by E. M. Knight
“You know that I am your man, my Lord. My sword belongs to you. As does my life.”
“And the lives of so many others in The Crypts,” he murmurs. “Oh, if they only knew...”
Alarm bells ring in my head. Knew what?
“I wish to show you something,” he says. “Something I have not shown to anybody else before. Not even The Ancient knows. Once I do—perhaps then, my request will make a little more sense.”
The gravity in his voice makes me cautious.
“Step back,” he says. “Give me room.”
I back away.
The King makes his way to the center of the floor. He raises his hands out in front of him and puts them together, almost as in prayer. He closes his eyes and goes absolutely still.
I watch him, tense, ready to spring to action at whatever comes next.
The King draws a deep breath. His chest expands. He holds it.
“Incolas,” he says.
Suddenly, the room drops drastically in temperature, and a pulsing, livid ball of fierce red light flares between the King’s palms.
His eyes open. Those black flecks in them are flickering like mad. The orb of light pulsates and draws into itself the energy of the room. The red inside gives way to a deep, impenetrable black. An outline of fire remains, cradling the orb like a halo. Angry welts mark the surface, rising from the depths before being swallowed up again by the storm.
“I have taught myself magic,” Logan says. The specks in his eyes flare. “Magic, of the darkest sort.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
RIYU
THE CRYPTS
Something is not right.
I’ve been pacing the interior of my room for hours, waiting for Dagan to return. I was sure he’d come back, after the herbal antidote Beatrice gave me helped him heal.
Maybe he didn’t take it? Maybe he’d changed his mind?
My brain is wracked with worries for my lieutenant. I’m antsy and tired of being locked up in here. But I dare not leave the room, for fear of missing Dagan when—if—he returns.
So all I can do is wait.
I wish that were the only thing troubling me. In truth, if it was that simple, I would have no reason to complain.
But it is not, because, for the better part of the last hour, the magical energies inherent in the air have become frenzied. They’ve started thrashing about as if caught in a great storm.
I’ve never felt anything like it before.
Fire, Earth, Water, Wind. The four Elemental Forces that make up the essence of magic. Aristotle was right when he’d described the elements. But such knowledge is reserved for those with The Spark, so the rest of the world never followed along.
And science could never uncover the truth. No instrument on this earth, apart from the sorcerer’s mind, can claim awareness of the Forces.
Usually, they are calm, steady, flowing through the world like a gentle river stream.
Yet now, they are raging.
It frightens me more than it should. It is as if they are protesting something… some intrusion, some abuse, some outside force. Yet I dare not investigate.
If things go wrong, I do not have the strength to recover.
So all I can do at the moment is shield myself from the magic. I consciously lock that ability of my mind away. Doing otherwise would be like going for a swim in shark-infested waters… with a fresh cut sliced along your arm.
I wish there were someone I could speak to. I wish my abilities hadn’t been permanently staggered, restrained, in my youth.
I wish, perhaps, that I didn’t even know about the restraint… because, that way, I’d have nothing to struggle against.
But such is not the way of the world.
Just as I’m about to sit down and try to lose myself in a book, my door flies open. A harried Beatrice rushes inside.
“Oh thank God you’re here!” she exclaims. “There’s been a disaster!”
“What?” I ask. “Does it have to do with Dagan?”
“No,” she says. “It has to do with the Narwhark. And the Black Sorceress.” She pauses. “She’s been unleashed.”
***
I run after Beatrice through the long and empty hallways of The Crypts, trying my best to make sense of things.
Apparently, there’s a second brand of magic. Black magic. It’s something I’d never been taught, something I have no conception of. But according to Beatrice, it exists, and the difference is that you do not need The Spark to wield it.
You do, however, need certain other abilities, the sum of which have proven to be even rarer.
“That is what I’ve been trying to uncover all these years,” she confides in me. She speaks a little too quickly for me to be truly comfortable with the veracity of her claims. But I say nothing, instead choosing to listen… as I’ve always done. “Every time I think I close in on a breakthrough, I hit some other road block. It’s been like that for decades!”
“And all your torrials underground?” I ask.
“Toys,” she says. “Nothing so powerful, nothing so vital as what The Haven’s queen possesses.”
I do not comment on the fact that had she involved me, she could have discovered the truth of each torrial’s strength much faster.
“But I was down there just now, watching over my babies—” she grimaces. Had she not meant to say that last part? “I was down there, Riyu, and the torrials started to act up! Power lashed out from them, others suddenly became surrounded by the blue glow. They’ve all lain inactive for so long that it—it frightened me. That’s why I came to you.”
“And you think the Narwhark has something to do with it?”
“The blasted demon has everything to do with it!” she exclaims. “It was brought to the earth for a purpose. The Narwhark is a creature of black magic. And the sorceress—she must have been the one to release it. And now she is awake!”
“How do you know this isn’t just a fantasy?” I question. “I’ve never heard of the Black Sorceress before. How do you know anything about her? And why should I, in this matter, believe you?”
“Because you know I’m honest,” she tells me. “I’ve always been honest with you.”
Now, I know that that’s a lie.
We reach the secret entrance to her experimental hub. She activates the doorway that grants us entrance inside. We hurry down a long flight of stairs.
I hear tortured screams faintly in the distance, but make no comment. All the vampires know Beatrice is doing wicked things down here. None are stupid enough to inquire further.
“Here,” Beatrice leads me the proper way. “The torrials are mostly down this way.”
I stop at the next flight of stairs. “If I go in there,” I say. “It will be dangerous.” I feel the flailing lashes of magic all around me. “You don’t understand, Beatrice. Something is badly wrong. The Forces feel different. It’s like they’re rebelling.”
“Of course they’re rebelling, you fool!” she hisses. “Black magic saps them of their strength. It breaks the equilibrium in which they exist. They are fighting against it, but they are inanimate things. And yet all things seek order, so they try to quell the disruption.”
“You speak as an authority,” I say. “But you cannot even do magic! How can you claim to know so much? These forces—you are blind to them.”
“No,” she says. “Not completely. All vampires are linked to each other by the vampiric essence. I’ve explained this to Eleira. That essence is what gives rise to magic. All supernatural creatures hold its seed.” She steps to me. “That is why I could, in theory, do black magic. It is why I have tried! Do you think I would devote so many years of my life to a worthless pursuit?”
“I don’t profess to know what you would do,” I say. “You poisoned Dagan because you thought it would help him come to me.”
“Is that what this is about? You’re bitter because he won’t return your affection?”
“No,” I say. “I’m bitter be
cause you endangered him. Which is not what I asked!”
“My, my, such passion,” she mutters. Then she shakes her head. “We’re getting distracted. Riyu, you have to go down there. You have to tell me if this can be stopped!”
“If what can be stopped?”
“The way the torrials are acting!”
“Why does that matter to you?”
“Because, you idiot, they could be destroyed! And they need to be protected. You don’t know how valuable they are.”
“I’ve never seen them,” I agree. “So no, I don’t. But I know more about them than you. Why is their survival so important to you? You think they will be your link to Black Magic, don’t you?”
She makes a sound in her throat. “No.”
“Then what?” I eye her warily.
“I think they can lead her to us,” Beatrice says. “And then… that would be a catastrophe.”
“The Black Sorceress,” I say flatly. “Whom you’ve given no proof even exists.”
Suddenly, her impatience rears its ugly head. “You ask one too many questions,” she says haughtily. “Must I remind you that you live in my debt? Do you want me to exert my influence over you?”
I steel my mind, ready to protect myself from such an attempt. Magic requires immense concentration… The same type of concentration, in fact, that can hold an attempt at influence at bay.
“I want the truth,” I say. “How do you know of the Black Sorceress? Answer me clearly, Beatrice, or I will not help.”
“After what I’ve done for you, that is how you repay me?” She sighs. “Fine. I’ll tell you. But if word of this leaves your lips, your life will be forfeit. Understand that.”
I stand my ground, challenging her with my gaze.
“I’ve been in contact with my former husband,” she says. “It’s not treason, don’t look at me that way. The King knows. Smithson is part of an organization called The Vorcellian Order. He’s a clever man, but he’s always been transparent to me.
“The order holds the Black Sorceress. They took her, imprisoned her. Tortured her, maybe.” Beatrice shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not even supposed to know they have her… but there are moles in his organization. Smithson is blinded by pride, and by his unwavering love for me. Over the years, he’s dropped enough hints for me to piece two and two together. Combined with my studies of magic, and the constellations, and the stars...”
“This is prophecy?” I ask. “You knew that this—” I wave a hand in the air, taking in all of the tumultuous invisible forces, “—that this would occur?”
“Prophecy or not, I thought it might happen. Look.” She takes me by the shoulder. “We are standing a dozen feet away from the biggest repository of magical objects on this earth. They don’t rival The Haven’s in strength, but they more than make up for it in variety. The only thing that can disrupt them is a surge of black magic. That’s what they’ve detected, that’s what they’re reacting to.
“Now, if you don’t believe in the Black Sorceress, that’s fine, it’s your own disability. But know that whoever is wielding black magic now will seek out these torrials. They will come here. And magical objects, Riyu, they are crafted to respond to both types of magic. Your pure, elemental one. And the one I wish to learn.
“So. You can see the risk we face. I want you to cloak them. Hide them, do your thing, make them invisible like you did James. Otherwise, they are a beacon that will lead the Black Sorceress straight to us. And with her comes the Narwhark, which we both know cannot be contained.”
I swallow. That is both the most honest and most convoluted explanation I could expect.
“You want me to save your artifacts,” I say. “So that you can have more time to try becoming like me.”
She makes a disgruntled sound, then nods.
“Very well,” I agree. “I’ll do it. But when I do—all our debt will be squared. And whatever I find down there—whatever torrial I see—I will have access to at any time, from here and into the future.”
She looks shocked. “You’re trying to bargain?”
I cross my arms. “Those are my conditions. They are firm.”
“Fine,” she grumbles. “Yes, yes, have at it. We are squared, our debt is absolved, and you can use the torrials as you wish. I might add, however, that your Father will not be too pleased with you when he finds out you’re expanding your capabilities.”
“Then let’s ensure he doesn’t,” I hold out my hand. “Deal?”
Beatrice hesitates… then clasps it.
“Yes. Deal.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
JAMES
THE SKIES OF THE MOUNTAINOUS NORTHWEST
“James?” Victoria stands at the entrance of the cockpit. “I need to speak with you.”
I glance past her at the slumbering forms of the two baby vampires. Both have had their fix of human blood. Both will grow strong enough to be worthy of my coven’s name.
For a time, odds did not appear in April’s favor.
I nod. Victoria comes in and sits beside me. The special protective screen over the windows filters out the worst of the light, but it’s still uncomfortable to be here.
The fledglings, for example, could never take it.
Yet Victoria seems more comfortable in the sun’s rays than she is even at night. That’s always interested me.
She does not speak for a few moments. Whatever she has to say, it’s weighing heavily on her.
“Out with it,” I growl.
“Fine.” She keeps her eyes directed forward. “You cannot keep making vampires, James.”
“What?” I glare at her. Then I laugh. “Why the hell not? No laws bind me anymore. I am the leader of my own coven, I will do as I please.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not that.”
“Oh?” I turn to her. “Then what?”
She gives an exasperated grunt. “Where do you think their powers come from?” she asks, gesturing behind us to the cabin. “Do you think they just gather theirs from thin air?”
I look her over. “What are you implying?”
“That every time you make a vampire, James, they take their power from you.”
“What?” I laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”
She shakes her head again. “It is not.”
“Well, I feel as strong as ever.” I tell her firmly. “You’re probably wrong. Propaganda is clouding your head, spread by my father and—”
“I’m not wrong, dammit, I’m worried for you!” she bursts out.
I blink. “What?”
“You think yourself invincible. You see these… girls… as little more than toys. April, Liana, hell, even Wanda. They are your playthings, dolls brought to life.” She turns to me. “But you do not know the dangers of what you are doing.”
“And you do?” I ask, incredulous.
“Yes,” she nods. “You’re… you are… you’re the closest thing to a friend I’ve ever had. There! I said it. Mock me if you will.”
“A friend.” I twist my lips. “I would have preferred ‘lover.’”
She hits my arm. “Don’t joke!” she says.
And for some reason, it finally strikes me that she’s being serious.
Could… Victoria… be developing feelings for me?
That’s ridiculous. After the way I’ve treated her?
But I keep my mouth shut and let her continue.
“You don’t know what you’re doing making your spawn,” she says. “You think you do. You fashion yourself invincible. But look at what nearly befell April! She would have been stunted if we hadn’t gotten her properly fed.”
“A single mistake,” I say. “Long since corrected.”
She shakes her head. “No, James. You don’t understand. Each fledgling a vampire makes… they draw on the powers of their maker. You have a reservoir inside you, a pool of your dark, vampiric self. You give parts of that away each time you make someone new. You lose the full use of your powers.”
> “Again,” I note. “I don’t feel any weaker.”
“That’s because most of your coven is dead!” she exclaims. “That’s because they never had a chance to grow. But as the strength of these two girls develops… it will sap your own.”
I stare at her blankly. “I remain unconvinced.”
“If it were so easy to make fledglings,” she continues, “how aren’t there armies of vampires running about now? Why hasn’t the whole world been converted? Why aren’t there millions of our kind?”
“Simple,” I say. “Vampires are selfish creatures. They care only for themselves. They do not want to share their power.”
“And you’re not even sharing,” Victoria stresses. “You’re giving it away!”
“The Haven had four-hundred odd vampires at its peak,” I say. “I’ve been to The Crypts. There are thousands there. You’re telling me each one of those drain the powers of whoever made them?” I scoff. “Please.”
“There are different ways of making vampires, James, don’t you get it? Remember the chalices? Remember Eleira’s exchange of blood?”
I shudder. Best not to think of that time.
“What of it?”
“Certain methods shield the maker from giving away his power. At the very least, they provide paths to recovery. But not the way you’re doing it!”
“I was the one who made Eleira,” I tell her haughtily. “And I am as strong as ever. Despite her powers.”
“You’re not listening to me!” she exclaims. “You may have given her the serum, but her transformation took hold after the ceremony I initiated. That is why your powers haven’t been sapped by her!”
“If you’re trying to frighten me, you are failing miserably,” I tell her. “For the third time, I have felt no weakening.”
“That’s because your fledglings haven’t strengthened yet!” she stresses. “Just you wait. As Liana’s and April’s powers grow, yours will be sapped. No amount of blood will return them for you. What you give, you give away forever.”
“And what about the human blood they fed on?” I ask. “That’s what builds vampiric strength. It doesn’t come from me but from their victims.”
