One Bite

by Jennifer Blackstream

  The smell of ancient texts filled his nostrils and he drew the perfume deep into his lungs. He let his gaze rove around the room, the sight of all his parchments, scrolls, and ancient books like a balm to his soul. This was the true treasure of the kingdom. His father believed battles and blood paved the way to glory, but Kirill knew better. Knowledge was power, and if one could garner enough knowledge it would put him at a distinct advantage over his enemies. Only with knowledge could one properly plan for the future.

  “The future,” Kirill murmured. He stepped forward, gliding to the giant table that held an organized chaos of information. One scroll in particular drew his attention. It was so tattered that he feared even looking upon it was to risk its integrity. Touching it seemed an invitation for the parchment to turn to dust. Yet the words remained clear, flowing across the surface in smooth black lines. The magic of the words seemed to infuse the ink itself, making it just as vibrant as the day it had been penned.

  Kirill was still struggling to translate it all. Thus far, all he’d been able to make out were bits about the World Tree and the need for blood to make it appear. The scroll hinted at some sort of prophecy. There was a “Great New Kingdom” to be had by whomever could offer the land the blood it needed.

  Glancing around, Kirill took note of various other texts. History books penned by people from all over the five kingdoms, gathered over the years by Kirill himself, spoke of other monarchs who had sought to unlock the mystery. There was King Laurimar of Sanguenay who had tried sacrificing numerous members of his own kingdom to try and coax the land into giving up its power.

  Then there was his own father, who had tried drinking blood, long before their family’s transformation. Kirill’s father had believed that since he, as king, was tied to the land, drinking blood would in effect be giving blood to the kingdom. He’d forced his wife and son to drink it as well. Though his attempts had not led to any Great New Kingdom, it had saved his family. When the peasants had revolted and killed Kirill and his parents, it had been their sanguine activities that had resurrected them as vampires. Kirill sighed. He supposed he owed his father for that.

  That wasn’t even the end of it. Ancient kings from the other three kingdoms had tried too. The king of Nysa had tried ordering that all virgin brides be taken by their husbands for the first time while lying out in the fields, blessing the land with the blood of their lost maidenhood. The king of Meropis had tried blessing wine and using the symbolic “blood” to christen the land. Even the king of Mu had made his own attempts, spilling his own blood once a month in the hopes that his sacrifice would bring him a new world.

  All had failed.

  But Kirill knew something the other men hadn’t. It was the World Tree that needed the blood, not just the land. And the tree didn’t seem to want just any blood either. No, it had summoned the princes of the five kingdoms. It was their blood that would unlock the prophecy and open up the Great New World. As best as Kirill could determine, the true World Tree couldn’t even be found unless the tree itself willed it.

  Kirill sat down on a stool in front of the table. Despite their kingdoms’ history, none of the other princes seemed to know anything about the prophecy. Even the god seemed to act on instinct as opposed to any real knowledge. If Kirill could just get a few more pieces to the puzzle, it would put him ahead of them all. He had so much information at his fingertips, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more. If only Serafina didn’t insist on being so difficult.

  His thoughts turned to the bloodthirsty sorceress that ruled the territory to the east. He’d been courting her for ages, coaxing out information in painstakingly small bits and pieces. Serafina was one of the oldest creatures in the kingdom. If anyone could help him decipher the scroll, it was her.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t trust her. It wasn’t anything personal to Serafina, per se, Kirill didn’t trust anyone. He especially didn’t trust anyone enough to let them see the scroll. Kirill frowned. Serafina knew something about the prophecy. Just last night, she’d mentioned the prince of Sanguenay and commented that she was pleased his blood would remain potent. The way she’d stared into Kirill’s eyes had convinced him that she knew something, but every time he’d tried to pry more information from her she’d just smiled and changed the subject.

  Frustration sizzled through his veins and Kirill shot to his feet. The stool toppled over with the sudden force of his movement, but he ignored it. He stormed over to the wall where a map of the five kingdoms hung. The paper tickled the pad of his finger as he ran it over Dacia, searching within the kingdom’s border for Serafina’s territory.

  “Her castle must be there somewhere,” he murmured. If he was right, and Serafina did know more about the prophecy than she was sharing, then finding her castle would provide him with the greatest chance of getting that information. As the prince of the kingdom, he had the right to demand entrance to any building in Dacia, including Serafina’s castle. All he had to do was find it.

  The sorceress had been irritatingly secretive about the location of her home. No matter how Kirill flattered her or seduced her, the woman refused to invite him to her home. Without the invitation, Kirill had thus far found it impossible to locate her.

  Growling, he turned away from the map and strode to the door. He would leave now and search until he found Serafina’s castle. He would find her tonight if he had to ask every creature in the kingdom for clues.

  Kirill shut the door behind him, forcing himself to do it quietly. He stormed through the twisted passageways, his mind spinning over his kingdom, trying to parse out where to start his search.

  “Kirill!”

  The queen clutched at her chest as Kirill jerked to a halt just in time to keep from running her down. Her brown eyes narrowed.

  “Kirill, really, must you blunder around like that? You nearly scared my heart to beating again.”

  “My apologies, Mother,” Kirill said, infusing his voice with sincerity as he smoothly drew his mother’s attention away from the passage he’d just come down. Her gaze followed him as he turned, taking her hand in his as he did so. “I did not mean to frighten you.” He laid a kiss on the back of her hand.

  “Why don’t you turn that charm on a young lady from a nice noble family?” his mother demanded, pulling her hand back. “You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

  “I’m not getting any older either.”

  The queen rolled her eyes. “You jest, but I am not kidding. Find a wife, settle down, and stop stalking around like a lion with a thorn in its paw.”

  Kirill fixed a polite smile on his face as he fought the urge to grind his fangs. “Yes, thank you for the advice, Mother. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must be going.”

  “Off to do some more scheming, no doubt.”

  “I—”

  “No, no, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know,” his mother interrupted. “You and your father can parcel it out amongst yourselves, I want no part of it.”

  Kirill’s shoulders dipped slightly as he watched his mother sweep down the hallway, headed in the direction of her chambers. It had taken him nearly a decade after rising from the grave to fully realize what rising from the undead meant for his chance at the throne. Almost ten years to realize that not only would his father never die, or grow too old to rule, he would also never step down and let Kirill succeed him. Kirill didn’t blame his father for that, after all, it was from his sire that Kirill had inherited his thirst for power. The fact that his mother had never pressured the king, never even tried to insist that her son, who had been training to take the throne all of his human life, be given a chance to rule…that had hurt.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. He turned and flowed down the hallway, not slowing down even after he’d burst through the front gates. The guards saluted him, standing so hard at attention that they nearly vibrated with the effort. Kirill flashed his fangs, making his mood clear just in case there was any doubt. The cool caress of the winter air on h
is fangs reminded him that he had not yet fed, and he made a mental note to keep an eye out for an appropriate meal. With any luck, he would encounter a traveler and be able to slake his thirst, hypnotize them, and send them on their way.

  Almost as if the gods were listening, a tinge of blood tickled his nose. Kirill froze, his gaze darting about the silent forest. His vision sharpened, his hunger drawing him toward the source of the blood. A faint heartbeat danced on the wind, echoing in his ears. Someone was injured. And they were close.

  A body lay in the snow. At first glance, Kirill couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. The thick cloak wrapped around the form hid all detail. He reached down and turned the body over, absentmindedly noting the rise and fall of the person’s chest. The cloak fell away from the face as the body turned and Kirill found himself staring down at the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  Her black hair seemed to draw the light out of the air around her, pulling it into its inky darkness. Her skin nearly blended with the snow around her, a paleness that would have convinced him she was dead, or undead, if he wasn’t so certain he could hear her heartbeat and see her chest rising and falling with each breath. Lips the color of the blood he could hear pounding in her veins drew his attention. It was strange, but for the briefest of moments, he felt drawn to kiss her…

  Kirill shook himself and the feeling passed. He contemplated the fallen woman for a moment before exhaling in resignation. Feeding on her when she was already weak would be tempting fate. The last thing he needed was to convince the humans of Dacia that their rulers had lost control of their bloodlust. He bent his knees and scooped the unconscious woman up into his arms, cradling her to his chest. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked around. Without knowing who she was, he couldn’t return her to her home. And he certainly wasn’t going to bring her back to his castle, not when he was in the middle of a search for the illusive Serafina’s home. Where could he take her?

  The dwarves. Kirill took off at a brisk pace, trying not to jostle the woman more than necessary. Some of the dwarves who worked the royal diamond mines lived nearby. He would leave the woman with them and make other arrangements after he’d found Serafina.

  The dwarves’ home was a rather modest cottage built into the side of a giant oak nearly as big around as the cottage itself. The straw-covered roof was fresh and filled the air with a clean, earthy scent. Kirill strode up to the door, swinging the woman over his shoulder so he could pound on the thick wood.

  “Wake up!”

  He stepped back as the door swung open and a bleary-eyed dwarf stared at him around the end of the sleeping cap that dangled between his eyes. He was only about three feet tall with a grey beard and rumpled grey hair.

  “Your Highness?”

  Kirill pushed past the dwarf into the house. He spied a couch across the cluttered living space and made his way over to it. On the way, he almost tripped over something, more than a little disturbed to find it was a pickax. It seemed cleanliness was not high on a dwarf’s list of priorities. The dwarf scuttled up behind him, deftly avoiding the hazardous terrain as he did so. Kirill laid the woman out on the thin cushions.

  “Your Highness?” the dwarf asked again, his tone confused.

  “I found her in the woods. She’s alive, but bleeding…from somewhere.” He leaned over her and scented the air. “There’s a cut on her leg. Take care of her until I can make other arrangements.”

  “Um…yes, Your Highness.”

  Kirill left the dwarf to twiddle his thumbs beside the couch and marched out the door.

  Chapter 3

  Three weeks later…

  Irina stared around her at the cottage, her intense stare taking in every nook and cranny. The dishes were clean and put away, the laundry washed and folded neatly, and every surface in the place shone with the glow of tender, loving care.

  “There has got to be something else I can do here,” Irina muttered. “Everything can’t be clean.”

  “You could come over here and talk to me.”

  Irina whirled around as a shadow fell over the room. A giant feathered body blocked nearly the entire window, wicked black claws clinging to the sill. Irina smiled.

  “Akilina! What a wonderful surprise.”

  The sirin tilted her head as she shuffled to the side and settled her feathers, allowing the fading sunlight into the room enough for Irina to see her. The human face peering out from the giant bird-like body was beautiful, all graceful lines, high cheekbones, and dark, penetrating eyes. Despite the terror the creature inspired in humans, Irina had always found Akilina to be welcome company.

  “I didn’t realize you’d finally fled from that monster you call a stepmother,” Akilina said pointedly. She shifted her claws, settling down a little farther on the windowsill. “I would be cross with you if I wasn’t getting so much pleasure out of watching Serafina storm around the castle, screaming for her little minions to find you.”

  The image the sirin’s words inspired made Irina’s flesh crawl and she rubbed her arms, trying to get rid of the sensation. Straightening her spine, she tried to summon the careless bravado that she’d always used to defend herself against Serafina. “She’s looking for me?”

  “Oh my, yes.” The sirin nodded. “And she’s none too pleased with the huntsman either. The poor man is in hiding just like you now, buried in the forest with a tribe of leshiis.”

  Guilt bit Irina and she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, don’t be like that,” the sirin chastised her. “The leshiis are treating him ever so much better than that miserable sorceress ever did. He’ll live like a king, I dare say.”

  “But he shouldn’t have had to run and hide. Not him. It’s me she wants.”

  “Well I wouldn’t turn yourself in, if that’s what you’re thinking. It took her long enough to get around to it, but for whatever reason, Serafina has finally decided that you’re worth just as much dead as alive.”

  “What does she want with me?” Irina moaned, dropping her hands to her sides. “Why can’t she just forget me, live her miserable power-hungry life alone?”

  “Well, obviously, she thinks you’re a threat to her power. For pity’s sake, Irina, even in hiding you cause nothing but trouble. I heard from my sister the other day that you’d been to visit the rusalki, trying to convince them to stand up for their independence and declare themselves a separate kingdom from Dacia.” The sirin frowned. “Your stepmother will be the least of your worries if you keep that up. Don’t think that just because Prince Kirill carried your unconscious body to this little hovel that he’ll turn a blind eye to that sort of treasonous—”

  “Prince Kirill brought me here?” Irina interrupted, leaning closer to the sirin.

  Akilina canted her head. “You didn’t know?”

  “No. When I woke up here and asked how I got here, the dwarves just told me that I was safe and welcome to stay as long as I liked.”

  “Yes, well, that’s exactly what the prince told them. Typical royalty for you there, thinking that just because someone works your diamond mines for you, it means you can heap any chore you like on them.” She paused. “Not that I consider you a chore, you understand. You’re quite pleasant, and I dare say I would think so even if we didn’t share an ancestor.”

  “Diamond mines?” Irina’s ears perked up.

  “That’s what you got out of that?” Akilina narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t have you pegged as the greedy type, Irina.”

  Irina frowned and waved her hand. “No, not for me. It’s just, when I spoke to a vila the other day, she mentioned that the humans of the village would never stand up and demand independence because they relied too much on the royal family to provide for them. The rulers of the surrounding territories are richer than dragons, but the smaller villages are quite poor. If they could just get some money…”

  “You’re going to steal from the royal diamond mine, aren’t you?” The sirin shook her head. “I’ll be sure to
sing a lovely song at your funeral.”

  “Oh, he won’t miss a few specks. I would be shocked if he ever even saw the diamonds before they’d been polished and presented by the dwarves, and I know they won’t say anything.”

  “They won’t have to. You underestimate the prince. He is sharper than even his father gives him credit for.”

  “You warn me about the prince instead of the king. Why?”

  “Oh, look out for the king too, yes, definitely. It’s just I don’t foresee the king being quite so important to your lifeline.”

  Without meaning to, Irina shot out a hand and gripped the sirin’s wing. Akilina’s eyes deadened, the sudden stillness of her form sending a trickle of unease down Irina’s spine.

  “You’re touching me,” she said quietly. “Why?”

  Irina dropped her hand, but kept staring into the sirin’s eyes. “What do you mean important for my lifeline? What does the prince have to do with my lifeline?”