The Queen Maker

by Kristen Gupton

  He decided it was time to put his younger charge to a test. “Very well, then. If you can beat me, Keiran, I will say nothing more about you heading into battle. It would be best for you to get a little practice in before you go off to do such a thing, anyway. Go get your sword.”

  Keiran thought it sounded fair enough, and it was somewhat on topic with military action about to take place. His eyes narrowed. “And where do you wish to do this? I suppose you won’t have us going outside the castle walls like we used to.”

  The guard thought for a moment. They had always sparred in the open space surrounding the castle. As king, though, if they wanted to do so, there would be a demand for several other guards to accompany them. Kanan didn’t have the men to spare with all the preparations taking place.

  “With the snow, the courtyard is empty enough. Meet there and hurry up,” Kanan said. “Might as well get used to being out in the cold.”

  Keiran ran back up to his room. He not only put on his sword belt with his rapier, but he opted to don a heavier shirt as well. His brief stint outside had already made him cold, and he would have preferred a cloak. The restrictions of wearing one while fighting, though, didn’t appeal to him. Kanan certainly wouldn’t bother to wear one for the activity, and Keiran would be damned if he’d do something the old man wasn’t willing to.

  When he returned to the courtyard, Kanan was standing in the middle of it, alone. The snow was falling heavier, the entire scene cast in a white blanket. The sunlight was weak and diffuse due to the cloud cover. For the most part, the snowflakes were drifting straight down as the previous breeze had died.

  The old man already had his sword in hand, though he looked entirely relaxed. He’d tied back his long, silver hair, and like Keiran, he’d opted to forego a cloak or any sort of restrictive garment.

  The vampire drew his rapier and held it before his face for a moment as he neared Kanan. After a shallow bow, he swept the blade to the side and changed his stance. He held his blade out before him in his left hand, right arm counterbalancing as he waited for Kanan to make the first move.

  Kanan raised his blade and eyed Keiran for a moment. Whether someone was naturally left or right handed, it was standard practice for everyone to hold their blade with their right hand in their country. Try as Kanan had all of Keiran’s life, he’d never managed to break his charge of his left-handed stance. Lanky as he’d been growing up, Keiran had been an uncoordinated mess until his latter teen years. Forcing him to use his right hand served only to make him nearly nonfunctional with a sword of any type. Letting him go with his left hand and a rapier had been the only thing to make Keiran go from hopeless, to a relatively decent swordsman.

  Kanan hadn’t tested him since he’d started taking human blood, and he wondered what differences he would see. Just looking at Keiran, he could appreciate how much stronger he’d become, and it was finally time to see how it was going to affect his performance.

  Kanan’s own style was far from elegant, but it was extremely effective. He knew the easiest way to defeat Keiran was to simply get him tired or frustrated. It was possible wearing him out was going to be difficult now, but it had never been very hard to get Keiran emotionally rattled.

  He started to thrust out, and Keiran worked to deflect the attacks. Then Kanan began a series of slow, calculated retreats. Generally, this served to force Keiran to pursue him and make attacks the older man easily evaded. In the past, this method began to wear the vampire out before too long, but as suspected, Keiran’s level of endurance had improved dramatically. For the first time in all the years he’d been sparring with Keiran, he started to feel the pangs of fatigue.

  Meanwhile, the vampire wasn’t so much as breathing harder. Keiran matched him stride for stride, and Kanan knew he’d wear out before he managed to best the vampire in the frustrating stalemate they had fallen into. It was time to move onto his other strategy for getting the young king down. If exhausting him was out, the time to upset him emotionally had arrived.

  Kanan knew the quickest way to rile Keiran was to run his mouth about his interactions with females. However, Kanan wasn’t yet aware of how much the vampire had been struggling with his emotions over the past few weeks. He was clueless how easily his irritation could boil over into outright rage.

  Kanan smirked while deflecting one of Keiran’s strikes. “So, going back to our previous conversation about Thana…”

  Keiran’s eyes narrowed slightly as he slowly circled Kanan. Due to the renewed snowing, the courtyard had cleared out, and they were alone. “I already told you, nothing serious has transpired between us.”

  He gave a curt nod, his eyes locked with Keiran’s. The old guard remained perfectly in tune with Keiran’s body language and read any movements he made before they happened. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to abdicate the throne and run off with Jerris someday.”

  The king’s mouth hinted at a frown before he lashed forward with more force than his prior attacks. He knew what Kanan was up to, and it annoyed him. This seemed like a time for serious practice, not the mental games Kanan liked to play.

  “May we just focus on sparring? There is no need for nonsense right now,” Keiran said.

  Kanan managed to dodge and evade, but his hand was shocked with the strength of the blow. The force of it telegraphed down his rapier’s length. Still, the guard smiled to himself at getting a reaction. He opted to push it further.

  “Jerris tells me all manner of things have gone on between Thana and you. That’s how I knew about the relationship brewing. I know you said nothing untoward has happened, but my son has indicated otherwise,” Kanan said.

  Keiran’s eyes went wide, and he bared his teeth, though no fangs were yet present. He struck out again, this time with enough power to leave a notable divot in the guard’s blade. Logically, he knew Kanan was trying to get a reaction out of him, but his old tendency to get rattled was being compounded with his new, more aggressive impulses. He felt a twinge of anger. Perhaps the old man was simply joking around, but if Jerris had been running his mouth and saying things, it was enough to legitimately upset him.

  He followed up one strong attack with three others in quick succession before circling Kanan again. Color came to his cheeks from both the cold and his stirring emotions.

  “You know good and well that most of what comes out of Jerris’ mouth is crap.”

  The guard was driven back several steps from Keiran’s onslaught, his right arm beginning to ache. His hand buzzed from the repeated vibrations of their blades colliding, the condition of his rapier deteriorating. One of his brows quirked upward as he realized he’d never felt Keiran hit with anything near the force he now produced.

  Instead of weakening as he continued, the vampire’s attacks were getting stronger. Kanan wasn’t worried yet, however. He could see Keiran growing upset, and it was an inevitability he would open himself up and become vulnerable.

  “Aye, I suppose he has his moments,” Kanan said. “Though boys will do what boys will do. Maybe in a few months we can have a little fanged child running around the place.”

  Keiran growled, and his anger sprang forth to overshadow the majority of his better senses. Although he wasn’t losing complete conscious control, the rage focused his physical strength into his attacks and speed. Their blades met relentlessly, the clashes echoing loudly through the courtyard, despite the noise-dampening effect of the snow. To the vampire, time slowed down, letting him see more opportunities in his fight with Kanan. Soon, he did something Kanan wasn’t expecting.

  The vampire got his rapier parallel to Kanan’s, and he captured the end of the guard’s blade within the intricate metalwork making up the basket of his own. He gave a sharp twist of his wrist and arm, wrenching Kanan’s trapped rapier free, flinging it across the courtyard. It tumbled before coming to rest against a carriage wheel a considerable distance away.

  The old man’s eyes flicked to the side for just a second to see where the weap
on had gone. That gave Keiran all the time he needed to grab the front of Kanan’s shirt with his right hand and sweep his legs out from under him.

  Kanan landed hard on his back, his body struck with a sharp pain from hitting the cold, paved ground. There wasn’t enough snow where he landed to cushion the blow to any significant degree.

  Keiran was on him in a flash, the young man’s blade pressed lengthwise against Kanan’s throat, being held there with both hands. The vampire applied a good amount of pressure with it, and Kanan’s complexion immediately darkened as he choked.

  Keiran’s lips were parted revealing his fangs, and he drew in jagged breaths. His eyes were wild as his mind swam in rage. He kept Kanan there on the ground, under the crush of his blade for several moments before his thoughts started to clear, and he realized he was hurting him.

  When Keiran suddenly rose up and turned away, Kanan’s hands moved up to check his neck for injuries. Looking at them and not seeing any blood, he sat up and stared at Keiran’s back. He was in shock at finally being beaten by his student, but moreover, he was unsure what had really happened. The Keiran he’d always known had been gone at the end of the fight, and he didn’t know how to feel about it.

  Keiran walked forward several yards before hurling his rapier to the side and bringing his left hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. His eyes closed tightly as he forced back the feelings that had overtaken him, immediately regretting what he’d just done to Kanan.

  “Forgive me.”

  The guard got his wits about him and slowly moved to stand up, incredibly sore and tired from the fight. He was stunned in his own right, but Keiran was projecting his emotions, and he felt a good deal of the vampire’s despair leeching out.

  “You beat me. That’s the first time in all these years you’ve ever won,” he admitted.

  Keiran took no pride in it, clenching his jaw and giving a pained groan out. He thought it was nothing short of a miracle that he’d been able to pull away from Kanan before killing him. His eyes burned, his hand falling back to his side as he stood there with his head down.

  “We can never spar again, Kanan—ever. Next time, I might just kill you,” Keiran said, voice hushed. “I would never mean to do so, but I can’t control what I’m becoming. When I fought Peirte a few weeks ago, I lost my mind like that. I stopped it this time, but I’m too goddamned dangerous. I knew human blood would turn me into something horrible.”

  Kanan’s brows knit together, and he took a few steps forward. He looked at the ground and noticed a small pool of crimson in the stark white snow next to Keiran. Though he was still shocked from losing for the first time, the blood in the snow was a greater concern to him.

  “Keiran, you did nothing wrong, I’m fine. Where are you bleeding?” he asked.

  His eyes opened up, and he immediately saw the red on the snow. He unclenched his right hand and brought it up. When he’d put the weapon to Kanan’s throat, he’d squeezed the rapier’s blade hard enough with his right hand to make a laceration across his palm. His own blood held absolutely no appeal to him. It didn’t even smell like the blood that came from everyone else. He turned around slowly to show the guard, unable to look him in the eye.

  “Just my hand.”

  Kanan stepped closer and reached out to take Keiran’s wrist for a moment. The cut was bad, not a superficial scratch. As Keiran’s hand flexed slightly, Kanan was sure he could see the white of tendons or perhaps bone in the depths of the gash.

  “Son, that’s a bad one. You’ll need to be sewn up.”

  Keiran’s stomach twisted at the thought. The creature in the back of his mind immediately piped up that the wound would heal if he could just have a drink. He shook it off as quickly as it had come, however.

  He pulled his hand away from Kanan and clenched his fist, trying to stem the flow of blood. “Don’t worry about that. Are you all right?”

  Kanan tried to shirk off the last of his momentary fear about what had happened. His pride had been badly dented in being defeated. Though he would be in a lot of pain come morning from being thrown to the ground, he knew no permanent damage had been done.

  He forced up a smile and looked at Keiran. “Boy, look at me.”

  The vampire’s gaze reluctantly lifted to meet his elder guard’s, his lips pressed into a tight line. He hid his bleeding hand behind his back in a juvenile fashion, the pain of it worsening.

  Having Keiran’s attention, Kanan reached up and put his hand on the vampire’s shoulder. “You won. Finally, after all of these years, you won. If there was ever a time I thought you might actually be able to handle yourself in battle, this is it. Whatever has happened to you has made you stronger. In a real fight, don’t worry about controlling yourself like you did here with me today. In war, it is life or death. Let it go when the time comes, and you will be unstoppable. It doesn’t make you evil. It makes you able to defend your country unlike anyone else.”

  Keiran offered a small nod. Kanan was being gracious in defeat, but there seemed to be an earnest sincerity in his words, too. He’d felt time slow down once he’d reached his breaking point in the fight, making him able to outmaneuver his mentor. While he’d previously felt rushed and a bit manic in their training, once the anger kicked in, Keiran’s actions had become instinctive. The years of training had clicked into place.

  “You’ve always tried to get me angry in fights, and you’ve said it made me careless and easy to defeat,” he said.

  “Up until today, Keiran, that was always true. You’ve never been able to put aside your emotions and keep your mind clear. I’ve honestly been trying to get you to stop reacting on that visceral level during practice, but you were never able to see past what I was doing. You’ve always been too impulsive. If your recent change has allowed you to fight using that anger, instead of growing careless from it then perhaps it was meant to be your way.”

  Kanan squeezed Keiran’s shoulder before letting his had fall away. The ache in his back was being pronounced by the cold setting into him.

  The king looked to the side, seriously considering what Kanan had said. Though he hated to think about it, Athan, the other vampire, had mentioned something a few weeks before along the same lines. It was through the vampirism Athan had gained the ability to see things on the battle field he’d missed before. It was through vampirism he’d gone on to become a fearsome warlord.

  That same power, however, had gone to Athan’s head and turned him into a tyrant. Keiran didn’t want that, but if he could manage to focus his rage in legitimate battle only when and where needed, he realized he stood a chance.

  Yet, sparring in the courtyard under relatively controlled circumstances and being on the battlefield weren’t exactly the same thing. The fact remained he’d lost control and nearly harmed someone he legitimately cared about. Keiran wasn’t sure whether he should be comforted or more worried than he’d been before.

  “Go inside, Kanan. I’m sorry for taking you down like I did. Get warmed up.” Keiran turned away from the guard and took several long strides over to where his sword had come to a rest.

  “It’s not as though I haven’t put you on your ass rather brutally a hundred times before.” The old man went and retrieved his sword as well, sheathing it. “And what of your hand? That needs to be tended to.”

  He shook his head and started to walk toward the entryway into the castle proper. Compared to some of the other injuries he’d sustained over the past few weeks, a lacerated hand seemed minor. “I’ll be fine. I just need a drink and some time alone.”

  Kanan gave a small nod and watched as Keiran retreated. He could tell from his slumped shoulders and lowered head he was much more upset than he was trying to let on. There was nothing Kanan could do for the time being, and he retreated back into the guard shack.

  Another set of eyes had been on the action in the courtyard. Up in one of the turrets, Farin was stationed on duty. Despite his age, his hearing was exceptional. While the snow falling had
dampened many of the words exchanged between the two men, Farin knew without question he’d heard Thana’s name mentioned more than once.

  It had been obvious Keiran grew angry during the fight toward the end. Farin watched on with great interest, thinking it possible his superior officer in the guard was going to be seriously injured or killed. Part of him had been almost hoping for it.

  If Kanan died, he supposed there was a possibility he could take his place. After all, Kanan was the only one there with more seniority. At least, that’s what Farin thought in his own mind. The other guards would have gladly debated against the sentry receiving a promotion.

  He found himself thinking about Thana again before long and all that had transpired with Sorna the previous day. An idea began to form up in his mind, and a wicked smile came to his lips. If he played his cards right, he realized he could get what he wanted, all under the guise of simply making Keiran uphold the law. Farin resolved to find an excuse to head into town. He needed to see Thana’s mother.

  ***

  Keiran went into the castle and headed straight to his room. Upon entering, he found Corina within, setting some laundered clothes into a drawer.

  She turned to see him, offering a pained smile. “Keiran, I found something in the wash.”

  He quirked a brow and shoved his injured hand behind his back. The last thing he wanted was her fretting over it. With his left hand, he quickly undid his sword belt, tossing it onto his bed.

  He could see something in her expression wasn’t right. “What would that be?”

  Corina picked up a small item from the top of the dresser, and held it out as she closed the distance between them. Even in the overcast light filling the room, the gold chain and pendant dangling from her hand glinted.

  “I’m not certain where this came from, but I grabbed it straight away, afraid one of the others might take it. Have you seen this before?” she asked.

  His eyes widened, and he reached out with his uninjured hand, taking the necklace at once. “My God, my mother’s pendant. I found this the day before my coronation.”