When the last note faded in the air, Irina closed her eyes, relishing her newfound peace.
“That was beautiful, Irina. What a gift you have.”
Irina opened her eyes and turned to smile at the vila hovering in the air beside her window. The ghostly woman smiled back as her long white cloak floated around her. The winds that were hers to summon slid through her long hair, twirling the white locks in the gentle breeze.
“Thank you for the lovely compliment,” Irina acknowledged.
The vila’s smile widened. “Thank you for the cakes you left for me and my sisters. Even our most devoted people rarely leave such a bounty.”
Irina waved off the thanks. “I love to cook and I’ll be damned if I’m going to feed the sorceress. I’m only too happy to pass the food on to those who appreciate it.”
A frown marred the vila’s beautiful face. “Irina, I have to warn you. Your stepmother plans your death.”
“I’m aware of that. I have been since she killed my father.”
A lump rose in Irina’s throat and she turned away from the vila, struggling to regain her composure. Serafina had killed her father years ago, when Irina had been just a child. Still, the pain was as fresh today as it had been then. Perhaps more so with the weight of all her failed revenge attempts.
The vila kindly gave her time to collect herself, waiting until Irina turned back to her to begin speaking again.
“Irina—”
“Irina.”
The male voice drew Irina’s attention even as the vila flew away. She smiled when she saw the huntsman standing in her doorway. The older man towered like a giant pine tree, his wild brown hair only just starting to grey at the temples. The green tunic and plain brown pants he wore only added to the tree imagery. His weathered face, usually creased in a smile, was fraught with tension. Irina frowned.
“Viktor, what’s wrong? You seem sad.”
Irina stepped forward, wanting to offer some sort of comfort. Viktor was the one aspect of this palace that made her life bearable. Despite her initial distrust of him, based solely on the fact that he was her stepmother’s huntsman, the man had quickly earned her respect. Every day he came to take her on a walk and as they ventured through the woods and over the land, he told her about the different people and creatures that lived there. He spoke of each one with a deep reverence. It reminded her so much of her father, and Irina knew that it was largely due to the two men’s influence that she had so much respect for every culture, and why she could go anywhere and find a friend.
Viktor offered her a weak smile. “I am fine, rybka, truly. Are you ready for our walk?”
Irina frowned, still concerned over the huntsman’s strange demeanor. He was fidgeting, his hand dancing at his side in a restless movement that was not at all like him. Unease slithered down Irina’s spine.
“I am ready,” she said slowly. “Just let me grab my cloak.”
She walked to her closet and removed the heavy fur-lined wool cloak. After fastening it securely around her shoulders and sliding her arms through the long, wide sleeves, she offered Viktor a tentative smile. He nodded and she followed him out of the castle.
The drawbridge lowered without a sound, kept forever well-oiled by the domovoi. Irina held onto the huntsman’s arm as they crossed, unable to keep from looking into the water that surrounded her stepmother’s home. Underneath the water, a slide of silvery scales sent ripples over the water.
The huntsman raised a hand and unsheathed his knife. Before he could make a cut on his finger, Irina grasped his arm.
“Please, let me.”
Viktor furrowed his eyebrows as she raised a hand and let the sleeve of her cloak fall down. The wound on her thumb, courtesy of Serafina, stood out like a tiny red mouth. She pinched the tip and blood welled up. Irina held her hand over the water and let a drop of blood fall into the lake.
A shiver rumbled under the surface, frothing the water where her blood had dripped into the moat. The silvery shape moved away from them, vanishing back into the dark depths.
“You cut yourself?”
Irina sucked on the wound before letting the cool air soothe it. “Serafina wanted my blood for her collection. There was no sense in you offering the monster your blood when my injury was already fresh.”
She couldn’t help glancing at the water when she said that. The monster was a creation of her stepmother’s. It demanded a small offering of blood for anyone to cross the bridge. A brilliant guardian, since anyone who caught a glimpse of the creature would do everything in his power to avoid spilling blood into the water. Only those who didn’t know the rule for entry would be eaten.
Viktor glanced behind them. Irina kept walking, frowning at her injury until the blood stopped trickling out and she could tuck it back into her sleeve without smearing it on her cloak. She turned to say something to Viktor only to realize he wasn’t walking with her.
“Viktor?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. Her eyebrows furrowed when she saw the huntsman standing still in the snow, staring back at the lake. She retraced her steps to stand beside him, following his stare.
Thanks to the thick spell Serafina had woven over the castle, all that met her eyes was a lake. The dark grey water was unmarred by a bridge or a castle, a powerful hesitation spell that Serafina used to keep anyone from stumbling upon her home. To get in, you had to know it was there to begin with. One misstep and you’d end up in the brackish water, a screaming feast for the monster swimming in the dark depths.
“Viktor,” she repeated, her voice softer this time. “What is wrong?”
The huntsman swallowed hard, but didn’t answer her. Instead, he turned and offered a weak smile before proceeding along their usual route.
“I spoke to a leshii the other day,” he spoke up finally. “It seems you’ve won over several of their people.” He fiddled with the leather bag by his side. “They are talking of breaking their treaty with Serafina.”
Irina perked up. “Really? That’s wonderful.” She stared ahead, the wheels spinning in her mind. “If the leshii break their treaty, others will follow. Serafina’s hold over the territory will be weakened.”
“She has the right to rule this territory, a right granted by the royal family themselves.”
“No one has the right to rule,” Irina insisted, scorn giving her voice a harsh edge. “Not over every person and every creature. Ruler is just another word for tyrant, and Dacia doesn’t need any more of those.” She narrowed her eyes, thinking of Serafina’s smug face. “It has plenty already.”
“Irina, you are playing with fire. Serafina has overlooked your treasonous behavior so far, but if she believes you are truly a threat to her power, she will kill you.”
His voice broke on the last word and Irina stopped and put a hand on his arm. She tilted her head to look into his eyes. “Viktor, are you afraid for me?” she asked gently. “I’ve made no secret of the fact that I don’t believe any one person should rule the fate of an entire kingdom. It isn’t just Serafina’s grip on this area that I want to break. Eventually, I want the entire kingdom to be free.”
The blood drained from Viktor’s face. “You speak of unseating the royal family.”
Irina nodded slowly, not wanting to upset her friend further, but unwilling to lie. “It isn’t right for one person to rule the lives of an entire people,” she said firmly. “Even the high king himself shouldn’t have that right.”
Viktor collapsed to his knees then fell forward onto all fours. The bag at his side hit his leg and spilled its contents into the snow.
“Viktor!” Irina dropped to her knees beside him and put her arms around his shoulders, covering him partially with her cloak. “My friend, do not worry so. Serafina hasn’t killed me yet, and she’s had plenty of opportunities.” Irina bit her lip, silently debating with herself over how much to reveal to Viktor. Despite their years of friendship, he was still Serafina’s servant. She had no idea how much control, magical or emotional
, the sorceress had over him. Finally, she made her decision.
“Serafina consulted her magic mirror about me,” she confessed, her voice low despite their distance from the castle. “I overheard part of it. The mirror told her that I’m the key to a new kingdom. It said—”
“It said your heart was the key to a new kingdom,” Viktor whispered.
A frown pulled down the corners of Irina’s mouth. “I think those were the words. But how did you…?”
The huntsman let his head fall as if he could no longer hold it up. He groped beside him and Irina finally turned her attention to the objects that had fallen from his bag. The first was a chest of some sort, ornately decorated with gold and gems. The other was a large hunting knife. Unlike Viktor’s other knives, which Irina had seen on numerous occasions, this one was intricate and as bejeweled as the chest. It had an almost ceremonial look to it. Viktor held the chest up and Irina noticed the engraving of a heart with a knife through it.
“I don’t understand. What are those for?”
The objects fell from his hands and cold fear doused Irina as Viktor began to sob. His shoulders trembled with the force of his despair and Irina couldn’t help but pull away, suddenly needing to put some distance between herself and the blade.
“Viktor, you are scaring me.” Her voice came out hoarse, almost lost to a sudden gust of icy wind.
“Irina, I can’t do it. You have been like my own daughter these past twelve years, I cannot do what my queen has commanded of me.”
The misery was so thick in his voice that Irina hardly recognized it. She took another step back. She didn’t want to ask her next question, didn’t want to know the answer. Still the words flowed from her lips in a breathless whisper. “What did she command you to do?”
“I was to bring back your heart in this box.”
Irina pressed her lips together, smothering the cry of dismay that tried to escape. She stared at her friend, all the while backing away. “Viktor,” she choked.
The huntsman raised his head, torment pulling the lines in his face into ever deepening creases and his eyes shining with his pain. “Irina, you must run. Run far from here, far from Serafina’s reach.”
“There is nowhere I can run,” Irina protested, her chest growing tighter with every word. “She can find me anywhere. Her mirror…”
“Irina, you are loved by so many creatures, so many smaller factions within this territory. Any one of them would take you in, the fey, the leshii, the vila, even the rusalki would likely welcome you. Surely one of them could give you sanctuary?”
Irina shook her head, her entire body trembling as the full weight of the huntsman’s words fell on her. “Viktor, I could not ask that of any of them. To stand up to Serafina politically is one thing. But if she wants my…” she swallowed hard, “my heart, then she will kill if necessary to get it. How could I ask that of my friends?”
“She would not go against the high king,” Viktor whispered.
The sheer ridiculousness of the suggestion would have made Irina laugh if she wasn’t so terrified. “The high king would be even more likely to kill me than Serafina if news of my…political views have reached as far as you say.” She closed her eyes, fighting not to sway on her feet. “There is nowhere for me to run.”
Viktor’s hands closed like twin vices on her arms and Irina screamed as she opened her eyes. The huntsman’s green eyes bored into hers, fierce determination written across his face. “You will run and you will hide,” he ground out, emotion taking some of the edge off his voice. “I will not see you dead, Irina.” He pushed her away and stooped to pick up the box and blade. “I will slaughter a pig and offer its heart in your place.” He grabbed her hand and Irina whimpered as he squeezed her thumb, forcing the wound to reopen again. Her blood trickled into the box he held open underneath it. “This will not fool Serafina for long. You must go now!”
A sob broke from Irina as she stumbled back and fell into the snow. Viktor gave her one last look before plunging into the forest, searching for the pig that would buy her precious little time. Irina stared back into the distance at where she knew the castle sat, and within, Serafina in her glass coffin.
“I will return one day, Serafina,” she whispered, not even caring when fear made her voice waver. “You will pay for all you’ve taken from me.”
Without another look, she turned and darted into the forest, praying that she would find safety…somewhere.
Chapter 2
“Such a shame what happened to your treaties with the goblins and the trolls.”
Kirill gritted his teeth against the grating sound of his father’s voice. It was never a pleasant sound, but it was made infinitely worse when he imbued it with that tone of condescension and false sympathy. The older vampire slouched in a plush armchair in front of the fire. He was wearing enough gold to bribe a dragon and the purple velvet of his robe was so thick it could probably sit up without him. Not wanting to give his father the satisfaction of a reaction, Kirill fought to keep his face impassive as he continued to stroll into the sitting room.
His mother offered him a small smile as he bent to kiss her cheek. She sat with excellent posture on a matching chair beside the king, wearing matching gold, though not in the same quantity. Unlike his father’s stiff velvet, his mother preferred to dress in silk. The cool material clung to her lean frame, complimenting her and adding to her regal bearing.
“Good morning, Mother,” he said softly.
“Good morning, dear. Your father and I just had a visit from the troll lord that lives in the mountain a few miles from here.”
“He was nicer to me than he’s been in ages,” Kirill’s father, the king, interrupted gleefully. “Apparently, you interfered with the troll king’s plans for new territory in Sanguenay a while back?” He made a tsking sound and shook his head. “Not a very smart move for someone who seems so very intent on stealing my throne.”
Denying his father’s comment would do him little good. The king was well aware that his son had aspirations of being king. Considering the immortal lifespan of vampires, the king was also well aware that the only way for Kirill to achieve his goal of a monarchy was to either kill his father, or force him to step down.
Every day Kirill considered both options very carefully.
Thoughts of Etienne popped into his head and he smothered a snarl. He’d interfered on the werewolf prince’s behalf, stopping the trolls and the goblins from attempting to take advantage of the prince while he fought off a witch’s blessing that would have rendered him human. In the long run, it had been a smart move. Etienne’s blood was necessary for the prophecy unfolding at the World Tree and Kirill had no way of knowing if the prince’s blood would still have worked if he’d become human. However, there was no denying that in the short run, angering the goblins and trolls presented…issues.
Kirill fixed his father with a look that had sent lesser men running screaming into the night. “Father, you of all people should know that sometimes a setback is necessary in order to take a substantial step forward.”
A sharp bark of laughter burst from his father. “Indeed. After all, if that insipid coup of peasants hadn’t killed us all while we slept, we never would have risen as vampires.” His eyes sparkled with a red glow as he smirked at Kirill. “And I would not have the prospect of ruling Dacia for centuries to come.”
Not if I can help it. Kirill gave him a cold smile. “How very optimistic of you.”
“Now, now please don’t fight, you two,” Kirill’s mother interrupted. “I’m interviewing new handmaidens today and I need to be in a pleasant state of mind for the tasting. The last girl had far too much iron in her blood and I blame the two of you for distracting me too much to notice that when I took her on.”
“My apologies, Mother,” Kirill said with a slight bow. “I’ll leave you alone to collect yourself. Have a pleasant evening.” Kirill turned to leave.
“Not going to wish me a pleasant evening too, Kiril
l? Not very respectful…”
Kirill shot his father a smile dripping with insincerity. “Oh, I do hope you have a pleasant evening, Father. After all, one never knows how many evenings one has left.”
The threat brought a chuckle from his father and Kirill swept out of the room before he could be further tempted to try and wipe the mirth from the king’s face. He burst into the hallway and thundered through the various passageways of the palace, weaving in and out of secret rooms. The design of the castle was nearly as complicated as the layout of their kingdom itself, filled with twists and turns and dead ends. Only those intimately familiar with the castle could navigate it without hardship.
Kirill finally reached his own private sanctuary. He pulled a key from a hidden pocket in his clothing and unlocked the door. The heavy wood swung open silently on greased hinges and Kirill sighed when he finally had it closed and locked behind him.
One Bite Page 2
