by E. M. Knight
“Mother trusts you now,” I tell him. “That is what counts the most.”
His worried eyes fall on me. “It should be you, you know,” he says softly. “You’re the one who should have this position. Not me.”
I gesture at my leg in disgust. “With this lingering injury?”
For days I’d tried to play off the severity of the wound. But the warning of the giant vampire echoes in my head:
“It forms a link, you see, and if this blade tastes your blood—you become my puppet until you die.”
“Has it improved?” Phillip asks.
“Of course not!” I snap. “Look at it!”
Phillip flinches at my outburst.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to being weak. It’s making me… testy.”
“That’s understandable,” Phillip says. “What has Mother told you?”
“As much as she’s told you. Her spell is keeping me alive. But she cannot heal me. The corruption is in my blood. If the spell goes out…”
I don’t finish the dreadful thought.
Phillip casts worried eyes upon me. “We’ll find a way to fix it,” he says. “I’ve been looking up as much information as I can. I’ll work harder. There’s precious little in the computer archives, but maybe I can discover something if I hack into—”
“Phillip.” I say his name firmly. “You are Captain Commander now. Your duties lie with securing The Haven. That should be your focus. Not me.”
“I can’t just stand by and watch my brother die!”
“Hey. Hey, look at me. I’m right here, aren’t I? It’ll take more than a flesh wound to kill me.”
Phillip frowns and pushes his glasses up.
“You have other responsibilities now. You have to guarantee order within The Haven. Have you gone through the guards as we’d discussed?”
Phillip sighs. “You know it’s only before you I can display this type of uncertainty? Out there—” he gestures in the direction of the door, “—they all look at me like some sort of hero, for having survived the Narwhark attack.” He shakes his head. “A week ago, few could hide their distaste for me. A month ago, I was little more than that eccentric, unwanted youngest son. The Elite tolerated my presence, but none of them respected me. Not like they did you and James. Now…?”
“I know what it’s like to always have to show a brave face,” I tell him.
Phillip gives a weak smile. “Imagine how Mother must feel.”
“She’s been doing it her whole life,” I remind him. “She thrives on having rule.”
“Yes, we know that.”
“So?” I remind him. “What about the guards?”
Phillip told me how the two vampire guards who were killed were not of our coven. The only explanation we could come up with was that Smithson brought them in during the upheaval following the attack.
That also helps explain his lapse in judgment when attacking Phillip. He wouldn’t have risked so much, or acted so instinctively, were the dead guards not his own.
Phillip stands taller, regaining the conviction required of the Captain Commander. “Once it came out that Smithson was made prisoner, more of the guards abandoned.”
“How many?” I ask.
“Eleven in all,” he says.
“So Smithson brought thirteen.” I grunt. “An interesting number.”
“Do you think it means anything?”
I fix my brother with a grim look. “You and I both study the stars. There are no coincidences in this world.” I look away. “How is it they were not noticed?”
“Smithson kept a tight rein on the guards. The Haven vampires do not like to mix with them. There’s a fraternity amongst the soldiers, so it was easy to keep it a secret. Besides—l” Phillip sits on the edge of my bed. “Mother brought Smithson in to replace Andrey. But he wasn’t the only one you killed in the fires.”
“No,” I say darkly. “There were three more.”
“Well, replacements had to be made. With an Outsider as Captain Commander, why would our regular guards be alarmed when others were brought in?”
“Yes, that’s fine,” I grumble. “What I don’t understand is how—or why—we didn’t notice. How you and I didn’t see them in our midst.”
“We’re as guilty of dismissing the guards as any of the Elite,” Phillip says softly.
A silence descends on the room. “And Mother?” I ask. “Did she know?”
“I haven’t brought the issue up.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way. Smithson’s betrayal hit her hard enough. I suspect they were intimate together, did you know?”
“I assumed as much.” Phillip shrugs. “That was why she took news of Andrey so poorly. He was her lover, too.”
“One of many.” I shudder as I think of the countless advances she’d made on me over the years.
At least there’s been a stop to that.
“The guards who remain,” Phillip continues, “are all Haven vampires. I made sure of that. They’re angry, too. Angry that they let Smithson’s cronies infiltrate their ranks. Angry that they took them in as brothers so quickly. Angry that they ran when the going got tough.”
“Then why would these eleven run?”
“Maybe they didn’t feel safe,” Phillip offers. “Maybe this was part of some ploy. Maybe they had orders from Smithson to leave should his position be compromised.”
“There’s only one person who can tell you the truth.”
Phillip nods. “Yes. I know… and he is under interrogation now.”
Chapter Eleven
SMITHSON
TORTURE CELL UNDERNEATH THE HAVEN
I scream as the whip of silver cuts deeply into my back for the fifth time.
The wounds aren’t healing. How could they? When inflicted by a silver weapon, cuts on our bodies do not close the regular way.
The muscles surrounding my spine feel like they’re being ripped from the bone. Thirteen lashes, that’s what I’d earned. Thirteen lashes, one for each of the traitorous vampires I snuck into The Haven’s guards.
Of course, none knew of their true purpose… or intentions. When the Queen apprehended me and turned the Royal Court against me, they knew they had to get away. But she didn’t know about them. No, it was only her troublesome youngest son who found out… and who sentenced me to this punishment.
Another lash of the whip strikes me. I grit my teeth and try to keep the scream in.
It’s ripped from my throat anyway.
Blood pours past my waist and down my legs in thick rivulets. My whole body tenses and heaves with every breath I take as I try to control at least some of the agony.
Six lashes, I think to myself. Six done, seven to go. Half left to endure.
My labored breathing is the only sound that fills the chamber between strikes. I swear revenge on the vampire wielding the whip. When I get free, he will be the first to die.
I wait for the next lash. But it doesn’t come. My arms, bound around the thick redwood stump, which had been brought down here from above ground, are stretched from their sockets. I lean into the remains of the tree and try to block my mind from the pain, to enter a transcendent zone where the agony from the silver weapon is not quite so acute…
Just when I let up the smallest bit, the whip cracks and strikes my back. Another tortured scream comes from my throat. The pain, I could deal with—even if it’s stronger than any I’ve experienced since being left in the sun my first day as a vampire.
It’s the sickening feeling of my back being torn open, being ripped to shreds, that I cannot abide.
Six left, I tell myself. I focus on the number. Six left, only six, just six…
“I think… that he’s had enough,” a sweet female voice rings out.
I gasp. Victoria! What’s she doing here?
Lucas, the vampire charged with executing the punishment, snorts a laugh. “Who are you to command me?” he asks imperiously. “I answer only to the Queen and t
he Royal Court.”
I hear Victoria flutter toward him. I try to turn my head—but the stiffness in my neck is too great to overcome. I cannot.
“I’m glad you say that,” Victoria tells him sweetly. “Because right here I have a letter from the Royal Court granting me power to exercise their rule… when it comes to issues of any prisoners held in our midst.”
Lucas takes the paper and reads it. He grumbles something incomprehensible but angry.
A second later, I hear him storm out of the room.
Victoria walks toward me. I suck in a breath when I feel her hand trail over my back.
“Oh, Smithson,” she says sadly. “What have they done to you?”
I absolutely hate the pity I hear in her voice.
“Unchain me,” I demand. “Let me down. If you’ve come to—”
“But you have no idea why I’ve come,” she says. Her fingers find the edge of a particularly nasty wound.
She presses them into it. I gasp.
“Not so invincible now, are you?” she murmurs. “What your underlings in the Vorcellian Order would think if they saw you like this now.”
My gut clenches. “What did you say?”
She gives a soft, feminine laugh. “What, did you think you could keep your connection to the Vorcellian Order hidden? No, no.” She trails her hand down my ruined back. “I know all about it. I know all about you… even if you think I don’t.”
My first instinct is to deny everything, every link and every connection. If Victoria can be convinced that she’s wrong…
But then again. I cannot tell how much she knows. And the mere fact that she’s aware of the Order tells me that this whole time, I have underestimated her.
A grave mistake, that. One that I can only fix by giving her the respect she’s due now.
“Who sent you?” I say. “Do you come on behalf of the Queen?”
“The Queen and I aren’t yet on speaking terms,” she informs me. “She would not be pleased if she discovered me here. Neither would her youngest son, the one who took your position away from you. Come to think of it…” she taps her lips, “…neither would the Royal Court, or any of the Elite…”
“The letter—”
“A forgery. You don’t really think me that capable, do you? Sure, I gained your trust… before that, I gained James’s trust… and before even that, I gained the trust of Logan, the greatest vampire King ever known. But even I have my limits.”
Her hands move to the shackles binding my arms. I feel her fingers dance along the surface.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Freeing you. Helping you escape. Isn’t it obvious?” She works the final latch and the mechanism springs free. My left arm falls to my side. “It would help if you weren’t such a bloody mess.”
She moves to work on the second shackle. But before she can get to it, I whip around and grab her by the throat.
She gasps. Her eyes go wide in horrified surprise.
“What makes you think,” I growl, “that I need your help?” My fingers dig deep into her flesh. The fool vampire let me catch her unguarded—and that’s all the proof I need to call her on her bluff.
She doesn’t know jack about the Vorcellian Order. If she has even a tenth of the knowledge she professes, she would have realized—or at least considered—that my true strength is cloaked.
“You said,” she gasps. “You said when you rescued me, when you gave me your blood and let me live, you said that we would be allies!”
“Allies in the dark,” I hiss at her. “Allies with a common purpose, a common goal, but allies whose allegiance was hidden from others!” My claws protract and push into the flesh of her neck. “What you’ve done here is to give both of us away! There is no going back from this.”
“And who says I want to go back?” she snarls, the fight coming back to her after she’d overcome her momentary shock. “To be threatened and hated by all those around me?”
“They don’t hate you,” I say. I can hardly believe her paranoia. “You shared with them your blood. They owe their recovery to you.”
“And how long will that gratitude last, huh? How long? Until the Queen remembers why she locked me away in the first place and decides to do it again?” She looks down at my arm. “Release me, Smithson. If they find my body next to you, you’ll be executed. You’re not going to risk that. And if you want to run, to escape, you’ll need me with you. Cut the charade and let go. I know you’re not about to kill me.”
I glower at her… and relax my grip.
She takes a step back, rubbing her throat. “That’s better,” she says.
“So now what happens?” I snarl. “You forged a letter. You tried to free me. You’ll be found out—you can’t remain.” I curse. “You can’t start to imagine how much you’ve screwed everything up! When the guards come…”
“When they come, you’ll tell them exactly what happened. I came to free you because I wanted your help. You refused, and I left.”
I scoff. “You think anybody will buy that story?”
“With the wards down, a Narwhark on the loose, the blood banks gone, and the humans nearly all dead?” She forces a laugh. “I doubt many will consider this a priority.”
She takes a quick step to me, plants an unexpected kiss on my cheek, and darts into the shadows, quick as a fox.
Chapter Twelve
JAMES
THE WOODS AROUND THE HAVEN
The sun’s dying rays filter through the branches of the evergreens above. When the last of them disappear, I know it’s time to move.
I emerge from my makeshift, hastily dug grave in the ground and stagger toward the nearest tree. It’s not fully night yet. Some light remains, and it affects me.
But, after enduring an entire day beneath the sun’s harsh rays in Father’s prison, I’m not so afraid of it as I once was.
That, perhaps, is the only reason I’m still alive.
I hear movement in the bush. I go absolutely still. My nostrils flare as I take a deep, cautious breath.
It’s a hare.
My mouth salivates at the prospect of fresh blood. Even if it comes from an animal. Even if it comes from one that is so easy to kill.
I wait for the hare to get close. It is unafraid of me—or rather, it is unaware of me. Riyu’s cloaking spell still has not worn off.
Another contributing factor to my survival.
The animal comes closer. When it’s less than five feet away, I crouch, jump, and grab it.
But the little thing is ferocious. It sinks tiny little teeth into my hand. The bite makes me let go in surprise.
My prey scampers away.
A great sense of defeat, of failure, crashes into me. This is what has become of the once-great vampire James Soren.
Pathetic. Pitiful. Nine times out of ten I fail to capture the prey I am going for. I am not worthy to be called a vampire. I am not worthy to be called a hunter or a predator. I am not worthy to be known, or feared, or even acknowledged to be alive.
Not in the state I am in now.
That self-pity is something afflicted on me by my Father. It was while in his care that the first tendrils of such poisonous thoughts came into my mind. It was while in his care that all of my shortcomings were revealed to me.
It was in his care that I lost myself.
A branch cracks behind me. I spin around.
There, coming away from the nearby creek, is a frail, elderly moose.
The animal looks to be on its last legs. Its eyes are white with cataracts and unseeing. Its legs shake under its bulk. A day, maybe two—that’s all it has left to live.
Usually the sight of a beast so weakened would fill me with disgust. The idea of feeding on such a creature would be reprehensible. Disgusting. The blood would be so thin, so tired, so tasteless…
It would not be blood that can sustain. The blood can barely even keep the animal alive.
Yet now, what choice do I have?
I step right up to it. I put one hand on its neck. “Look at us, two wretched things,” I say. I bring my face close to its ear. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, and with a great twist, break the animal’s neck.
It falls to the ground, immobilized but not dead. I drop to my knees with it. I tear a slash in its throat, bring my lips to the wound, and start to drink. The blood is disgusting. It is putrid and old and stinking. But I force it past my lips anyway, knowing that my body will make some use of it. The human blood I had earlier from Mother’s stores was hardly enough.
Whatever sustenance this blood has left, my body will exploit, and that, in turn, will make me a little bit stronger.
It will bring me closer to the vampire I should be.
I think on the stories of Lestat that once appealed to me so. I think of the way he dug himself beneath the earth, of how he had to recover by feeding on worms and insects and bugs after being burned and left for dead by those closest to him. I think of those trials and consider my own, and think that maybe I don’t have it so bad.
“Ah, but Lestat, you are only fiction,” I murmur through a mouthful of foul blood. “Your agony cannot compare to the real agony of the world.”
And with that, I stand and wipe the remaining drops of blood from my lips. There’s nothing I can do with the moose’s body. I have not the strength nor inclination to hide it. If it leads a trail to me, so be it—but I think that were anybody really looking, I’d already be found.
Most, I imagine, consider me dead.
Chapter Thirteen
SMITHSON
DEEP BENEATH THE HAVEN
Mere moments after the fool girl is gone, the doors to my torture chamber open… and Carter steps inside.
He has the letter Victoria presented in one hand. “What is this?” he begins. “A mockery—”
He stops short when he realizes I am alone and half-bound, yet making no move to escape.
