’t sleeping, just thinking. Stressing out, really. Got another headache.”
She moved to sit on the edge of the platform the throne rested upon, straightening out her dress as she inspected him briefly. Corina was getting on in years, but it really hadn’t yet slowed her down. Never married, tending to the prince had been her only purpose in life since she’d been handed him right after his birth. At this point in her life, she’d developed into a somewhat full-figured woman.
Like Kanan, she was worried over his health and wondered how the added burden would affect him. “Well, drink that, perhaps it will help a bit. I didn’t try to get in here earlier. I figured there would be enough going on. I heard you sent Peirte down into town. I’m happy to hear you didn’t let him cow his way into taking over.”
Keiran brought the cup to his lips and drank, not surprised to find that it was a concoction of wine, blood, and one of the old woman’s secret narcotic extracts. She seemed to have a sixth sense about his frequent headaches and had come up with something to spike his drinks with that helped immeasurably. He rested the half-emptied cup onto the arm of his chair, letting the drug course through his system.
“We all know he wishes I would drop dead, too. That little rule about the grand councillor becoming king should there be no heir drives him nuts. I’m sure he spent plenty of time trying to convince my father to appoint him the next monarch. It’s no secret what Peirte thinks about me. He’s insane, though, and I think him getting control would be the death blow that this land really doesn’t need right now,” he said.
“Aye.” Corina shook her head, letting her sights drift. “You’ll do all right, Keiran. Just get rid of him as quickly as you can, eh?”
Keiran stood up and took the cup with him. He reached down to pat the old woman’s shoulder and then moved down the stairs. “He’s got no other legal role right now other than to oversee the transition of power. Once I’m officially crowned, he’s out, along with the vast majority of all my father’s appointees. It’s going to be a mess for a while.”
She rose up as well, wringing her hands together and moving to follow. Her eyes gave a leery sweep of the room, an ingrained fear of the grand councillor gnawing at her. She knew that the man had an unfortunate ability to manipulate others to his whims. Peirte was utterly self-serving, and even the remote possibility that he could somehow grab power worried her. “I know you don’t trust him, Keiran, but be particularly careful. There’s something about that man, something evil. Don’t think that he doesn’t have some sort of plot up his sleeve already. I won’t rest until he’s gone.”
He stopped moving and turned to face her, tipping the cup up and finishing the rest of what it held. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he gave a nod, bringing up a hand to drag across his lips.
“Usually mutiny only works when you have others on your side. I don’t think he does. Who would be that off the beam? I know the whole vampire thing doesn’t sit well with a lot of people, but I’m not much of one. I’m painfully average despite all the rumors. The people don’t really know me at all, thanks to my father keeping me in the shadows, but I’m going to do my best to show them what I’m truly about,” he said.
Corina stopped as well and reached out to take the empty cup from Keiran, needing something to do with her hands. Her expression had turned dour, brows knit. “Since the king started seeming unwell a few weeks ago, Peirte has been acting stranger than normal. The others around have seen it, too. You know plenty of the rumors out there about you were probably started by him in the first place.”
Keiran looked around quickly, confi
rming they were alone. Like it or not, he was conditioned to fear Peirte, too. He met the old woman’s gaze and canted his head forward, lowering his voice. “Corina, if I could legally kick him out today, I would. I can’t though, not until I’m crowned. According to tradition, he gets to linger during the next few days. Until the coronation, the old grand councillor has to stay at hand to oversee the transfer of power. It stinks, but that’s how it is. The laws are the laws, and I can’t start my reign by usurping tradition before the coronation. That sort of thing gets people worked up and worried.”
The woman wasn’t placated by that in the least and it showed. She stared down at the cup she held, hands white knuckled around it. It had always been Keiran’s way to try and be honorable and follow the rules for the most part, so she wasn’t surprised by his resolve. “At the very least, keep Jerris or Kanan with you at all times, I’m begging you. I’m terrified.”
He gave her a reassuring smile and kissed her cheek before turning to head out of the room. At least she cared about him, and that request was something he could honestly live with. Jerris was generally with him all the time, anyway. “Aye, Corina. I’ll have an escort at all times. I can do that if it’ll help you feel better.”
She still followed him, speeding up a bit to get to his side as they stepped out into the corridor. Her voice quiet, she leaned in against his side as they moved along. “Your father is dead, I think in the interest of your own self-preservation that now might be the time to try human blood. Per the legends, that’s how you’d get your power. If you did that, perhaps Peirte wouldn’t be able to harm you, no matter what he tried. Please, Keiran.”
Halting quick enough to scuff his boots on the floor, Keiran turned and placed his hands on her shoulders. His brows tipped inward, eyes narrowing. He knew she was only bringing it up in an effort to protect him, but he needed to end the discussion before it really got started. Though his father had always forbidden him from consuming human blood, he’d convinced himself over the years he didn’t want it, even if he craved it constantly. It was a coping mechanism he’d developed that he wouldn’t be able to get past right away. Besides, he did legitimately fear what drinking it might do to him.
Quietly, he said, “Corina, I won’t. We’ve had this discussion a few times, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to give into my desires and thirst like that. Besides, every vampire legend out there says they all inevitably become power crazed monsters. That’s not something I aspire to be, I really don’t. I’ve gotten on this long without it. I know I haven’t been up to par for a few weeks now, but I’m sure I’ll get better again.”
She refused to relent, shaking her head and meeting his gaze with determination. “Keiran, you’re not doing all right, and you haven’t been for years now, not weeks! I’ve seen you slow down, the headaches increasing. You’d never get out of bed at all if you weren’t forced. Kanan has noticed it, too. You’re weakening physically. He says you tire far too easily now when training. Jerris says your hunting trips aren’t even worth it anymore. Half of the time, you don’t even stay out long enough to find a deer, Keiran. You aren’t eating much at your meals lately, you’re losing weight...”
Keiran straightened up and hung his head to the side, sighing. “Damn it, Corina. I’m not ready. What if it changes me? Do you know of any historical accounts of good vampires? I can’t go into ruling a country of people afraid of what I am and head down that path. I’ll admit that the only vampire I’ve ever had contact with is my father’s friend, Athan, but I have a feeling he’s more the rule than the exception.”
Her cheeks reddened and she turned away, hiding her expression from him. A wave of anger passed through her, but it wasn’t directed at the prince in the least. Being in the castle for most of her life, Corina had gone through more than her fair share of encounters with Athan Vercilla. The vampire had a tendency to abuse the castle servants as though he owned them, and Turis Lee had never done anything to stop him. The two had been like-minded sadists, laughing at the actions of one another. She hated Athan, the extent of her disgust for him going farther than Keiran was aware of.
Through clenched teeth, she nearly growled, “You will not ever be like Athan Vercilla, Keiran. Never. I have no doubt that he was evil before becoming a vampire. I just lament that whatever initially attacked him didn’t kill him outright. It would have done the world a service and prevented so much grief.”
“I’m sorry, I know how mad you get when he’s brought up, but you have to understand that he is the only exposure to the whole vampire side of things that I’ve directly gotten. There’s only so much I can garner from the books in the library. Still, they don’t ever cast the reality of it in a positive light,” he said, staring at her back.
Getting herself composed, Corina turned to face her charge again. She knew Keiran didn’t try to upset her, but Athan was one of those subjects on which she couldn’t hide her real feelings. “I’ll drop it, Keiran. You do what you must, what you think is best. The country needs you, though. Just remember that.”
He nodded. “The country and its needs are going to be the only things on my mind for a long time, I assure you.”
* * *
Peirte sat in his carriage as it rattled down the road from the castle, heading north into the capital town, Tordan Lea. During the switchbacks down the hill into the valley, he found himself staring off at the cathedral’s spires looming over the city. He roiled with anger over Keiran standing up to him and trying to put him in his place. Apparently, the prince had only been holding back his assertiveness due to his father’s presence. Now with Turis Lee dead, Keiran seemed to think it was his right to step in and take over a government he’d never before been a part of.
What sort of justice was that? The councillor had to wonder. He believed that he was the one who’d honestly done all the work and made all the serious decisions over the last thirty years. Little Keiran has never done a damn thing but run around with that idiot, Jerris. Oh, and the way he stares at that servant girl. Leave it to him to bring in a filthy, over-glorified slave to be some sort of consort or queen! The very idea…
He knew of all the education that Keiran had received over the years. The prince had, undoubtedly, spent countless hours studying politics and various governments, staying up late many nights to pour over the books the scholars gave him. No amount of book learning, however, could surpass the fact that Peirte had nearly three decades of hands-on involvement. Most heirs at least spent a little time participating in the daily dealings of the ruling monarch, but Turis Lee had never called Keiran in to do so. Not that Peirte would have encouraged it, anyway. Experienced or not, ultimately, he didn’t want Keiran to be king. That’s all there was to it. The councillor huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.
The carriage was off of the mountain road and finally on the cobblestone street that paralleled the river. The buildings that flanked the road were crowded together; many of them added during intermittent, haphazard expansions of the town. With a finite amount of space in the valley floor in which to build, the town had remained compact with little space between the structures. Most of them were wooden, but a few of the nicer shops and older structures were stone or at least had masonry facades. Horses and assorted wagons lined the streets as people went about their daily lives. The news of the king’s death had yet to arrive. In fact, Peirte correctly assumed he was the only one outside of the castle to know it at that point. The knowledge gave him little solace.
He had an aversion to going to the cathedral which wasn’t helping his mental state. Like most of those who went into politics, the councillor had started his career in the church. He’d begun as a simple parish priest in one of Tordania’s coastal towns far to the north. In the beginning, he was a popular man, having been given charge over a small congregation. The people loved Peirte, but something happened inside of him as the years progressed. He started to like the fact that the people he ministered to looked up to him and were always eager to ta
ke his advice. His love ended up not being for his faith and the teaching of it, but in his ability to get people to bend to his will and do what he wanted them to.
Over the years, he’d become increasingly obsessed with controlling others. The ability for him to do so with mere words, however, had its limits. He began to secretly look into the magical arts.
While humans had the ability to use magic with the proper training, it was generally limited to speeding up or slowing natural processes. Healers could channel energy to mend wounds by speeding the body’s natural healing ability; some could ignite fires by revving up the molecular motion within items. This wasn’t at all the kind of thing Peirte was interested in. However, it served as a starting point. Working this basic magic in secret amongst other users helped him network to find those that participated in the types of arts he craved to know more about.
Peirte finally met and began to work with an old woman versed in the evocation and control of demons. This was strictly forbidden by the Tordanian church, so he led a double life over the course of several years—priest by day, black mage and demon summoner at night. He threw himself into the study of evocation, convinced it was the ultimate path to his own greatness. No longer would he simply be controlling humans, but the supernatural as well.
The demons he was able to call upon were usually nonphysical but easily controlled. He started to send them out to experiment with minor possessions that he could then miraculously vanquish. His congregation grew fanatical for him and his ability to free people of possession. No one understood that he was causing them in the first place. The increased level of devotion from his followers only served to feed his ego. His church was crowded every night, as the maddened rants that had replaced his sermons entranced the whole of his congregation. The simple and good-natured church of his town soon became a frenzied cult.
The Phoenix Prince Page 2
