The Ghost, The Dragon, and The Lost King (Fated Chronicles Book 4)

by Humphrey Quinn

  Yes, with time and focus, she could sometimes manage specifically aimed visions, but more often than not, this was not the case. Seers could not just see on demand, which made their jobs all the harder, since that’s what almost everyone wanted and expected.

  Her mentor, PanSofia, managed this more so than any other seer she’d met. But her mentor also had many long years of practice and she’d be the first one to warn that seeing was not instant gratification, or a way to determine a certain future.

  Regardless of what Fazendiin or the Grosvenor wanted from her, she would not betray her people or her family. Or Eddy… she wished desperately to know if he was okay. Or even still alive.

  Another fact she had to remind herself of… she’d never find out if he or anyone else from the quest was dead or alive unless Jurekai Fazendiin suddenly let her go. She’d have to give him something, or maybe everything he wanted if she had any hope of this happening.

  Betray those she loved? Or stay prisoner forever? Or maybe even face her own premature death?

  She wiped away the tears falling down her cheeks, just now feeling the wetness against her skin and realizing she was crying. She could not remember the last time she’d cried. But she refused to let her captor see any weakness.

  She left her room and found the bath, as promised.

  It wasn’t easy but she took her bath and returned to her room and dressed. Once done and ready, she opened her bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway. A perfectly normal looking hallway now. To her left was a staircase. She fisted her hands, trying to keep her angst clenched inside them. After reaching the bottom of the stairs, she heard the sounds of dishes clanging around. The kitchen, she assumed, and followed.

  Juliska was not surprised when she opened the door to see it was indeed a kitchen.

  She was surprised, however, to see her captor leaning over a pot on a woodstove. Cooking…

  He looked up upon hearing her enter and smiled.

  He’s smiling at me like we’re old friends… she held back a shudder. She’d heard the Grosvenor had gone a little crazy with age and time… Fazendiin, it seemed, was no exception.

  “You look refreshed. Have a seat,” he motioned to a small table in the middle of the large kitchen. It wasn’t so unlike the kitchen in her mother’s cottage, except much larger. The cast iron woodstove he was cooking over was impressive, even if she didn’t want to admit it. It was the largest one she’d ever seen, and magnificently ornate.

  She obeyed his request and took a seat at the table. It was modest considering the size of the kitchen. Meant for intimate meals. She wondered if there was anyone else around, or if it was just her and Fazendiin.

  Her gaze never left her captor as his attention returned to the pot he was stirring on the stove. She didn’t know why, but she expected him to have a personal cook, or butlers or assistants, or even minions, or something…

  The Grosvenor otherwise known as the most frightening man in the magical world cooking over a hot stove was not something she’d have ever dreamt up on her own.

  He looked up to see the puzzled expression on her face.

  “Like you, Juliska, I have trust issues,” he shared with her.

  She eyed him not quite understanding, and unwilling to ask for clarification.

  “I cook all my own food,” he explained. “I don’t allow others to cook for me. I’m also rather picky about what I eat. I hope you’re not a meat lover, or your time with me will be much more difficult than I’d prefer.”

  “I’m to believe you’re what? A vegetarian?” Juliska hated that it had slipped across her tongue, and in such a snide manner. Not a good way to win over her captor. But to her surprise, he just chuckled and grabbed two wooden soup bowls.

  She did not honestly care one way or another about what she had to eat. Mostly, her brain was stuck on what else he had said… your time with me… meaning that perhaps there might be an end to it. She wanted to ask what that meant but held her tongue. If it ended with her death, she didn’t want to know.

  He put one of the bowls down in front of her and the other in front of himself and took the seat across from her. She just stared. He was so close. Close enough to reach out with her hand and touch him… or grab that knife… it was just sitting there next to a loaf of bread and she had been so engrossed by the idea of him cooking his own food that she hadn’t even seen it.

  He grinned and picked up the knife. “You’re not the knife type…” He sliced into the bread loaf.

  She cleared her throat. She wasn’t the knife type, and regardless, it would not work on someone like Fazendiin… then again, maybe simple was the key. He would not expect simple, it was beneath him, and stabbing him through the heart would at least hurt him, badly, even though it would not kill him.

  Maybe knives should be her thing…

  Yeah, and say you catch the mighty Grosvenor off guard and stab him, then what?

  You just miraculously get free of this place…

  She was certain this was not the type of estate that one simply walked into, or out of.

  The bread was fresh and hot. Steam wafted out of each slice and without any willpower whatsoever, her mouth watered. He slathered a slice with butter and handed it to her.

  “Sorry,” he suddenly apologized. “I should have asked if you like butter or prefer to just dunk it in your stew.”

  She opened her mouth to respond but nothing came out. This was just beyond weird. Maybe she was still asleep… or unconscious somewhere. Perhaps this was just all part of the illusion…

  He waited patiently for her to answer.

  “Um, butter is fine. Thanks.” Oh, nice. Now you’re thanking him! She accepted the bread and placed it next to her bowl of stew. She hated to admit that it smelled good too. Perhaps it was just that she hadn’t eaten in so long. A new thought reached her addled brain… what if it was poisoned. Or laced with some kind of magic…

  “We’re eating out of the same pot,” he responded to her secret worry.

  She lifted her gaze and stared at him. Can he read minds?

  “If you’re thinking I can read your mind, Juliska, you are incorrect. I’m just guessing what’s going through your mind right now. You don’t trust me and that is okay. I don’t expect you to.” He took his bread, dipped it into his stew and ate a big bite.

  “Did you bake this bread yourself?” she asked him, for lack of anything better to say in response.

  “Yes. I don’t eat it unless these hands made it. Everything in this soup was harvested out of one of my gardens this morning. The bread, made from wheat and oats grown on the grounds of my estate.”

  “And the butter?”

  He lifted his hands into the air.

  “Right. Churned it yourself… Fazendiin the immortal farmer,” she scoffed. Again with the snide reply… can we try not to piss him off? She broke down and took a bite. She sighed, her stomach and tongue betraying her. It tasted every bit as yummy as it smelled. Possibly one of the best stews or bread loaves she’d ever eaten.

  “I didn’t know if you enjoyed a glass of wine or a drink of some kind with your meals, so I stocked up on anything you might need.”

  “Um…” she shook her head. “I don’t drink… alcohol I mean.” Although she was starting to feel a need for one. Or ten. But she needed a clear head, now more than ever.

  “I’ll remove it then as I don’t drink either.” He dipped his bread into the stew and took a large chunk into his mouth. “Delicious, if I do say so myself.” He patted his belly.

  Her mouth fell open and she had to force it closed.

  “I don’t get it,” she admitted a second later. “I am awake, right? This is all real and you are one of the immortal Grosvenor, right?”

  “Yes. On all counts.” His answer hinted at humor over her reaction to him. “The most frightening man in the world, at your service…” he grinned smugly and took another bite.

  “This is…” she stopped. Even he knew how others saw hi
m. “Why do you care about what you eat? Or drink? Or who prepares your meals? I mean, you of all people… you can’t die. Isn’t one of the benefits of not being able to die to do whatever the hell you want?”

  “I suppose some might see it like that. The rest of my kind do. But tell me, just because I am immortal, why fill my body with poison? A body filled with toxic waste is a mind muddled in the same.” He shook his head. “No, I’ll take real food to keep both the mind and the body sharp. Now eat. Then we’ll talk, about more than food…”

  She obeyed, eager to find out exactly why he’d taken her. She ate heartily until full.

  It was good. Really good. Too good, and she hated herself for being too weak to think otherwise. Regardless, fifteen minutes later she’d finished the entire bowl and two slices of bread.

  “More?” he asked her.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’m full.” Which was true. She’d eaten much more than she did typically at one meal.

  “Good. Go wash your bowl now. Sink’s over there,” he nodded with his head.

  She looked at him like he was crazy. Surely he didn’t steal her to be his personal slave…

  He laughed as though reading her thoughts again. “I assume you clean your own dishes at home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’ll do the same here. As you can see, I don’t have a staff on hand to help out. You clean up after yourself. I’ll clean up after myself… we’ll get along just fine.”

  “Why don’t you just use magic?”

  “I do. For some things. But not something as mundane as cooking or washing dishes. Magic and food are not a healthy mix.”

  “Right. Prepared by your hands only.” She got up, a bit dazed. This was not at all how she pictured the most reviled man in the world to be living. Jurekai Fazendiin was the most frightening man she’d ever heard of… and he cooked his own meals, and cleaned his own dishes. It was just bizarre. But she obeyed and cleaned up after herself just the same.

  When they had finished, he told her to follow him and they went into a room she could only describe as grand. A living room, a study, a library… one could spend days in this room just looking at all the books. By the sheer size and height of the room, she wondered if long ago it perhaps had been a great hall where parties or dances took place. He led them to the far end in front of a roaring fireplace. Even though it was summer, the air inside the estate was cool.

  He motioned for her to have a seat across from him. She took a seat, but tried not to get too comfortable, sitting near the edge.

  “Tea?” he asked her.

  “Seriously?” She sucked in, not meaning for that to escape her mouth. She was acting far too comfortable around her captor.

  He smiled. “I take it you expected something much different of me?”

  “I’m sorry…” she didn’t even know why she was apologizing. “You already said you don’t drink, I guess I just assumed you for more of the coffee type.”

  “I like tea, is that a crime?”

  “No. I guess not. And yes, I’ll have a cup of tea.”

  “Honey?”

  “Let me guess, you have a beehive and harvest your own honey?”

  “Of course.”

  She just eyed him like he was insane, but took her cup of tea and set it on a side table to cool a bit.

  “I knew you when you were a little girl,” he stated quite suddenly.

  She was glad she’d set down the tea.

  “What?”

  He grinned and rubbed his chin.

  “I took away your memories.”

  Her breath caught and everything started to spin. She leaned back in her chair; sitting on the edge didn’t seem like the best idea now.

  “Sorry,” he apologized. “I should have said that a little differently. I’m not known for my tact.”

  Juliska had no idea what to say. What to ask. How to respond to what he’d just claimed. Was it actually true?

  “Let me back up a little and explain. I knew your parents. I did not know them well, and only briefly.”

  “How… how did you know them?” She inwardly scolded herself for asking. She might just be playing right into his hand. He might be lying.

  Fazendiin gave no indication of his feelings in the matter. “They came to me for help,” he answered.

  “You? Why? And how?”

  “Because I will always help family…” he let that statement linger for a moment.

  Juliska leaned as far back in her chair as possible and just stared at him, distrust heavy in her gaze. This had to be a lie. He was lying to her. There was no way this was true.

  She’d imagined many things about her childhood, and her parents, her life before she’d been found by the Svoda… the memories she’d for some reason forgotten. But this is not something she’d ever thought of. Being related to Jurekai Fazendiin or the Grosvenor. A shudder of doubt rippled down her spine.

  She picked up her tea and sipped at it, but found she had to set down the cup as her hands were shaking too much.

  “Sorry. Again with the tact thing. We’re not exactly family, and yet we are, but with everything you’ve been told about me, or our kind, I understand your displeasure.”

  Our kind… he said it with such belief in it.

  “I really have no idea what you mean.”

  “I followed you, when you and your explorer friends set out on your quest.”

  “It was you,” she admitted accidentally.

  “You knew?” he seemed pleased by this.

  “Not exactly that it was you, just… someone.”

  “It was me. I was curious as to what was going on. I hadn’t planned on attacking. Saw no point… until I smelled your blood. And realized who you were. Juliska Blackwell, all grown up.”

  She ignored the fatherly sentiment in his tone.

  “What does that mean? Smelling my blood?”

  “It’s how my kind… your kind… recognize members of our clan. Among other things.”

  “I’m not…” she didn’t finish.

  “You don’t know who you are, Juliska. How could you? I stole your memories.”

  She leaned forward looking into his eyes for any sign of dishonesty. She did not like what she saw there… truth. Her gut was telling her he was speaking the truth.

  “Okay. Um… I’m not saying I actually believe any of this, but why did you steal my memories?”

  “Your parents asked me to protect you. They loved you, tremendously. Family is the most important thing to our kind.”

  “Our kind?” She had a vague idea what this meant, but wanted him to say it.

  “Don’t play dumb, Juliska. It’s not who you are.”

  She blinked hard for a minute, her brain furiously recalling every bit of information it had stored about the Grosvenor.

  “Vampyres…” she muttered. “You’re telling me I’m like you… well, not immortal, but I’m a vampyre.”

  “Yes. A descendant of the Shogharne clan, the most powerful clan of vampyre in existence. The clan the Grosvenor were created from.”

  “But I thought that clan died out after the Stone War ended.” She rephrased. “Were killed off, I mean.”

  “Just how much do you know about the Stone War?” he questioned her.

  “Just what I learned in school. It happened. A lot of lives were lost. The Grosvenor… you… were created. Shogharne who did not become Grosvenor were hunted down and killed before they had the chance to become immortal as well…” she was interrupted.

  “Killed by the people that became the Svoda,” he was sure to point out. “Many were innocent woman and children.”

  “Well. Yes. The Svoda were trying to contain the damage you did. You tore apart villages, and families, destroyed many magical clans. Many who survived the Stone War banded together and did become the Svoda.”

  “I can see you’ve been taught the watered down, memorize this for your test, version of our hist
ory. I assumed as much.”

  She took offense. “You’re telling me everything I was taught, isn’t true? That’s not how it really happened?”

  “We’re getting off subject a bit. Let’s back up. The main point, at this moment, is that even though the Svoda did hunt down and kill what remained of our clan, a few did survive and went into hiding. Your family was one that survived. Your bloodline continued.”

  “I’m not a vampyre,” she refuted. “I don’t suck life of out of the living… I’ve never…” she was horrified at the thought.

  “You have not, yet…” His tone warned she would. “You’re not quite old enough for that need to have kicked in.”

  “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe any of this. I think you’re just trying to make me think we’re somehow on the same side. And taking way too long to just getting around to what you really want from me!” She stood up and dared him to deny it.

  “Which would be?”

  “Visions, of course. I’m a seer. That’s all anyone ever wants from me. I’m not stupid, so don’t lie to me, tell me we’re alike, and related to try to win me over.”

  “Fiery… I like it. But I’m not lying. I have no reason to lie. You can choose to believe me or not… and while your talents as a seer would no doubt prove useful to me, it is not why you’re here, Juliska.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but found no words. She still didn’t believe him. She wasn’t the last living member of some now extinct clan of vampyres. But she had no memories of her childhood, nothing before the day the Svoda found her and took her in as one of their own. They were her family. Not this monster in front of her.

  Wait? How did he even know she’d lost her memories? Her thoughts betrayed her almost instantly.

  “Starting to wonder, just a little aren’t you? If I’m telling the truth?” He smirked. He’d won this round.

  Juliska realized her past wouldn’t be too hard to research. He probably just poked around a little. He hadn’t actually told her anything others didn’t already know.

  “What happened to all the people I was traveling with? Did you kill them?” She needed to know, not that she’d believe him.