The Greyfriar (Vampire Empire, Book 1) by Clay & Susan Griffith;Clay Griffith;Susan Griffith

by Clay; Susan Griffith;Clay Griffith;Susan Griffith

  Gareth's shadow flew past her toward the ramparts, a black spot against the grey sky. He had watched her all day, staying on the rooftops. She certainly hoped she had inconvenienced him.

  The temperature dropped as Adele entered the stone walls of the castle once more. Morgana retired to her own quarters, leaving Adele to walk empty halls-empty except for cats, of course. The animals welcomed her, so she took a moment to kneel and greet them. The greyand-white cat was among the crowd, and he pushed his way to the front. Smiling, she picked him up and carried him to her room. He purred all the way.

  CHAPTER

  H S WA breaking through the clouds for the first time in the many days since Adele's arrival. She was pleased to feel the sunlight on her face, warming her cheeks. The windows of the castle only allowed narrow shafts of light to pierce the gloom of the interior, so she decided to take a walk around the grounds.

  She came out in a quiet, solemn courtyard. Her footfalls were the only sound that walked with her until a rush of birds fluttered away at her approach. Adele leaned over a wind-torn rampart, gazing out on the city far below. Nearer to her left she spied a strange tiny cemetery, far too small for a human cemetery. There were numerous gravestones, all very diminutive.

  "Pets. Of the garrison."

  Adele spun about to see Prince Gareth about ten feet away standing on the parapet edge, unafraid of the height. He was looking down at the small cemetery also. There was an expression of sorrow on his face.

  Damn him! He was still following her.

  He continued without looking at her. "In the old days, the soldiers here were allowed to bury their pets in this small graveyard."

  "And where are the soldiers buried?" Adele inquired bitterly.

  Gareth let out a slow sigh. "Perhaps in a cemetery as well. One can only hope for the sake of their families."

  "You talk as if you care."

  "What makes you think I don't?" He floated to the stone walk with the wind filling his long frock coat.

  "Since when do you care about family?"

  He glared at her. "Don't pretend to judge our families or politics. My quarrel with Cesare is far more than a mere filial squabble. His war will upset the balance of all the clans."

  Adele smiled at him. "Then it is the perfect time to strike, while your people are weak and conflicted. My father's victory will be assured and legendary."

  Gareth shook his head sadly. "No. War will destroy both of our people. Our back will be at a wall and we will fight to survive. We will be at our most vicious. The losses on all sides will be horrific."

  Adele did not dignify him with a reply. They stood in silence, staring at the small graveyard. There was fresh dirt in one corner.

  "That grave looks new," she noted.

  "I bury some of my cats there."

  "Why?" It did not seem to be a thing a vampire would concern himself with.

  Gareth shrugged. "I thought they might enjoy the company of others. I would not want to die alone, nor lie alone. Why should they?"

  Adele took a sudden deep breath. At this moment Gareth appeared to be almost human. She was still prone to humanize him. Hundreds of Mamoru's lessons were on this very subject. Vampires looked human, acted human, wore human clothes, but it was all a facade.

  She struggled to recover her cynicism. "Thank you for removing the boat, or I might have injured myself escaping."

  The prince's brow furrowed. "I'm having the boat repaired. It was unsafe and leaking, if you remember. And we will need it to get you to the Continent."

  Adele retorted, "I will never return home and you know it."

  Gareth's demeanor changed in one swift stroke, not angry but full of ice, his patience at an end. "Enough. There is so much more at stake here than your imperial well-being. Just look around you." He turned away from her and strode down the cobbled path.

  Adele watched him and, inexplicably, felt her heart ache.

  Some days later, Adele walked through the dark castle halls with a dripping candle as her main light source. Exploration diverted her attention from thoughts of home. The rooms were all surprisingly tidy; at least there were no skeletons nor debris littering the corners. Just cats. This place was such an antithesis to what she had seen in London.

  Adele had seen little of Gareth since the morning in the pet cemetery. He went about his solitary business, as did she. There were times she would watch him talking with people from the town, his "subjects." He was earnest and intense. He seemed to listen to them and ask them questions. On those occasions when their paths did briefly cross, she found him less infuriating. He wasn't a storybook hero come to sweep her off her feet. He was a prince with duties and responsibilities. She understood that part of him, despite herself.

  Memories of those contented moments with Greyfriar, and the ease they had shown with each other, washed over her at the strangest of times. And, oddly, they weren't as bitter. She liked to remember, actually, if only to study her memories, to discover why she hadn't been able to see Greyfriar as the vampire he was.

  Adele passed another door, this one slightly ajar, and her candle guttered. The room was murky inside, but silhouetted against a window she could see a figure hunched over a table, moving his hand back and forth in a painstaking motion.

  Greyfriar. Gareth, she corrected herself.

  If he noticed her, he gave no indication. At first Adele thought he was holding a pistol, cleaning it perhaps. Surely that was something his human servants would be doing. Suddenly she realized he held a pen in his hand. He was writing.

  A vampire was writing.

  With a grunt of frustration, Gareth pushed back in his chair and wadded up a piece of paper, which he then threw across the room. Adele's eyes narrowed when she saw the wad fall among numerous others in a corner.

  Gareth finally saw her and shoved a pile of paper on the desk to the side as if to hide it. "Princess?" He seemed almost embarrassed.

  "What in heaven's name are you doing in here?" she demanded, walking purposefully to the crumpled papers. "Drafting a ransom note?"

  Gareth rose from his chair but made no move to stop her, though his pale face seemed mortified by her discovery.

  She smoothed out one of the wadded papers, fully expecting to see a detailed note of her capture and a demand for ransom, and instead she saw only poetry. The language was archaic English, and the script was old-fashioned with large ornate illuminated letters opening each line. Everything was so perfectly proportioned, it appeared to have been typeset on a printing press. But the ink was still wet, and it smeared under the pad of her finger. Looking up, she spied an old book open on the table in front of Gareth.

  Confused, she regarded him. "What is this?"

  "It's writing," Gareth said plainly, and raised a contrary eyebrow.

  Adele peered at him through one of the holes ripped in the paper. "You're holding the pen a bit too hard, I should think."

  Gareth nodded, slumping back into his chair. "I know. It's hard for me to feel the instrument." His fist clenched.

  Looking at the book on the table, it was easy for Adele to spot the section of page he had copied. The mimicry was perfect. The enormous detailed illuminations were duplicated to the last curl.

  Adele said. "You're quite a draftsman."

  He shook his head. "I'm writing."

  She pushed the book back toward him. "Well, you're copying. But the way you've re-created the text is remarkable. It's so precise. Very artistic."

  "So this is ... art?" Gareth took the torn sheet from her.

  "Well, no. Again, this is copying. Art is creation, like writing. The man who originally wrote these words was a writer, but all others after who copy his work are not considered writers." She paused and smiled. "Plagiarists, actually, but that's a completely different topic."

  "I'm confused." He set down the pen. "Explain it to me. What is the difference between this book and what I wrote? They look exactly the same."

  Adele sat. "You must learn to wri
te your own words, your own thoughts. Here"-she indicated his piece of paper-"you only spoke in another's words, like reciting history. You wrote, but did not create."

  "But I did." He held up the crumpled paper in frustration. "I wrote this with my own hand. I've seen humans do it thousands of times. As Greyfriar, I tell them messages to send. And they write them. Just as I've done here." He seemed confused and angry. "That's creating. The message is mine."

  "It's close. You know these letters and you know how to read them, so now you can create your own words with these letters. Think of something and write it down. It's that simple."

  "What are you talking about?"

  Adele sighed with exasperation. "If you record your thoughts personally it will allow your true voice to be heard by others rather than diffusing it through someone else. The spoken word always has a habit of becoming distorted. Particularly when moving from person to person. If your kind wrote, you could keep a permanent record of events. Others could read your ideas as you meant them."

  "Vampires would never bother to learn to read my words. They only understand the sound, the spoken word." Gareth's tone was bitter.

  Adele leaned toward him with her elbows on the table. "You know, humans at one time had strictly an oral tradition. It wasn't until the invention of letters, like this alphabet"-she pointed to the book-"that writing came about. We used to have poets and bards journey from one town to another to tell us news and stories. But writing liberated the life of the text from the moment of performance. Now everyone can enjoy a poet's stories whenever they wish, rather than wait for the poet to come around again."

  "Why did your kind create writing?" His long fingers brushed the letters of the book with awe.

  Adele wished she had paid more attention to her ancient history, but she soldiered on. "Cultural changes, I guess-social, political, economic mostly. A need to record commercial transactions."

  "My culture deems themselves above all that," he remarked resentfully. "We have no economy. Therefore we have no need to create a written language."

  "It takes only one, Gareth, to beat the drums of change."

  He raised his head to look at Adele directly with his pale blue eyes. Passion and determination haunted his gaze. The woman suddenly realized that Gareth was jealous of humans. He wanted so badly to be something other than a vampire. She found it hard to swallow for a moment.

  He asked a question in a low voice. "Would it insult you if I used your alphabet? I don't think I could start from scratch."

  Adele laughed, amazed by his polite request. "Gareth, you are without a doubt the most perplexing vampire I have ever known."

  "Do I have your permission?"

  "To use my alphabet? Yes, absolutely. It's all yours."

  "So what should I write?"

  "Anything that you think is important. What have you been longing to say? Perhaps to someone far out of your reach."

  Gareth lowered his head and shrugged.

  "Think about it. Then send me your work later this evening after dinner. I'll look over it and we can discuss it tomorrow."

  He straightened with excitement. "Yes? You would do that?"

  "I would." The young woman rose from her chair and picked up her flickering candle. She left the way she had come, with Gareth's gaze upon her.

  Adele spent the rest of her evening helping Morgana in the kitchen, cleaning, cooking, swapping tales, laughing. It was curious how much easier laughter came to her lately among the people of Edinburgh. Perhaps the sense of threat was easing a bit. Her life had become a series of lows and highs, flashes of terror and moments of peace. She had learned to relish those small gaps of serenity amid the chaos.

  The serving girl grinned as she put various plates into the tall cupboards and then indicated the grey-and-white cat twining around Adele's feet. "I see he has taken a liking to you."

  "Seems so."

  "That's good."

  "Why?"

  "He used to be quite the greeter, but that was before."

  "Before what?"

  "Before his companion passed. After that, he kept to himself. The two used to play all over the castle. Knew each other since kittens. Now he keeps only to himself and hides in your room. It's nice to see him take an interest in something again."

  "Animals don't grieve."

  Morgana shrugged. "I don't know if it is grief. But he was different. That's all I know."

  "Where did all the cats come from? There are so many."

  "They took up residence here when all else was ruin and slaughter."

  "Are they food for ... him?"

  Morgana looked aghast. "He would rather starve than harm a single cat within these walls. He is quite smitten with them, though for the life of me I can't understand why."

  "Does this one have a name?"

  Morgana shook her head. "Name it as you wish. There's too many to name. I've just called it Pet, though that's what I call each and every one of them. Much easier for me to remember." She chuckled at her own joke.

  Adele rubbed the cat's jawline, and it angled its head so that she could rub all the harder. She would ponder a name for this particular cat. It had to be a good name, because it had brought her comfort during her dire predicament.

  Hours later, sitting in her chamber with Pet curled on her lap purring, there was a knock on the door. At her behest the door opened and Baudoin was there with a silver tray awkwardly in his hands. He stood silently.

  Adele nodded him in.

  Baudoin bowed ever so slightly. "My lord has bid me bring this to you. "

  For a moment she couldn't think of what it was, but then she suddenly remembered and her excitement grew. "Oh!" She stood quickly, gathering a disgruntled Pet in her arms. Stepping toward Baudoin's stiff form she eagerly regarded the folded paper lying on the tray that glittered in the firelight.

  Baudoin stepped back, almost as if reluctant to relinquish the note. His expression was bitter, but then the servant caught himself and pushed the tray toward the princess. She claimed the note with a grateful inclination of her head and moved to the fireside for better lighting.

  Baudoin lingered a bit, and Adele realized he did not know the contents of the note and was most likely curious. But he knew his place like any good servant. With a straightening of his spine, he spun on his heel and departed without so much as a "by your leave." How positively frustrating for him to witness the interactions of his master and the prisoner and have no say in the matter, Adele realized with a grin. She returned to the note, which had her curiosity on pins and needles. What could Gareth have written? It was incredibly exciting to watch his creative awareness growing.

  She unfolded the paper quickly. Her breath caught, and she almost dropped the note into the crackling fire. Pet squirmed to get a better grip on her, with a plaintive meow, but Adele did not hear it. Her eyes were glued to the words on the note.

  I am sorry Adayla.

  She had to reach out and hold the mantel. Pet dropped to the floor under protest, but coiled around her feet inquisitively. The implications of the note astounded her. A vampire understood a concept such as forgiveness, and craved it!

  For the first time in so many weeks, Adele heard the voice of Greyfriar speak to her. Her eyes slipped closed as she remembered his masculine tone that once whispered of rescue and hope. The joy she had known in his presence flooded her again. She recalled the weight of his hands on her shoulders in Canterbury, and the utter concern for her wellbeing above and beyond the rescue of an heir of Equatoria. She had not imagined it.

  Her fingers brushed across the letters of the note. She smiled at his attempt to spell her name. He had never seen it written, so he had no idea how to emulate it. Such gentle precision had been given to each letter. Only the letters of her name betrayed a slight tremor in his hand. There was such power in names.

  She had been wrong about him, so very wrong. If there was even a remote chance that he was sincere and true to all he had told her, she had to see i
t through for the sheer possibility of peace and for her own wishes for it to be genuine.

  Perhaps there was as much Greyfriar in him as Gareth.

  Perhaps even more.

  CHAPTER

  D LOOSENED THE blanket around her shoulders as she approached approached the great hall. She could feel a rush of warmth and saw a great glow in the distance. For a moment she wondered if the castle had caught fire. Her footsteps quickened toward the radiating heat that filled the hallway. There was so much light blazing through the door at the end she could have sworn it opened out to the daylight, although it was evening and deep inside the castle.

  The door swung back even as she reached for the wrought iron handle. Baudoin stood there. She always expected him to bow deeply to her like any manservant, but as always he only gestured her inside. Eyeing him critically she could see he seemed a bit stiffer than usual, the creases in his forehead furrowing deeper.

  Puzzled, Adele stepped inside. Fires were roaring inside the three massive hearths in the room. Gareth stood at the long table that was set in elegant fashion. He was dressed in a fine waistcoat with no shirt underneath, though his pale skin could match any white linen. The breeches were black and tight, disappearing into equally ebony high boots, shined to perfection. Gareth's wardrobe was an eclectic mix of periods and styles. He stood regal, his eyes bright with excitement. The moment she approached, he stepped to a chair to his left and pulled it out for her. Politely, she took a seat, marveling at how well he knew human courtesies.

  The table was laden with wonderful foods. Automatically her mouth watered. Even though she ate regularly, this feast was far beyond the normal fare.

  "I trust you are warm," Gareth said as he sat to her right at the head of the table.

  "Yes, I'm wonderfully warm. Thank you." In fact, she felt beads of sweat on her neck from the roaring blaze. Studying him openly, she saw tenseness to his smile. "Aren't you awfully uncomfortable?"

  Gareth shrugged. "I can tolerate it."