The Vampire Gift 3: Throne of Dust

by E. M. Knight

  “The Queen did not act alone in this.” Carter turns to look at me. “Every single spell cast to condemn a vampire into these prisons was sanctioned by the Royal Court. And I hope that helps you understand, Eleira, the sort of vampires who can stand beside you… or be rallied as your foes.”

  He walks to the door and pulls it open. “That’s enough of a history lesson for now. If I may give one last piece of advice?” He doesn’t wait for my response. “Think very, very carefully on who you make friends with… and who you pick as your enemies.”

  I swallow.

  “Oh, and before I forget.” Carter pulls out a thin, square envelope from his breast pocket. “This was left for you. By an… acquaintance of mine.”

  He starts to hand it to me but stops with it an inch away from my hand. “Take care not to read it where others are around, hmm? Certain associations would be smart to avoid for one in a position as precarious as yours.” He gives one last, empty smile. “Thank you for granting me your time. I appreciate it. I truly do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ELEIRA

  DEEP BENEATH THE HAVEN

  I recognize the flowery, flowing script on the envelope’s front instantly. There are only two words—To Eleira—but there is only one person in the entire world who writes the first ‘E’ of my name with such an elaborate swirl.

  My mother.

  My heart is racing when I get to my room. Quickly, I lock the door. I take the letter out and try to steady my shaking hands.

  A million questions storm through my mind. How did Carter get this? If he hasn’t been Outside in hundreds of years—does that mean my Mother is here? But no, of course not. I would have seen her amongst the humans if she was.

  Another terrifying possibility flashes: what if she’s a vampire? What if she’s always been a vampire?

  I shake my head. I’m being ridiculous. I’ve seen her out in the sun. She can’t be one of us—

  A chill takes me.

  “One of us.”

  Does it make me a horrible daughter, knowing how little thought I’ve given to my family ever since my abduction? Or how much easier it is for me to associate with The Haven vampires than it is with my own mother?

  I try to steady my frantic thoughts. But they won’t be calmed until I see the contents of the letter.

  Perhaps, not even then.

  On shaking legs I make my way to the bed. I perch on the edge. My entire body feels tight, stressed, as if a plastic sheet has been shrink-wrapped around me.

  I open it and start to read:

  To my darling daughter:

  I knew that a time would come when you would be taken from us. I’d known it all along, since the moment you were brought into my life. This message is… difficult to write. How do I express in mere words how much I love you, how much you mean to me? The first time I saw your face seventeen years ago, a flood of love came over me. I was mired, lost, in a deep depression then. You were the light that came from the sky and parted all the clouds.

  I pause. My mother had never been anything but happy and energetic for as long as I’ve known her. Depression? It seems nothing like her.

  A bit of worry gnaws at my insides: now that I’m gone, might she fall into that awful state again? I pray not.

  I read on:

  You were such a gift, Eleira. A beautiful, wondrous, flourishing gift. As your father and I watched you grow, you amazed us with your curiosity, you inquisitiveness, your innate, inherent intelligence.

  We knew right away that you were special. You’re finding out just how special you are now. But that is not what I mean. You were always so full of joy, so full of life. You were so eager to explore the world, and to make everything you came in contact with better. Your enthusiasm was contagious, and, even as a child, it helped change your father and me.

  We both became better people. More content, more at ease. Freer. Happier. All because of you.

  So we both owe you everything, precious child. For seventeen amazing, golden, wonderful years you were the central focus in our lives. We knew we would not have you forever. Believe me when I say that we both cherished every single moment you were with us.

  As I said: I knew from the start that our time together was limited. It was a secret endowed onto me first. I did not share it with your father. But once I saw how much his love shone for you, I had to tell him. Otherwise, he would be crushed when it came time for you to leave. He does not reveal his vulnerabilities often. He did, with you. For you.

  And both of us now understand that you are gone. Maybe not where, maybe not even exactly why… but we’ve accepted it as an inevitability. Do not cry for us. This is not the end, but the beginning. For you, for your new life, and for all the adventure that will come your way.

  I feel some tears building up exactly at that moment. My mother knew she would have to give me up? How?

  I notice a dried drop on the page that nearly makes me lose it. Still I read on…

  I know it’s hackneyed for a mother to give her daughter advice. I know you’re way too smart for your own good, and that all these things will be obvious to you. After all, most of them I learned because of you, because of that amazing gift of life that you have given me.

  Still, indulge a loving parent. Don’t dismiss these out-of-hand.

  The first is to always remember who you are. Your life circumstances have changed. I cannot imagine the turmoil you might be going through. But if there’s one thing you’ve proven time and time again, it’s your resilience, your adaptability, your ability to find the good in any situation. So take the good with the bad (and I pray there will be significantly more good than bad for you) and don’t lose sight of what makes you you.

  The second is to always take a moment to appreciate the wonders of life. The trees outside, the flowers blooming in the sun, the amazing planet on which we make our home—it is a miracle. It is a miracle to be witnessed and adored. The possibilities out there, for you, are boundless.

  Third is to always leave room in your heart for love. At times that might seem impossible. You are not naïve, but you are not yet experienced—not in the full aches and pains of the heart. Fall in love, make mistakes, value those moments. Fall out of love. Allow your heart to be broken. No life is complete without that tragedy. But you will emerge from it stronger on the other side, and the experience will ground you, it will help you, it will make you appreciate all you have so much more.

  The last is to never forget your roots. I do not know if you and I will ever see each other again. I hope, of course, that one day, a few years in the future…

  But I’m getting sappy. Eleira, I am so excited for you. There is sadness in my heart, yes, but it is overwhelmed with joy for the simple fact that now, you are coming into your own. You are becoming who you really are and what you were always meant to be.

  I stop reading again. My eyes are moist. My heart beat has slowed down a tad, but it’s still pounding with enough force for me to feel each contraction.

  My mother knew? She knew I would be taken away, and that I wouldn’t be able to come back. But how? Who told her, and what—

  I stop that line of thought and turn back to the letter. There might be answers there.

  Even if I don’t see you again, know that you have gifted me the best seventeen years of my life. Nothing can compare to the joy I had watching you grow. Nothing can compare to the all-consuming love I felt for you. You gave me all those things, but a hundred, a thousand times greater than I could have ever imagined them to be.

  I’ve dawdled long enough. There are things that I need to tell you, things you need to know. They may be difficult truths, but my hope in revealing them is that they will help you, in some small way, to find your true path through the world.

  The first, and biggest, is this: while your father and I are your parents, and we will forever remain so, we are not linked to you by blood.

  My breath catches.

  I had a horrible premonition fr
om the start of the letter. The way everything was framed, I was expecting something, something like this…

  But to actually see the words written out, to read them in my own mother’s handwriting on the page…?

  It brings a new gravity to it all.

  But that lessens nothing. It does not diminish the love I feel for you. It does not make me any less your mother. You grew up with me, you were my child, and you will forever be my truest daughter. Biologically, we may be unrelated—but what does biology know of love?

  And now, you have every right to hate me. It takes a special sort of coward to tell her daughter something so important only through a written letter. But trust me when I say that this decision was not made lightly. Your father and I debated many times telling you the truth when you were still with us. But we had something so, so good, the three of us did, and a revelation like that, when we knew that our time together had a deadline, could have ruined it all.

  Ultimately, he and I, together, decided to wait.

  It was like your decision to leave our little hometown and go discover your place at Stanford. We were so thrilled for you when you got in. Of course we didn’t want you to leave us, we wanted you close to home. We wanted to extract every moment of joy that we could from you until the time came for you to be taken away.

  But we promised each other, also, that we would never disrupt your happiness. And that was the justification for keeping your birth a secret. We only wanted to return to you the exact same gift you bestowed upon us.

  Now tears are really flowing. I snuffle and wipe them away with my sleeve. How could she think I would hate her? The fact that she’s not my biological mother means next-to-nothing to me. She—and my dad—have all my love. They have all my love, all my appreciation, and whenever I think of my parents, theirs are the only faces that will ever come to mind.

  But that does not hamper this new, growing sense of curiosity within me about who my real mother and father were.

  Let me say one more time how much I love you, how much you mean to me. Your father has stood over my shoulder the entire time I spent writing this. His love is here, too.

  I wish I could glimpse a small way into the future and promise you that we will meet again. But such is not in my capacities. I hope this letter finds you well, Eleira, and though I do not know if it will reach you, the man who came assured us that it will.

  One last thing. Only the beings you are with now can elucidate you on the true circumstance of your birth. Look to them for that final truth.

  With boundless, eternal, forever love…

  Marie.

  Wow. I take a deep breath. Wow, wow, wow.

  “Beings.” She didn’t use the term “vampires.” How much does she know of them?

  What else do I say to that? I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been for my mother to write. She knew that I would be taken away? She knew that our time together would be short?

  I flip back to the first page and read the letter again, hoping to find some hidden clue, some extra meaning. But no, all is as it appears on first impression. My mother definitely laid her heart on the line.

  As carefully as I can, I fold the letter up and place it back in the envelope. I clutch it to my chest for a moment as I let the tears fall. I don’t feel overly sad, or sappy, just… emotional. This is a lot to take in.

  I look around the room.

  This is my life now, I think. There’s no denying it.

  The next question is… how did Carter get the letter… and how would I pass a return one to my mother?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  RIYU

  THE CRYPTS

  “The staff was not it!” the King rages before me. He hurls a crystal vase into the wall. It shatters with an ear-splintering crash. “You—and you—” he flings a finger out toward me, then Beatrice, “—both assured me that the staff was key to her power!”

  I remain absolutely still and try to make myself as small as possible. I dare not speak against the King, given all that he has against me.

  But the woman in the room is a capable ally.

  “The staff was a torrial of great power, my Lord,” Beatrice says. She’s wearing nothing but a sheer white night robe. I can see her womanly shape underneath. It appeals to me not at all. “It was stronger than any we have in our possession.”

  “That you know of,” Logan snarls.

  Beatrice makes a sound of impatience in her throat. “Yes. That I know of. If you allowed me unfettered access to the storerooms beneath the earth—”

  The King cuts her off with a harsh laugh. “And expose even more of myself to your whims? Never.”

  “Then, yes, the staff is stronger than anything in our possession,” she says, the annoyance clear on her face.

  I’d been summoned into the King’s private bed chamber an hour ago. I came as fast as I could. When the King calls, you answer.

  But so far, all that I’ve witnessed is this ongoing argument between him and his… lover.

  “And what do you think of all this, boy?” Logan demands, glaring at me. “You’re the one who showed James the book. You’re the one who always used the damn thing!”

  He does nothing to hide his distaste for a male wielding magic.

  I take the barest, most intricate step forward. “The staff served its purpose,” I say, picking my words carefully. “We successfully destroyed The Haven’s wards with it.”

  Of course, I was the one to do that…through the link between James, The Ancient, and me …

  But I would never presume to make such bold claims before the King. So I use the plural, “we.”

  “And you successfully,” the King mocks, “destroyed the very same torrial that was so important to us!”

  “Easy. Be easy, my King,” Beatrice says, flowing up behind him and taking him by the shoulders. “It is not Riyu’s fault.”

  She starts to massage his muscles. Her touch seems to help ease some of his sour mood.

  He takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm some of his rage. “Explain yourself,” he says, though whether to me or Beatrice is not exactly clear.

  She and I share a look. She gives the most miniscule nod, a sign for me to go ahead. I steel myself and start to speak.

  “A single torrial can only handle so much magic flowing through it at once. What was done with the staff—” I want to say, ‘what I did with the staff’, but drawing attention to my abilities in front of the King is a poor idea, “—pushed it past its limits. Then it shattered, it broke—it burnt out. Such is always the risk.”

  “Imagine if it had not,” Beatrice coos in his ear. “Imagine if James had returned wielding it and handed it to you. We would have assumed that the staff was it, that the staff was the great torrial that maintained The Haven’s wards. We would—you would—have taken it to battle. And it would have failed you then. Failed, because it was not the right object.

  “Better we learn of it now than in the middle of a war. We’ve suffered nothing like this. There have been no casualties.”

  “Oh?” Logan demands. “Then what of my son? What of James? Where is he, then?”

  A muscle in my cheek twitches at the mention of my half-brother.

  Logan catches it. “You!” he exclaims. “You know something. Speak!”

  I curse myself in my head. I give a tight, narrow shake of the head. “Nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to me.” The King flips away from Beatrice and strides straight for me. Faced with a vampire so strong, it’s all I can do not to cower and back away.

  But Dagan has instilled in me no shortage of discipline. He’s helped give me a backbone, even in situations where the vampire hierarchy would have me on my knees.

  So, wrapping all the discomfort swirling around inside into a tight bow, I regard the King evenly.

  “What do you know of my eldest son?” he whispers.

  I do not look into Logan’s eyes, instead fixing my gaze on a spot just above his ear. “Very
little,” I answer honestly.

  The King strikes me. The blow hits me across the face, and I tumble down.

  “Do not lie,” he growls in warning. He unsheathes the dagger at his belt. “I will give you only one more warning.”

  A speck of pride rises up inside me. Without thinking, I push myself back up and stand. I still do not look my father in the eye—but if he cares so much about James, whom he’s shown nothing but utter disdain for previously, then my own predicament might be more salvageable than I first thought.

  “I know nothing of James except that I cloaked him and then used him to channel magic through the staff.” Maybe the realization that magic flowed through James will make the King reconsider his opinion of me. “After it was done, the link between us broke. I’ve felt nothing since.”

  “There was a battle,” the King glowers. “Could he have been killed?” He turns around and screams at Beatrice, “Why isn’t he here?”

  A flush of relief washes over me now that his attention is on someone else. I allow myself a soft but calming breath.

  “There were many casualties in the fight,” Beatrice offers. “But I do not suspect James would have taken arms against The Convicted army.”

  “Then where… is… he?” Logan hisses. “I did not think him cowardly enough to run!”

  “He has a unique advantage now,” Beatrice says. “In that he cannot be detected by other vampires. Perhaps your treatment of him was too harsh. Perhaps he decided that striking out on his own would give him the best chance for survival.”

  “That is,” the King begins, “a pile of horseshi—”

  The remainder of the curse is cut off when the door to the bed chamber creaks open.