The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset)

by William Stacey

Then one of the wooden shroud pegs snapped, freeing a guide rope to whip about in the wind. Kora’s eyes grew wide, and she let go of her handhold, dashed to the side of the hull, and leaned far out, grasping at the flying rope, missing it by at least a foot. Owen slipped free of the rope securing him to the women and rushed over to help Kora, slamming into the hull and almost falling overboard in the process. Kora yelled something, but he couldn’t make it out. A moment later, she gripped him around the waist, and he understood. Letting her hold onto him, he leaned dangerously over the hull, straining to catch the rope with the wooden shroud still attached to it. Water sprayed his face, obscuring his vision, and he knew if Kora’s fingers slipped, he’d be over the side and gone in a moment. He groaned, reaching out farther, his fingers straining. Then, just when he was certain he’d never catch it, the wind shifted and threw the rope back at him. He gripped it as tightly as his numb fingers would allow. Kora and another crew member hauled him back over the hull. They took the rope from him and quickly reattached it to another shroud along the gunwale. Kora slapped him on the back. He saw other crew members nervously eying the remaining mast shrouds. One of the crew members scrambled up to Kora, pointing at Fioni as she put her lips near Kora’s ear. Kora squeezed the woman’s arm and then looked about at the nearby crew members. When her eyes fell on Owen, she scuttled over to him, keeping her center of balance low as she yelled into his ear, “We need to run ropes around the hull! Can you help?”

  Lady Danika and Gali stared at him in terror, but he nodded. He secured both women to one of the nearby rowing benches. “I’ll be back when I can!” he yelled at Lady Danika.

  Kora grabbed a dozen other select crew members, and together they began to slip wide rings of rope around the prow. Then they pulled and tugged the ropes, dragging them as far back along the hull as they could before pulling them tight. Tying knots in such conditions was desperately difficult work, made harder by the constant pounding the sea gave them, but somehow they managed. The hull creaked and groaned. One of those helping, a thin, bald man named Eigley —or Egg, as the crew called him—who had a long, drooping mustache, yelled something to Owen. Owen didn’t catch his words, but the thumbs-up and smile Egg gave him was clear enough. A moment later, a wave washed over the hull, sending both men reeling. Owen fell against a nearby bench, cracking his shin against it and sending a bolt of pain up his leg. When he staggered back to his feet, Egg was gone. He ran forward, sliding up against the hull where Egg had been a moment before. He leaned over the hull, screaming for help, but saw nothing in the roiling waters. Kora was beside him in a moment, her eyes tense with concern. “Egg went over!” he yelled.

  Peering at the waves, she gripped the wooden Wodor’s hammer she wore on a thong around her neck, looked into Owen’s eyes, and shook her head. He looked away, scanning the waves once more, but saw nothing. His heart thudded dully in his chest as he stared at the dark, heaving waves, an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. Infinitely tired, he turned away, stumbling back hand over hand along the gunwale to the two women, and joined them again without a word.

  #

  Sometime later, the wind just died down without warning. Even the waves, although still rough, became noticeably calmer. The transition was so abrupt, a current of excitement ran through the crew as they leaned over the hull, staring at the sea around them, as if looking for something. Kora ran to the stern platform and began to converse excitedly with Fioni, who was pointing directly ahead of them. Owen staggered to the prow and then peered past the wooden wolf’s head, staring out into the dark night. Lightning flared in the distance, highlighting a vast shape rising before them. Kora rushed forward, excitement on her face. “Hoist full sail and pray to Orkinus!” she yelled to the crew.

  Owen grabbed her arm, stopping her. “What is it?”

  “We’re in the lee of an island. It’s sheltering us from the wind. Fioni wants to push on now and sail for it at best speed.”

  “We’re safe?” he asked with incredulity, having been certain they’d die this night.

  Kora barked in laughter, shaking her head. “Not even a little bit, Northman. With the sail raised, we’ll be far less maneuverable. If we broach to, we’ll founder stern first or slew broadside and capsize.” She punched him in the shoulder, her eyes flashing. “But what an adventure, no?”

  Owen helped the crew, hauling on a guide rope. As the bright-green sail extended to its full height, the winds gripped it, snapping it full—and Fen Wolf shot forward like an arrow. Owen leaned over the hull, trying to make out the looming shape of the island through the rain. Mist sprayed his face and ran into his beard. Unable to help himself, he threw his head back and laughed.

  Both Gali and Lady Danika were watching him with concern.

  “Tidal streams to port side!” a lookout screamed.

  Other crew members relayed the warning, yelling it back to Fioni, who pulled hard on the tiller, turning the ship’s prow away from the port side. When lightning flared again, Owen saw a whirlpool in the water, bigger than the ship and not a bow’s shot away. Had they kept their initial course, they’d have sailed right into it. The hull creaked in protest, but Fen Wolf slipped past the hazard. Minutes later, the worst of the storm seemed to just… end, eerily, abruptly. The dark clouds parted before them, revealing a night sky filled with stars, highlighting vast black cliffs, like a wall, rising before them. Kora, standing near the prow, turned and yelled to Fioni. “It’s the Godswall!”

  The crew cheered. Owen looked at Lady Danika and Gali, who seemed as confused as he was. The waves, so huge and threatening only minutes ago, were now only gently rolling. The tall, knifelike peaks, hundreds of feet high, stabbed into a clear, star-filled night sky—but only over the cliffs. In all other directions, the sky remained dark and angry. Behind them, thunder crackled as the storm raged on. He stared at Kora in confusion. “What does this mean?”

  She jumped down onto the deck and wrapped her arms around his waist, actually lifting him off the deck several inches as she whooped in joy. “It means, Northman, we’ve found Torin Island.”

  Chapter 27

  Danika

  Danika stood before the hull, watching the cliffs speed past as Fen Wolf sailed around the Godswall. Surprisingly, the air was far warmer than it had been in weeks, almost balmy, like a warm summer night. Despite the ocean being much calmer near the island, the helmsman maintained a safe distance from the cliffs, where the waves might throw them against the rocks. Out to sea, the storm continued to rage, but all was surreal and still near the Godswall. Bright stars and a half moon shone down, bathing the ship in silver. Danika still couldn’t believe it. It was beyond surreal; it was impossible.

  But it was true, nonetheless.

  The storm swept around Torin Island and the Godswall, avoiding it.

  Earlier, when the seas had calmed, Gali had left her to help with the wounded. Five crew members had died during the fighting with Thunder Killer. At least one of the wounded—Herla High-Eye, the woman who had so expertly operated the tiller during Kora’s maneuver to slip past Thunder Killer—would die before the sun rose. It had been Herla whose face Dilan had slashed, shearing away her nose, one of her eyes, and most of her cheek. She had been suffering for hours now. When she passed, it would be a blessing.

  Owen sat alone on a rowing bench, his back against the hull, his knees pulled up to his chest, staring at nothing. Seeing Dilan as a blood fiend had affected him deeply, she knew. It had been the same with her and Brice. What Serina did to others was a… foul thing… far worse than just killing them. She stared at Owen now, her guilt eating at her. I could have warned him—I should have warned him. Why didn’t I? Did I want to spare him the pain I suffered, or was I just too frightened to bring it up? Who was I protecting—him, or myself?

  She heard a rustle behind her as Kora slipped next to her and stared out at the Godswall. For long moments, the two women watched in silence as the dark cliffs slipped past. “Have you ever seen anything like thi
s before?” Danika broke the silence, looking from the clear night sky to the dark clouds that ringed the Godswall. Lightning suddenly forked down, striking the cliffs, leaving a bright afterimage in her eyes for a few moments.

  Kora shook her head. “No, but my grandmother did, when she came here with Serl. I’ve sailed through many a storm—and some of ‘em were real ship-killers. Sometimes, you’ll sail into an eerie calm in the heart of the storm—but not like this.” She looked out to sea, at the turbulent dark waves. “Storm’s moving away, heading nor’east, but the clouds sweep around the Godswall, like sheep avoiding a campfire.” Kora gripped her Wodor’s hammer, held it tightly in her fist. “This… this is the will of the gods.”

  Despite the warm, balmy weather, Danika shivered.

  #

  The Godswall was far larger than Danika had realized. Hours later, they were still sailing around it. Eventually, the storm that surrounded them began to abate, and as it did, the fog bank returned—but like the storm, the fog avoided the island. The lightning strikes along the peaks continued, seemingly at random, but ceaseless. Danika had never seen anything like it. Most of the crew slept now, but despite wrapping herself in a fur, Danika found sleep impossible. At the base of the stern platform, where the wounded slept, a single lantern shone, illuminating Fioni, who sat beside the dying Herla. Danika rose, pulled her boots on, and then carefully stepped past the sleeping crew members, slowly making her way to the stern. As always, Ekkie lay on her stomach alongside Fioni. At Danika’s arrival, the dog briefly opened her eyes to watch her, and then almost as quickly went back to sleep. Ekkie snored softly, and Fioni scratched behind the wolfhound’s massive pointy ears. Fioni watched wordlessly as Danika lowered herself next to Herla, sitting across from Fioni. Danika sadly gazed upon Herla. A blood-soaked cloth had been left atop the woman’s face, covering most of it, but leaving her one remaining eye exposed. That eye was closed now, hopefully in slumber. Herla’s breathing was wet and slow. Danika watched the wounded woman. “Does she…”

  “She sleeps, thank the gods,” whispered Fioni. “But I think she’ll move on soon. She has another journey to make.”

  “I’m sorry. I barely knew her, but I liked her. She’s… fierce.”

  Fioni softly snorted, the trace of a smile on her tired face. “She is that.”

  The lightning struck the peaks again, this time illuminating what looked like a… tall structure of some type—one sitting atop the cliff’s peaks.

  “It’s odd, no?” Fioni said. “Seeing lightning but hearing no thunder afterwards. I knew to expect it, but each time I see the flash, I expect to hear the thunder, the booming of Wodor’s hammer in the sky.”

  “There’s something up there,” said Danika, certain she had seen something manmade atop the cliffs.

  “Giant towers. Made entirely of steel. Serl wrote of them in his journal. When the sun comes up in the morning, we’ll see them more clearly, set all along the cliffs at regular intervals, like watchtowers. Which only makes sense—the Godswall protects Torin Island.”

  Towers, atop cliffs? Danika shook her head, wondering at the engineering marvel that must be. Perhaps Fioni was right; maybe Torin Island was once the home of gods.

  A spasm seemed to course through Herla, and she moaned in pain. Fioni gripped her hand with both of hers. “It’s all right, sister,” she whispered. “You don’t need to keep fighting. You’ve shown us all how to be brave.”

  In response, Herla’s eyelid fluttered weakly.

  “Were you close?” Danika asked her.

  Fioni sighed sadly. “All of our lives. Herla, me… Kora.” Leaning forward, she traced her fingers through Herla’s dark hair. The barest hint of a smile curled up the corner of Fioni’s mouth. “You two have the same long dark hair. It’s so rare among us Fenyir, you know. Have you noticed the men stealing glances at you? I have. It was ever the same with Herla. I was so jealous, so I used to torment her mercilessly. I told her she wasn’t really one of the Fenyir but the drunken get of a kingdom sailor who had lain with her mother. The last time I made that joke, I was… eight maybe. By then, Herla had had enough of my stupidity. She punched me in the nose and knocked me on my ass. Before I could do anything, she sat atop my chest and ripped a handful of hair from my head. The pain was… glorious. I was crying. She was crying. The servants were running about, screaming for our mothers. And Herla, dragged away by her mother, waved a handful of my hair at me, yelling, ‘See? Now I have red hair, too.’ Fioni laughed, an exhausted, barely recognizable thing. “But I never mocked you again, did I, Herla?” She sobbed, looking away as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

  Danika smiled dutifully. That may have been the first sign of vulnerability Danika had ever seen in the woman.

  They sat there in silence for long moments. When Fioni finally spoke again, steel laced her voice. “I have so many reasons to kill Galas. How does he keep finding us, I wonder?”

  “I don’t think it’s your cousin. Before she became a blood fiend, Serina Greywynne was already a sorcerer, a master necromancer. Who knows what evil spirits she can call upon.”

  Fioni rested her chin on her palm, her elbow on her knee. “And this is our destiny: blood fiends and necromancers?” She shook her head. “The spinster-crones are having a fine laugh at our expense, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sorry for all you’ve lost, Fioni Ice-Bound: your father, Rolf, now your childhood friend. The price for helping us is… too high.”

  “No. You shame me, my lady of Wolfrey. I need to apologize to you… and Owen. I was angry earlier. None of this is your fault, nor his, truth be heard above the wind. Our fates are preordained—me, my father, Rolf, Herla… even you kingdom types, I suspect. All we can do is bravely play out the tapestry of our lives.” Her lip trembled as she stared at her friend. “But you, Herla, you were so brave. You fought a blood fiend. Who among the clans now alive can boast of such an act?” Fioni closed her eyes again, running her palms back over her face, through her short red hair. “Gods, save us. Blood fiends, ghouls—and Serina-fucking-Greywynne! Who lives through such times?”

  Silence once again settled over the two women. They remained like that for long moments. Lightning again struck the cliffs, highlighting another tower. When Fioni spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper. “What… what happened to Owen? I’ve seen him face death without the slightest hesitation, but he was… shaken today, unnerved. Who was that man—that thing?”

  “Dilan Reese, one of my family’s men-at-arms.” A slight gust of wind blew Danika’s hair before her eyes, and she brushed it away. “He was once Owen’s friend, maybe his best friend.” She felt broken inside, as she had when Brice had driven Sight-Bringer through his own heart. She choked back a sob. Damn Serina! “Dilan was brave and noble and kind and responsible and… and a hundred other things that no one will ever know about or remember—because he’s a soulless monster now. Serina destroys everyone around her.” Danika looked away, tears now running down her cheeks. Brice, it’s all too hard. Please, come back.

  Everything is too hard.

  “We Fenyir believe,” whispered Fioni, “that if we die bravely, perhaps Orkinus will choose to bring us to Nifalgen. There, we drink and eat and fornicate all day and all night.” She winked at Danika. “But some of those heroes—the bravest, the finest—are reborn, returned to life as black fish, to once again swim the seas we love.”

  Danika wiped her tears and smiled. “That’s a pleasant belief. Our kingdom scripture says that as long as we honor Father Craftsman and live by his laws, face our end with courage and dignity, we will find peace in the afterlife. We can even be with those who have crossed the Golden Veil before us. I’d like that.”

  Fioni leaned over Herla and squeezed Danika’s knee. “That, too, is a pleasant belief.” She sat back, once again holding Herla’s hand in both of hers. “Although, no insult intended, my lady of Wolfrey, I’d rather spend eternity drinking and screwing.”

  “And who sa
ys there won’t be time for lovemaking across the Golden Veil?” said Danika, thinking now of Brice. Lightning struck the cliffs again, this time much farther away, on the far side of the Godswall, snapping Danika from more pleasant memories. “Your uncle, if he’s still alive—he’s been living alone on Torin Island, guarding Serina’s heart for almost fifty years.”

  “He’d be almost seventy by now, but you have a question?”

  “Why? Why do it? Why spend a lifetime alone with that foul thing?”

  “Duty,” she said softly. “Duty to his family. Duty to his clan. Duty to the gods. According to my father, Denyr was a very pious young man.”

  “But… fifty years?”

  “It was never supposed to be that long. Serl meant to come back for him after he was certain Serina was truly dead. But Serl foolishly tried to sell a handful of the blood gems taken with Serina’s heart to Kalishni’coor.”

  Danika sighed. “And Kalishni’coor was the one who had given those gems to Serina to begin with. He had been expecting her heart, as well. But the ship never arrived.”

  “But Serl and a handful of the gems did. So that odious ball-sack betrayed Serl and murdered him—before he could make Serl tell him where the heart lay hidden. And Serl never had the chance to return for his grandson. I’ll be honest with you. I hope my uncle is long dead. Sometimes the cost of duty is far too high.”

  “Duty,” Danika repeated softly. “Someone once told me, ‘Duty is a double-edged sword. It cuts both wielder and foe.’ Duty to family drove me to accompany my brother to Greywynne Island. Duty pushed me on this voyage. Duty stopped me from... from going away with someone I loved when he begged me. If I could only have that moment back...”

  Fioni watched her in near silence, the only sound the water lapping against the hull, the creaking of the rigging, the snapping of the sail, and Herla’s ever weaker, ever less regular breaths. “Could you have lived with yourself, my lady of Wolfrey, if you had abandoned duty to run away with your lover? Do you think you’d have been happy knowing you had let your family down?”