“Oh, just being silly,” Irina said finally, offering the woman a weak smile.
“Well, silliness is the curse of youth,” the old woman agreed. She offered Irina a smile. “Perhaps an apple might cheer you up?”
Irina smiled, her gaze moving to the basket of bright red apples. “Are those from a fey garden?”
The old woman nodded. “Indeed. Impossible to grow apples properly in this blasted cold, but the eternal warmth of the Seelie gardens does wonderful things for fruit. I am fortunate enough to be on very good terms with the Queen of Light and Illusion and she gifts me with three baskets every year.” The old woman bowed her head in respect as she said the name of the sidhe queen. “I am blessed to have such a kind benefactress. The money I make from these apples during the winter puts clothes on my back.”
Irina’s stomach rumbled and she flushed with embarrassment. She tore her longing gaze from the basket of fruit, ashamed of herself for making such a spectacle.
“It seems you could do with an apple,” the old woman mused.
“Oh, not today, I’m afraid,” Irina said apologetically. She gestured down at her clothes. “I left in a bit of a hurry and I didn’t bring any money.”
Without the slightest bit of hesitation, the old woman reached into her basket and plucked the most beautiful apple from the bunch. She extended it to Irina. “You will take this, from one stranger to another.” She held up a hand when Irina moved to protest. “Not a word. I’m too old not to have heard all the legends. For all I know, you’re Baba Yaga in disguise, testing my generosity.” She winked at Irina. “You wouldn’t strain an old woman’s heart by refusing to let me do my honorable duty in the eyes of the forest spirits, would you?”
Warmth blossomed in Irina’s chest as she took the apple. She had to blink away tears. It was as if the gods had offered her a sign in her moment of need. There was kindness to be had in this world, even if it wasn’t to be found in the heart of the vampire who had captured her thoughts.
The old woman gave one final nod and proceeded on her way, her shuffling gate speaking of her old age. Irina watched her go, saying a small blessing on the woman’s behalf. The world needed more strangers like her.
With that, she sank her teeth into the juicy flesh of the apple. The flavor burst on her tongue and she relished every moment of that first bite. She almost didn’t notice the slight aftertaste, or the way her head seemed to spin ever so slightly. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t until she was lying on the ground, staring up into the winter sky, that she realized it tasted unlike any apple she’d ever had…she couldn’t move.
A face appeared over her and Irina’s heart seized in her chest. Serafina stared down at her, sharp gaze analyzing Irina’s face.
“Irina, are you quite well?”
Irina tried to speak, but only tiny garbled sounds would pass her lips. Serafina nodded in apparent satisfaction and disappeared. The next thing Irina knew, she was being hauled onto a horse’s back. Serafina climbed up after her and pulled and heaved at Irina’s body until she was sitting in front of her stepmother, her cloak wrapped around her.
“I should have known it would come to this, Irina,” Serafina sighed. “From the time your mother pricked her finger with that cursed needle, I knew that you would be special. That speck of her blood called to me, coaxed me to kill her and take her place as your father’s bride, and for the longest time, I didn’t know why.”
She clicked her tongue and the horse lurched into movement. Irina fought to move, but her body stubbornly refused to obey. To make things worse, it was getting harder and harder to breathe.
“Did you know that at first, I thought I was meant to raise you as my own?” Serafina snorted and shook her head. “What a fool I was. To think the gods wanted me to raise someone as hopelessly naïve as you. And nothing I could do would override your absurd father’s influence—and don’t think I didn’t try!”
She urged the horse to a faster pace and Irina thought she could feel Serafina shaking her head. Fear frosted every nerve in her body as the sickening feeling in her stomach grew. She could feel the bite of apple lodged in her throat, held there like a lump of dread.
“Well, I’m done. I don’t care why you’re special anymore, it can’t be worth more to me than the plans I’ve already set in motion. I’m certainly not going to stand by and watch you leap into Kirill’s bed, not when I’ve worked so hard for so long to convince that bloodsucker he needs me. Make no mistake, Kirill will find the key to the prophecy and when he does, I will be there to share that power with him.”
By the time they arrived at Serafina’s castle, Irina’s eyes were half-closed and no matter how hard she tried and prayed, she could not force them open. Not even when terror tried to tear a scream from her throat as Serafina dragged her into her study toward the trapdoor that housed the glass coffin.
“Oh, will you stop, I can practically feel you sniveling. Be grateful I didn’t just kill you outright.” She hauled Irina’s body up, roughly positioning her inside the coffin. “Now you will stay here and you will sleep until I’ve a mind to deal with you.”
Darkness closed over her and in her mindlessly petrified state, Irina couldn’t tell if it was the trapdoor closing or her eyelids.
Chapter 12
Kirill’s eyes flew open. Something was wrong. Holding perfectly still, he strained to make out any sounds out of the ordinary, but nothing significant came through the lining of his coffin. Pushing open the lid, he sat up and looked around. He was deep in the secret cellar below his work room. The possibility of anyone getting into his workroom, let alone finding his cellar, was slim. Still…
The cellar trapdoor didn’t make a sound as Kirill eased it up. He scanned the room, his nose twitching as he took slow, deep breaths, drawing scents to him. Nothing. He eased out of the trapdoor and secured it behind him. When he straightened up, he nearly shouted when he found himself face to face with a gargoyle.
“Follow me and I’ll take you to Serafina’s castle.”
Shocked to speechlessness, Kirill could only stare at the gargoyle. It sat on one of his worktables, staring at him with a stony countenance that spoke neither of malice or glee. If he didn’t know any better, he would swear it was one of the gargoyles that adorned his family’s castle…
“And why would you do that?” Kirill asked finally, not quite ready to trust the creature who had managed to break into his sanctuary. He looked around for Demyan, but didn’t see the koschei anywhere.
“Pride has no place in the heart of a king,” the gargoyle told him. “Follow me and you will leave Serafina’s castle more of a king than you have ever been.”
Kirill’s mind whirred as he analyzed the gargoyle, turning over his words and searching for the true meaning. The little stone beast was offering him something he’d been searching for, something he’d started to give up hope of ever finding. If he could locate Serafina’s castle, he could find out once and for all if she truly knew anything about the prophecy or if she merely bluffed her knowledge. But nothing was free.
“And what do you want in return?”
The gargoyle kept staring at him, unblinking. “I do not want anything. I will take you to Serafina’s and you will rescue Irina.”
“Irina?” Kirill’s blood ran cold even as his temper flashed to a brilliant burning fire. “Irina is upstairs in my quarters, safe and—”
“She is in a coffin beneath a floor in Serafina’s castle, and she will remain there until you prove that you are worthy of being a king.”
Kirill only barely registered the rest of the gargoyle’s words. He was already bolting down the hallway, racing to his quarters to prove to himself the winged beast was lying. Irina was here, she was safe. She had to be. After last night’s attack, Kirill had charged his wizard with keeping the house locked down, no one was to come in.
His quarters were empty. Bellowing the wizard’s name, Kirill barely kept from killing the man as he walked in. As usual, the wizard was dressed in a ri
diculous amount of finery, so many symbols and gold glittering from his robe that he would have looked ridiculous if his air of utter confidence hadn’t been so overwhelming. Isai gasped at the dark look Kirill shot him.
“I gave you strict orders not to let anyone in this castle,” Kirill ground out.
“Sire, no one has entered this castle since you gave me that order,” Isai insisted, his usual arrogance a shade paler in the face of Kirill’s obvious fury.
“Irina is gone!”
The wizard frowned. “Sire, you said no one was to enter the castle. You said nothing about keeping people from leaving. Irina left shortly after sunrise…”
Kirill flexed his hands at his sides, fighting not to throttle the magic wielder. He might need him later if something had befallen Irina.
Stone grating on stone pulled his attention to the top of the mirror standing against the wall. The frame was polished stone, but judging from the sound and the dust floating down, the gargoyle currently perched on it had left his mark
“If you are ready to go, please just step through the mirror,” the gargoyle said calmly.
“Who are you?” Kirill demanded through gritted teeth.
“I am a guardian. I come from the bedrock of this kingdom and I have been given the duty of watching over the betwixt and between. I will share more of my heritage and history if it pleases you, but if I may offer some humble advice, I would suggest you step through the mirror. Irina is frightened and only grows more so…”
Suddenly Kirill could barely breathe. Irina…frightened… “What has happened to her?” The hoarseness of his voice startled him, as did the fact that he was holding the gargoyle in his hands, having swung the mirror down on its hinge until he could grab the beast. He squeezed as if he could force the information out faster.
“You will get no blood from this stone, Your Highness,” the gargoyle said stoically. “You waste your time here.”
“Your Highness, the gargoyle is not your enemy. I’ve heard of the guardian gargoyles, and they are not a race to be feared.”
Isai’s voice tickled his ears and Kirill forced himself to release the gargoyle. The creature shifted, swinging the mirror back into its former position, all the while remaining in place on top of the mirror, settling in as he pushed it back into position.
Kirill stood frozen. This was not how things were meant to go, this was not how he did things. He was a politician, dammit, he planned and plotted and manipulated. He gathered information, carefully examining every angle before making his move. He didn’t just take the word of some random creature and step through a mirror that could lead to who knew where?
But Irina. He had failed her twice before, and now for a third time. What kind of king would he be if he couldn’t even keep one sweet woman safe?
Sweet! Ha! He laughed at his own thoughts, recalling Irina’s fierce temper and her insistence on challenging everything Kirill said or did. She was a force to be reckoned with. Kirill raised a hand to his chin, one finger over his lip as he considered Irina in a new light. Perhaps…perhaps she was exactly the sort of person he needed to keep around him. After all, a king had to stay sharp. Had to be able to see things from multiple points of view. And who else would argue with such dedication against a vampiric king?
“Isai, you will come with me,” he said finally, making his decision. Without waiting for the wizard to agree, Kirill put a hand out, staring as his fingers passed through the polished surface. Bracing himself for whatever he may find, he stepped through.
As Kirill passed through the mirror, he heard a gasp. An image wavered in front of him like a scene viewed from underwater. Continuing to move forward, he gasped when he broke the surface and found himself face to face with Serafina herself. The sorceress stared at him with wide eyes, her lips parted in shock. She was dressed in the same finery she’d been wearing when she’d showed up at his castle last night. The horror on her face receded and she plastered on a smile even as she stepped away from the mirror. A moment later, Isai stepped up beside him.
“Your Highness, Isai,” she gasped. She took another step back, clearly trying to gather her wits. “I—I wasn’t expecting you, either of you.” A second later, she recovered, straightening her spine and fixing them both with a brilliant smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Where is Irina?” Kirill asked. He fixed Serafina with a look he typically reserved for people about to suffer very unfortunate circumstances. Now that he’d made his choice, he would by the gods see it through.
Serafina thought about lying to him. He could see it in her eyes, in the way they sparkled and her head tilted ever so slightly to the side. Before she could speak and confirm his suspicions, Isai spoke up.
“Your Majesty, do not be rash.” He swept in front of Kirill and for a moment the vampire seriously considered drawing the wizard’s blood just to take the edge off that endless confidence. The wizard gave Kirill a patronizing smile. “Serafina is not a criminal, she is a gifted mistress of the magical arts. As I’ve told you time and again, you would do well to have her on your side as you seek to be king.”
The sickly sweet tone of Isai’s voice burned Kirill, but he didn’t take his eyes off Serafina. He knew exactly how to take the shine off the sorceress in the wizard’s eyes. “She is also the one who told me where to find your spellbook.”
Like wax dripping from a candle set in the center of a bonfire, the smile melted from Isai’s face to reveal a look of pure rage. He whirled around, sparks flying from his fingers tips, the air growing thick like the winds before a storm. Serafina watched him with interest more than fear, her dark eyes calculating as her own hands began to weave an intricate gesture in the air. Kirill held out his hand to stop Isai from doing anything foolish, never taking his eyes off Serafina.
“Isai, stop it now!” The wizard dropped his arms, but the energy in the room remained volatile. Kirill waited for the wizard to rein in his temper, not continuing until he’d stiffly moved back to Kirill’s side. “I will not ask you again, Sera,” Kirill said quietly, not needing to see his eyes to know they were burning like two hot coals.
Serafina backed away from him, her face contorting into a cold arrogance. “You will not speak to me in that manner, Kirill,” she snarled. “If you want to be king of Dacia, you will show me some respect.” She sneered at Isai. “Without me you would not have a wizard as powerful as Isai standing at your side—bound there until you become king. It was I who aligned his goals with your own.”
“You couldn’t get the spellbook because it was in the heart of a cursed graveyard. The wizards and sorceresses buried there would have drained your magic dry if you’d set one foot on that earth and don’t think I don’t know that you copied out some of Isai’s spells after I stole the book.”
“I helped you get the koschei’s heart!”
“You wanted his land and I gave it to you after I brought him to my castle.” Kirill pointed at Serafina, every word she spoke convincing him a little more that she had been using him just as he used her. “Everything you have helped me attain has been for your own benefit.” A sudden thought occurred to him and nausea floated up through his stomach. “You came to me last evening and tried to convince me to bond with you. I knew you toyed with the thought of making yourself queen, but…it was Irina, wasn’t it? You tried to put yourself in my bed now because…” His eyes widened and dread wormed down his spine. “You’ve been spying on me.”
“Yes,” she shouted, her voice ringing with defiance. “Of course I’ve been watching you! I have put far too much energy into helping you become king to have you take power and bring that insufferable stepdaughter of mine to the throne.”
Shock pulled Kirill’s jaw nearly to the floor. “Stepdaughter?”
Serafina scowled. “Yes, stepdaughter. I tried to make Irina my protégé, but she is incapable of grasping the most basic political concepts—a curse she inherited from her pathetic human father.”
Kirill couldn’t
help but smile at her assessment of Irina’s political skills. He stared down Serafina. “Irina is rather hopeless at politics, true,” he admitted. “But she has many friends. Perhaps she is the complement to political skills?” Suddenly the rest of what Serafina had said came back to him. “Her father was human?” He shook his head, amazed that he hadn’t thought of that sooner. “No wonder she was so susceptible to your attacks,” he murmured.
A red flush filled Serafina’s pale face, broadcasting her fury. “You can have the throne or you can have Irina,” she growled. “But you will not have both.” She stalked over to the opposite corner of the room and heaved open a trapdoor. “There is Irina,” she declared. “But if you want her out of that coffin, you will have to throw away your future to do it.”
Kirill bolted over to the trapdoor and stared down. Ice encrusted his nerves and sent pain radiating through his body. It was Irina, lying as still as death inside a glass coffin. Slowly gathering his self control, he raised his face to Serafina. “Explain.”
One Bite Page 12
