The Vampire Gift 3: Throne of Dust

by E. M. Knight

He approaches me, eyes narrowed and cautious. He shoves the letter in my face. “Were you behind this?”

  I snort a laugh. The jerky movement makes all the wounds in my back feel like they’re going to rip open. “Me? How could I be? While locked away? Of course not.”

  “The woman you brought to us, Victoria. Lucas said she was the one who brought him this forgery.”

  “You confuse me with James. I did not know Victoria prior to my arrival. The Soren prince was the one who brought her from The Crypts.”

  “She was the Queen’s prisoner. You freed her in the aftermath of the battle.”

  “And she shared her blood with all of you, letting you heal,” I say. “Had I not freed her, The Haven’s casualties would have been greater. You welcomed her as your own.”

  “And she spat in our faces trying to run with you,” Carter growls. “It’s a good thing Lucas came to me first. If any others of the Royal Court had intercepted him…”

  “I wanted no part of running. My place is here. With the Queen, as part of her guard.”

  He sniffs. “You say that as if you still have influence. Look around, Smithson. You’ve lost it all. Your command has been stripped from you. Much like…” His upper lip curls up in a nasty sneer. “Much like the skin on your back.”

  I give a too-casual shrug, refusing to take the bait. “Wounds heal.”

  “What did Victoria want?”

  “For me to go with her.”

  “Why?”

  “I assume she no longer felt safe.”

  “And you refused?”

  “As I said, my place is here.”

  Carter brings a hand up to stroke his pointed goatee. “What game are you playing at, Smithson?” he asks softly. “I would have thought that any who rose to power, then lost everything, would be eager to leave.”

  “Where would I go? If I left, I’d spend the rest of my life hiding. I’d spend every day in fear of an assassin with a silver dagger, sent after me by the Queen.” I lower my voice. “If you think Morgan would simply forget about me, then I have greatly overestimated your intellect. I thought you were one of the sharper members of the Royal Court.”

  “Praise will not get you far with me,” Carter notes.

  “What about honesty?” I ask. “Would you appreciate that?”

  “I would,” he says. “If I could trust the source.”

  He walks back to pick up a ragged brown robe and tosses it to me. “Put that on. The remainder of your punishment can be administered later.”

  I glance at my still-shackled arm. “Hard to do in chains,” I say.

  Carter grumbles but walks over and opens the lock. My arm falls free. I rub my wrist, then throw the robe over my back. I try to hide the spasm of agony that takes me when the heavy material makes contact with the open wounds.

  Carter watches me with a clinical eye.

  He’s searching for weakness, I think. He wants to use me.

  I need to play that up as much as I can. If he considers me malleable and weak…

  Well, that will give me the perfect opportunity to weasel my way back to where I need to be.

  “The Captain Commander sentenced me to thirteen lashes,” I say. “Going against him now is not the smartest move for you.”

  “You will be given the rest in due time,” Carter says. “For now… here.” He tosses a small vial to me. “Drink.”

  I snatch it from the air. The moment I pull out the stopper, the fresh aroma of potent blood greets me. I salivate. This is a rare mix indeed.

  “A portion from my personal collection,” Carter explains. “All of the Elite have their own stores. Mine is amongst the best. That blood is from the strongest humans, the ones who were deemed most robust. It is the finest you will find in The Haven.”

  “And you’re offering it to me,” I state. I want badly to gulp it down, but I don’t want to reveal my desperation yet.

  “Phillip did not say you couldn’t be fed.”

  My grip on the vial tightens. The blood calls to me.

  I ignore the temptation. “So you are here on his command.”

  Carter snorts a laugh. “Hardly. I’m here because… because I think that you and I can help each other. Now hurry up. Drink, before I change my mind.”

  I see no further reason to hold back. I bring the vial to my lips and tip my head back.

  The thick, life-giving nectar flows down my throat. My wounds start to heal. As they close, the skin on my back stitches itself up. Strength returns to my body. Sharpness comes to my mind.

  “Much better,” Carter says when the vial is empty. “And now we can talk.”

  “What is there to talk about?” I ask.

  “The Queen, for one,” Carter answers. “Your position with us. Your influence, here, and in the outside world. The power either of us might wield over the Royal Court.”

  My interest perks up. This is… intriguing.

  “I’m listening,” I say.

  “First, we forget the incident with Victoria ever took place.” Carter walks to the burning brazier and holds the letter out over the flames. The paper catches fire and turns to ash in a matter of seconds.

  “There,” he says. “Now, only you, I, and Lucas know of the forgery she attempted. Lucas is not of the Elite, so his say hardly matters. If you keep Victoria’s betrayal a secret, I will too.”

  I nod slowly. Carter has been one of the Queen’s most vocal opponents, but I never considered him to be this wily.

  “If the new Captain Commander—” Carter does not hide his disgust, “raises issue with you being set free early, you will tell him that I sanctioned it. He can take up the grievance with me.”

  “Why are you helping me?” I wonder.

  Carter gestures toward the door instead of answering. “Walk with me?”

  I nod.

  Together, we proceed through the underground tunnels of The Haven’s one and only stronghold.

  “Thanks to you, the Royal Court regained prominence,” Carter says. “We would never have accomplished that alone. And I grow tired of the Elite being shackled by the Queen’s rule. You gave us all a voice, and for that, I will not forsake you.”

  I lower my head in an attempt at meekness as we near a group of four vampires. Their conversation dies the moment we’re within hearing distance. They look at me—and Carter—with open suspicion as we pass.

  “You see?” Carter sighs. “There used to be harmony here. Now, all that is ruined. Yet some things that have changed… have changed for the better.”

  “Such as?”

  “The Queen feels accountable to us,” Carter says. “Her decisions are no longer absolute. She needs the Royal Court’s approval.”

  “I don’t see how this involves me,” I say. “Without my position in the guard, I don’t belong to the Court.”

  Carter stops and faces me. He grips my shoulder. “Let us be frank,” he says. The torches on the walls make shadows dance across his face. “Even if you were ousted from your position, anyone with half a brain can tell that you were the most capable Captain Commander The Haven has ever had. Phillip is no match.”

  “Phillip is what you have now. I’m not going to be reclaiming the post any time soon.”

  “No,” Carter’s eyes glimmer. “But it is power you seek, is it not? It is power that you truly want.”

  I eye the empty hallway. My vampire senses tell me we are alone. Still, it is difficult to feel like I can speak freely.

  “All that I truly want,” I say carefully, “is to serve my Queen.”

  Carter snorts in disbelief. He steps back and gives a great laugh.

  “How quaint,” he tells me after he’s calmed down. “And here I was, thinking you a man of ambition.”

  “Ambition can take many forms,” I say cryptically.

  “Very well. This is my offer to you. Mull it over for a day, maybe two, and get back to me.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You claim you want to serve the Queen. Fine.
I can help you get back into her good graces.”

  My eyes narrow in suspicion. “How?”

  “The Royal Court can be made to believe that she… overreached… when stripping you of your post. I can see to that. If you, in turn, make peace with her sons…”

  I stop short. “Raul? Or Phillip?”

  “Both,” Carter says. “If you gain both their trust… the Queen will be like putty in our hands. You influence them… I influence the Royal Court… and together, we can work from the shadows, you and I, to turn The Haven into something truly marvelous!”

  There is a frenetic zeal that carries just on the edge of Carter’s voice. I catch the undercurrent easily, but only because I am so used to dealing with men like him when in my natural position of power in the Order.

  “You set me on an arduous path,” I tell him. “Peace with the Soren brothers is an impossibility. They both hate me. If you remember, I nearly killed one.”

  And I did destroy the eldest, I think, with no small degree of satisfaction.

  Carter spreads his hands. “Peace with them is what I require. It will not happen overnight, I understand. But if you extend the olive branch…”

  I shake my head. “It will do little good.”

  “So you would rather remain like this, stripped of any power, imprisoned, and lacking your former influence?”

  “Of course not,” I growl.

  “Then take me up on my offer,” he says. “The Haven is in turmoil. The wards are down. We are exposed to the world. But our coven will rise again. A Queen has always ruled this sanctuary. I will not pretend to be able to change that. But there is an enormous difference between an absolute monarch… and a puppet Queen.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  PHILLIP

  THE HAVEN

  I storm into Carter’s rooms, not bothering to hide the fury that distorts my face.

  “You set him free?” I demand.

  Carter looks up from the book he is reading. He blinks at being disturbed.

  “Set who free?” he asks, an absolute picture of innocence.

  “You set—” I slam two fists on his desk, “—my prisoner… free… without consulting me, or the Royal Court, or the Queen, or anybody else!”

  “Oh you must mean Smithson,” Carter says casually. He turns back to his book. “Yes. I did that. Why?”

  “You undermined a direct order,” I hiss. “A direct order I gave.”

  “Is this how the Captain Commander deals with problems that arise?” he asks. “By throwing a childish fit?”

  He’s trying to rankle me. I know it. But all the peace I once felt inside me, all the patience—all of it has been abolished in the recent series of calamities.

  I used to be calm. I used to be steady. Now, I find myself giving way to my emotions more and more. I find myself falling into fits of rage and anger at the smallest provocation. I find the animal inside, the vampire, fighting harder and harder to be set free—and I find myself less and less willing to resist.

  I force myself to take a deep breath. “Smithson was in the middle of receiving thirteen lashes when you stopped it. His sentence was not concluded. Why did you interfere?”

  “Thirteen lashes was excessive,” Carter says. “I have a decree, somewhere in here…” he rummages through his desk and pulls out a crumbled sheet of paper. He straightens it against his leg and hands it to me. “Look at that.”

  I read it quickly. It’s an order signed by the majority of the Royal Court, authorizing the release of Smithson.

  “The Queen’s name is not here,” I state.

  “The Queen was not aware of the punishment Smithson received.”

  “Without her signature,” I say, “this order is void.”

  Carter laughs. “You really think so? My, but you have a lot to learn.” He leans forward. “Life is harder now that Mommy’s word isn’t absolute law, is it not?

  A growl comes from deep in my throat.

  With a gargantuan effort I force my emotions down.

  “I had full authorization to act as I did,” Carter says. “So if you came to trouble me for that, I suggest you leave. I know you have other, more pertinent matters to attend to,” he sneers. “Such as, for example, how to get our entire coven to acquire your taste for animal blood.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  RAUL

  DEEP BENEATH THE HAVEN

  Light from a distant torch casts my room in an eerie red. I sit behind my desk, considering, thinking…

  Then, with a grimace, I pull away the fleece blanket and look at my leg.

  The wound looks awful. It hasn’t changed from this morning. Just as it hasn’t changed since yesterday, or the day before that, or the day before that…

  The worst thing is that I cannot even feel my leg. The entire limb is numb, useless, as if it’s asleep.

  And the smell… nothing can mask the horrific smell.

  The wound reeks of corruption and blackness and disease. It’s a sickly-sweet stench that reaches deep into my nostrils and lingers for far longer than it should. It sticks to the back of my throat, beneath the vile layers of that murky horrible odor of my infected blood.

  Maybe I should be grateful it’s not getting worse. At least Mother’s spell seems to be working to ward off the infection.

  But I am unused to having such a crippling affliction for so long. Every hour that passes brings me closer to the inevitable.

  There is a confrontation looming in the background. I know it. I can feel it. The massive vampire who gave me this wound said his blade formed a link between us. A link he could use to take control of me.

  So far, there has been no attempt. But is any of that because of Mother’s spell? Or is it simply because that beast has not yet exerted the blade’s proper power over me?

  The door to my room comes open. Hastily, I drop the blanket and look up.

  Eleira lingers on the threshold.

  I start to rise. But, in my excitement to see her, I place too much weight on my bad leg. It gives out. I have to clutch at the table to keep from falling.

  She rushes to my side. “Are you okay?” she asks, concern painting her voice.

  “Fine,” I grumble. My excitement has been replaced by a nasty irritation. She shouldn’t have to see me like this—shouldn’t have to see me weak and fragile and ruined.

  She shouldn’t have to worry about the vampire who is supposed to be her bastion of strength.

  “Let me help you,” she murmurs. She starts to move to place her arm under my shoulder…

  “I’m fine.” I rip away. “Get me my walking stick.”

  Eleira looks around the room, finds it propped up on the opposite wall, and retrieves it. When she gives it to me, her eyes are dark and impossible to read.

  “What?” I snap. I know I’m short-tempered, but dammit, how can I help it? It’s humiliating, being seen like this.

  Especially after spending six-hundred years impervious to the regular afflictions of the world.

  “I’m… worried about you,” she admits. “You haven’t left this room for days. Whenever I ask Morgan what she thinks, she gives a cryptic non-answer.” Eleira hesitates, then reaches out and takes my hand. “Why don’t you let me help you?”

  It’s all I can do not to sneer. This wound is turning me nasty. Eleira is the girl—the woman—I love.

  I should not be taking any of this out on her.

  So instead of pulling my hand away, as was my first instinct, I turn it over and twine my fingers through hers.

  “You cannot help me,” I say softly. “Not in the way you want.”

  Again the brute vampire’s message echoes in my mind:

  “You will receive a message from my King in a matter of days.”

  But days have already passed. I’ve heard nothing.

  She envelops my hand with both of hers. “You’re not even letting me try,” she protests.

  “Enough.” I spin away. I feel an anger rising. The last thing I want to
do is lash out at Eleira.

  I do not want to give her reason to hate me more.

  “Raul…” for a second, she sounds empty, destitute, helpless. She sounds like a girl caught up in an adventure—a nightmare—much greater than herself.

  But then her voice takes on an inflection of strength, and love flares in my heart at her bravery.

  “Raul Soren.” She walks right up to me, easily overtaking me with her quick strides. “It does not bode well for the Prince of The Haven to stay locked up in his rooms like some sickly child. The other vampires are whispering. They sense something is wrong.”

  I laugh. “They sense? They sense? Of course they sense it, Eleira. They’ve seen me hobbling around the perimeter of the Royal Court’s assembled table. You think they don’t know? Of course they know. What we cannot tell them—what we must do everything to hide—is the severity of this damned paper cut!”

  My voice gets louder and louder as I continue my spiel. By the end, I am shouting.

  “It’s not a ‘paper cut.’ You and I both know that,” she fires back. Her passion has been evoked, and she’s staring at me with hard, determined eyes. “The Queen is keeping the worst of it at bay. But you heard what she said—healing spells are not her forte! So let me try, let me probe you, let me see what I can find.”

  “You?” For a second, incredulity at the suggestion staggers me.

  “Yes, me.” Eleira stands up to full height. “I am more than capable, you know.”

  “Look, I know you want to help…” I temper my tone, “…but you’ve hardly had any training. You mean well, Eleira, but…”

  I trail off. This is more difficult than it should be.

  “But you don’t think I know enough, is that it?” she asks.

  I grunt and nod. “You’ve only been aware of your powers for a very short time.”

  Her expression becomes steely and determined. A spark shines in her eyes. “That doesn’t mean I’m incapable—”

  “I didn’t say that,” I interrupt. “All I mean is this. If the greatest witch alive couldn’t help me, how could—”

  “How could I, right?” Eleira’s voice is icy. “I’m not blind to who I am, you know. Neither am I blind to what I can do. I know my capabilities, Raul, just as I know my limitations! You think I haven’t been practicing? You think I haven’t been using every spare moment of my time to try to understand this gift? To discover who I am, what I can do, the things I’m capable of?”