by JANRAE FRANK
Sha leaned back against her desk, resting her weight on her hands. "Do you want to keep it? Or did you come here to ask me for something to help you lose it?"
Belyla's eyes teared up, and she bent forward, crossing her arms over her stomach protectively. "I want to keep it."
Sha considered that. "It will not be long before it's noticeable. Knowing your father's temper, you should request sanctuary from the temple. I could speak to Eshraf."
Belyla winced. She had not been in the temple since her mother's death. Her father would not allow it.
Sha patted her arm. "Have you told the father yet?"
"No. I wanted you to confirm it first."
"I want to help you. Let me. Who is the father?"
Belyla sucked in a long, shuddering breath. "Yahni Kjarten."
Sha shook her head. This was a disaster. The Kjartens hated the Wrathscars. The feeling was mutual. Wrathscar also hated the Guild since they investigated his wife's death; and Yahni was Guild. But Yahni was a good mon and Sha suspected he would do right by Belyla. "You must tell Yahni, then we can decide how to handle this. I will protect you, Belyla."
Belyla began to cry and Sha fetched a clean handkerchief from a drawer in her desk to dab her tears with. The older woman held Belyla and let her get it out. Sha had wanted children, but had only loved a single mon and the relationship had not worked out. Twenty years alone was a long time. She had put the energy that she would have put into children into helping her patients and those who came to her for aid. Being young and in love was hard. "Promise me, Belyla. Promise me that you'll tell him and then come back and let me know what he said."
"I promise," Belyla said in a very small voice.
* * * *
Galee lounged on Lord Wrathscar's broad, pine green-curtained bed. She rested her weight on her elbows so that her substantial breasts were thrust forward in a provocative pose. "Are you certain you wish to do this?" Galee asked.
"I've already told my servants I was leaving for a few days to take care of some matters pertaining to the wedding. I also told them that no one was to enter my rooms until I returned, not even to clean. Now that her belly swells, it is time to move on to our next step." He opened his tunic, offering her his throat. In the decades of their alliance – all the years that he had known what Galee was – he had refused her the smallest taste of his blood. They had lain together in love only. His massive, powerful body attracted Galee. He was patient in his plotting, yet given to rages when balked. Age and a waning of his powers – as yet noticeable only to Wrathscar – brought him to this moment. They had discussed it for months.
"I have made few children. You will be incredibly powerful. You will not need to hide from the sunlight like other newborns. Like the lesser bloods."
"Make it so, Galee. I am ready."
Galee smiled, her fangs lengthened.
Lord Wrathscar disrobed and climbed onto the bed. She wrapped herself around him. His heart hammered and his pulse raced. Galee had promised she could take him directly from life into the immortality of undeath without the middle step he feared. But with Galee, treachery was always a possibility. It made him doubt for an instant; before he could change his mind, her fangs found his throat. First there came intense pain and then a dizzying rush of pleasure that caused his manhood to react and explode over him. He collapsed beneath her with a moan.
Galee had considered this carefully. She never turned those people who possessed a true capacity for love: they usually fell prey to the madness and obsessions of the newborn and consumed their closest friends and loved ones – mistaking appetite for love – and were, therefore, the easiest and first to be discovered and destroyed. Lord Wrathscar did not love his family. They were simply the means to other ends. Therefore he would not be likely to eat them. With work and time, Lord Wrathscar might even become as powerful as Brandrahoon. Or more so. Galee knew far more things now than she had when she made Brandrahoon. When she felt his heart start to falter, she released him, opened a vein in her breast, and raised his head to it. His lips closed on her, sucking weakly at first and then more strongly. His teeth lengthened into fangs and he fastened hard upon her.
Ah, yes. This one will be very strong – a paladin of the night.
When she began to feel dizzy, she sank her fangs into him again. They lay wrapped together all night, the blood passing back and forth between them.
* * * *
Arruth no longer went to classes or practice. She spent all her energy in simply trying to avoid Lord Wrathscar. She never walked anywhere; she ran. That morning she was simply trying to get from her own apartments to Talons' suite, since that was the only place she felt safe. She had a bundle of her clothes, which had gone unwashed for weeks. Jysy had begun complaining about it. Arruth tried to argue, but none of her answers made sense to Jysy and she was unwilling to tell her the truth. She intended to put her clothing with Talons' so that would get it washed by the servants.
Wrathscar stepped out of his rooms at the sound of her feet and confronted her. "Come here, Arruth."
Arruth hesitated. He was alone, no one was with him. She could turn around and flee or try to run past him. Wrathscar moved first, crossing the distance between them swiftly, his hands closing on her arms. His eyes met hers and she fell away into nothing, all the will and heart dissolving.
"Come along, little slut," he said. "You'll like this one." He pulled her into his rooms, flashing a mouth filled with fangs.
Arruth whimpered as his fangs plunged deep into her neck.
* * * *
"Sounds like you had a pleasant time," Edouina said, soaping Talons' back and then sliding the washcloth around her front. The water was hot, the room comfortably steamy. There were already places Talons could not reach.
"If you consider spending it with Bryndel when I would rather have been with you or Dynarien or best of all with both of you, pleasant, then yes, it was. Ahhh. That feels good." Edouina had begun to soap beneath her belly and between her legs. Talons stiffened, a frightened expression on her face. A grinding, gripping pain in her stomach seized her, tearing into her chest. "Edouina ... help me."
Talons' limbs jerked, spasming, her chest heaved up in convulsion as her eyes rolled into her head. Edouina made a grab for Talons as she slipped under the water, and screamed for Jysy and Arruth in the next room. Edouina caught hold of her hair and got one arm under her shoulder, dragging her out onto the floor. She rolled Talons onto her side, striking her twice between the shoulder blades, which made her cough up some water and Edouina could see she was breathing.
"Fetch a healer!" she shouted at the girls. Arruth gave her an uncertain look, fingering her necklace of ears, which she had begun to wear on the outside of her tunic. Despite the heat of the day, Arruth's tunic and shirt were buttoned to her throat with the collar flipped up. "All right, Arruth. Jysy, fetch a healer, and do not, I repeat, do not come back with Solance. Arruth, turn the blankets back while I get her into bed."
Edouina wrapped Talons in her robe, shouldered her, and started toward the bedroom. Arruth saw this and took her other side. Together they got her lying down.
"Call him," Arruth suggested.
Edouina nodded. "Dynarien!"
In spite of everything, her eyes brightened in a misty way when he appeared with the fragrance of forgotten roses clinging to him and a scattering of blue petals this time.
"Talons went into convulsions and nearly drowned in the bathtub."
A small cry from the bed stopped the conversation. Talons writhed up, tangling in the covers and then went still. Dynarien summoned his pack. "She's not breathing. Get the amphereon out. Better, if you've got it, would be enlokieyn." He knelt over her, tilted her head back, pinched her nostrils, and began to blow air and power into her lungs.
Bryndel came in and stared. "What the hell is he doing?"
"Shut the hell up," Dynarien shouted. "Get in here, and help me."
Bryndel ran into the room, realizing that something was badly wrong a
s he dropped to his knees, expression suddenly contrite. "What do I do?"
"I'm going to blow and you're going to push. Edouina's getting the amphereon out. The healer's coming."
* * * *
Shaheeramaat had everything under control very quickly, being an efficient, capable woman. When she finished, she left without so much as a backward glance at anyone. Bryndel trailed after, trying to drag out every last bit of information he could get. When Sha reached her office, she sat him down in a corner and faced him with arms folded. She told him in no uncertain terms before he could get a question out of his mouth, "Dynarien saved her life, young lord, and that, as they say is the final word. When she had the first convulsion, whatever its cause, and I cannot find its origins, she hit her head and swallowed a lot of water, most of which got stuck in her lungs. She has a concussion which brought on the second convulsion I assume and, coupled with her already damaged body – damaged from something I cannot identify I might add – she stopped breathing. If, as you claim, you love your betrothed and this is not simply a marriage of convenience, then you owe Mage Dynarien a debt. I suggest you find him and thank him. Now get out of here. I am not so terrified of the Wrathscar name as some are."
Bryndel started to protest that last statement of hers, met the unremitting look in her middle-aged eyes, and withdrew with a curt nod.
Sha muttered a long time about the Wrathscars as she filled in a report about it. Had Dynarien not acted so swiftly, the godmark on Talons' breast would have sucked her soul to Hadjys' Hall of Heroes and they would never have been able to save her. Hadjys' mark was intended to call home the souls of his paladins too swiftly for the sa'necari necromancers and vampires to steal them: sometimes it got in the way of a healer trying to restart their hearts and breathing. A great debt was owed indeed.
* * * *
Galee felt it when Brandrahoon turned his thoughts toward her, searching for her with his mind and powers. She went to the mirror in her room; it reached from the floor to the ceiling. She had had it made special. Everyone in the palace thought it to be merely an object of her legendary vanity: it was far more than that. With a languid wave she set it glowing. Crimson swirled across its surface, and cleared. Brandrahoon stood in his study at his estate near Minnoras before the silent fireplace. He had changed little in the nearly four millennia since she turned him, first of her blood. He was tall, dark with finely drawn features, dressed impeccably in black velvet and blue silk. Another sat in the chair behind him, his face intriguingly sensual with full lips, and an almost feminine delicacy to the lines of his cheekbones and small chin, with a tiny goatee. She recognized the blood of Waejonan, her first student, in him; he was sa'necari – the living embodiment of the undead with all of their powers and gifts as well as some of his own.
She knew that Brandrahoon's valley had fallen: several of his retainers had made their way to her, mostly minor vampires of far lesser bloodlines; and she had taken them into her ranks, already putting them to good use in her plots to seize Creeya and the Guild. "What is it, Brandrahoon?" she hissed.
Brandrahoon bowed low, an elegant old-fashioned movement, with a long sweep of his arm. "My dearest mother-in-blood, most lovely Galee, allow me to introduce you to my companion, my prince, Mephistis Coleth de Waejonan."
"Don't waste your time on pleasantries, Brandrahoon," Galee snapped. "I recognize the blood of my first student in him. Get on with it, why have you called me?"
"A puzzle, Galee. Josiah Abelard has returned. I gemmed his soul. How can he have returned?"
Galee laughed. "Check the vault you left it in."
"I gave it to a sa'necari, a trade for something I needed. They would not have released him. If anything, they would have put his soul on a hellblade."
Galee's laugh grew louder, more insulting. "Check the vaults, Brandrahoon. That idiot god, Dynanna, has been raiding them."
Brandrahoon's face tightened almost imperceptibly, but Galee knew him well and caught it. "My prince suffers from deijanzael. He needs a greater death."
Deijanzael – stolen death – when a sa'necari or other necromancers were interrupted in an act of mortgiefan and deprived of their victim in mid-rite, they withered away to nothing unless they reclaimed their victim or took another of equal or greater power. That piqued her interest, it had been centuries since she had heard of anyone with the audacity to steal a sa'necari prince's meat in mid rite. "Who stole it?"
"Abelard. The meal was Aejystrys Rowan."
"Was there a mortgiefan link? Why didn't he kill her through the link?"
"It was severed when she drew the Spiritdancer from the altar."
Galee's eyes blazed. "Fools! Both of you. That blade must not be brought into play. The wielder must die. Abelard as well. We do not need the mage-master getting loose again." She had given Brandrahoon the texts to create the nekaryiane, which she would require to regain her full godhead. Galee did not wish to see that undertaking interfered with. Brandrahoon had no idea what he would be unleashing, but Galee did.
"We cannot achieve that goal until my prince is healed. To do that we require your aid and wisdom."
"I will expect favors, Brandrahoon. Two favors from each of you."
Brandrahoon glanced at Mephistis, who nodded wearily. "We accept."
"Go to a cave near Charas. A dog-eared rock sits atop it. There is a stone door that will only open to one of my blood. Choose what you need from my armory there. I have cached weapons there from before the Renewal, when I saw that Bellocar would lose the godwar. There are things there that can kill a god. Do not be too greedy. When you have found it, contact me again. I will have a list of things I wish sent on to me. Pay especial attention to a small box that says it cannot be opened except at my destruction. It is my legacy to you, Brandrahoon, as my first born."
* * * *
Arruth shivered in the bedclothes, pulling them tight around her. She could not tell anyone what had happened. He had done something to her mind this time. She could feel it like a heaviness lying across her neck and along her scalp. The vampire had turned him. He had ordered her to wait for him, that he would call her tonight. Cold sweat ran down her body. If she pulled the covers over her, then she was too warm, but when she dropped them she felt as if she were freezing. So, she decided on hot.
Jysy sat up in bed and looked at her curiously from across the room. "What's wrong with you, Arruth?"
"Nothing."
"Then go to sleep."
"Can't sleep."
"At least try. And take that scarf off. It must be making you hotter."
"I like it. It's for luck."
< Hello, little slut. Come to me. >
Arruth stiffened.
"Arruth?" Jysy got up and moved to sit on her sister's bed. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I guess I just need to eat something." Arruth threw on a robe and walked out, heading for the parlor.
Jysy followed her. "You're acting weird."
< Come to me, little slut. >
Arruth shivered. "Leave me alone."
< Little slut. >
"Arruth?" Jysy got a wide-eyed look.
"Leave me alone!" Arruth bolted from the stairs into the parlor and out the door. She ran until she found herself outside Wrathscar's apartments. Her stomach tightened painfully. The door opened and Wrathscar stood there smiling.
"Come in, Arruth," he said, extending his hand to her.
Arruth stared at the hand and then put hers into his. He led her inside. Six myn loitered in the parlor. Two of them were soldiers. The others were Solance, Lord Naren, Lord Westli who was Knight-Commander of the city guard, and Lord Lemyk.
"Go into my bedroom and take off your clothes," Wrathscar ordered.
Arruth walked into the bottom floor bedroom, and disrobed. Terror threaded through her. She wanted desperately to cry. The myn followed. Arruth waited by the bed, obediently. He was going to hurt her again. Her mind writhed beneath his grip, trying desperately to break free. He sensed it and
snarled. Arruth's eyes filled with tears as his mind ripped into hers. She fell upon the bed, clutching at her head.
"Tie her well, Solance. Get her legs open as wide as you can get them." Wrathscar snarled still more savagely. The soldiers seized her, and Solance bound her. Wrathscar checked the bindings. "Good job, Solance. Therefore, you go first."
Arruth tried to scream, but her throat would not work. The others came close to fondle her and watch while they waited their turn.
* * * *
Queiggy motioned Yahni, who lounged on a bench between the doors and the main desk, to him. Yahni's friends, Ceejorn Osterbridge, and Jajinga SwallowsWing, sat with him. It was their turn to sit as on call assistants. The first pale fingers of light would not stretch across the heavens for at least another hour. The Guild tended to assign their myn in the same small groups they had bonded with during training. "Yahni, you and your blood-sworn sit the desk for me."
Yahni stretched his legs and stood up. Queiggy had asked before, there was nothing to it, but as he came close, Yahni noticed something different in Queiggy's eyes, it set the Guildsmon in him on edge. Queiggy caught his arm, yanking him tightly to him to hiss into his ear, "By the sap and soul of the tree at the heart of the world, Yahni. I charge you and geis you to guard the desk, which is the gate and my back and the gate in all its forms as I suggest it's required. The heir is dying. I search for the traitor, and I require your aid."
"Dying?" Yahni's voice caught. Jajinga and Osterbridge, hearing the change in Yahni's voice, rose and came near.
"If you listen," Queiggy warned his two companions, "then you are bound into the geis also."
"Bind us." Jajinga told him and Osterbridge nodded.
Queiggy did so. "Yes, dying. You will keep silent for now. Your job is to guard, giving me time to search the records. They poisoned her. Up drawbridge, down portcullis. Now. Not even Galee gets in. No non-Guild."
"Galee is Guild," Jajinga said.
Queiggy snorted. "By fiat. Doesn't count. Not a fig." His head tilted to his shoulder and he simpered primly for a moment, twisting from side to side, balanced on one foot. He shouldered his knapsack, took his cane from the desk, walked quickly to the records room, and descended the stair. The light from the high, narrow windows disappeared the further into the depths he journeyed. There were a scattering of clerks on the first two levels and no one on the third. He paused on the landing where they kept a table to strike a lucifer and light a lamp. As he replaced the chimney and adjusted the flame he could not help but marvel at all the information. When the first Old Man of the Mountain built this place a thousand years ago, Queiggy could never imagine his being able to fill it up, but sure enough he had. His search would start here. Then he would check out the palace healers. One of them was secretly Guild and only he and Yukiah knew which one. Hanadi knew, but she would not return until next spring. Queiggy sighed. They had begun to see the need for keeping things from the Grand Master shortly after Galee found a place at his side. Many people did not like that one, and it led to that first flaring of a silent mutiny.
