Baron of Blood (Dawning Era Saga)

by C. N. Faust

  “Arodi, stop it!” he screamed, shaking his lover. “Stop, stop!”

  “It hurts!” Arodi wept, and blood accompanied every word. “It hurts, it hurts-!” he coughed, and the blood pumped from his mouth, his nose. He struggled for a few more moments, the convulsions remaining violent to the end. Then he fell against Nicholas’ chest, dead.

  Nicholas was petrified to stillness for a moment. His Arodi, his love, the only person he had ever cared for – was dead in his arms.

  Revulsion took him. There was blood all over his chest, his hands. Arodi, beautiful Arodi, was a limp doll in his hands. Nicholas shoved the body away, pulling away so violently that his ankles twisted in the sheets and he fell off the bed, landing hard on his hands and turning his wrists.

  “Azrael!” he screamed when he hit the floor. “Damn you, Azrael! How could you do this to me?” he pounded his bloody fists against the floor until new blood ran afresh from his own hands. He was trembling. His throat was raw from screaming, and his eyes were blurred with tears. His words were barely comprehensible to his own ears. “How could you take him, my love, my Arodi!” he dissolved into tears, unable to speak another word. Only one thought kept running through his head, over and over, as if death were taunting him. Arodi was dead.

  Arodi was dead.

  Arodi was dead!

  Nicholas collapsed to the floor, defeated. The gods had gotten the better of him. Was this how they worked against him? He was not faithful to his wife, so they took away the only thing he ever loved? The only person in the world he have given his life for?

  It was all over, now. He would never be the same again.

  “I love you, my Arodi.” He whispered to the darkness. “I always will.”

  Chapter Six

  “Twins,”

  Elise looked up, using her free hand to shove her hair from her face.

  “Twins?” she echoed, staring at the nurse in bleary disbelief.

  “A boy and a girl, both healthy.” the old woman said proudly. “His lordship will be pleased.”

  “Thank the gods,” Elise squeezed Arceia’s hand. Her mistress looked haggard and exhausted, and very much ready to be back in bed. But there was still some work to be done before she could rest.

  “You ought to tell Nicholas,” Arceia said, letting go of Elise’s hand. Elise winced as the nails drew away, leaving behind half moon lacerations crusted with blood. “He will want to know.”

  “I don’t think he will,” Elise muttered sardonically. “But I’ll tell him anyway.”

  “You might as well; there is nothing else you can do here.” Arceia did not look her maid in the eye. “Do you think he will love them?”

  “I don’t know,” Elise responded truthfully.

  Arceia sighed, and nodded. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, and that was that.

  Elise made her way towards the door, pausing only to see the new babies. They were being washed by the maids, and screaming their fool heads off. She had seen babies before, of course, but she always seemed to forget how much she disliked the looks of them. She thought they were rather strange, really, all pink and bald and wrinkled. And how they screamed! She never heard such screams in her life.

  Arceia’s babies looked just like any others, and she did not linger with them too long. She could not stop thinking how much they also looked like Remphan.

  The halls were quiet and almost empty. Elise reveled in the peace and the silence. It was all a welcome change after Arceia’s hell-raising screams.

  She hiked her way up the stairs to the hall where Nicholas’ room was located. As soon as her foot touched the landing, she knew something was horribly wrong.

  She looked at the baron’s door, it was only partially open.

  Without knowing why or how she summoned up the strength, Elise took off running for the door. Her feet ached and her lungs burned, but she pressed forward. When she reached the door she threw herself against it with all her strength, not knowing what opposition she expected to face. How unexpected it was that she fell into a room as pitch black as night. The baron was on the floor, his head in his hands, and the air smelt distinctly of blood.

  Horrified, Elise warily approached the baron.

  “My lord?” she whispered. “My lord, are you all right?”

  As if every movement pained him, Nicholas lifted his head slowly from his hands. His eyes were red-rimmed and his cheeks were raw from tears. Several bleeding gashes covered his face and his neck; presumably where he had tore at them with his fingernails.

  “Elise,” he whispered hoarsely. “Leave me, please, leave me.”

  “What happened?” Elise demanded, calmer than she felt. She had a feeling she already knew the answer.

  “Arodi,” Nicholas’ voice broke with the name. “He’s…” he couldn’t even say it. He lifted one trembling hand and pointed towards the bed.

  Elise turned to face the bed. She didn’t want to, but some unseen force of conscience propelled her towards the grisly scene. Her stomach lurched when she saw Arodi lying prostrate on the bedcovers. They were stained and crusted dark reddish brown, presumably what had been a pool of his blood.

  Elise could not tear her eyes away, nor could she swallow past the lump in her throat. It killed her to see Arodi like that. That poor, sweet boy had done nothing to deserve his fate. He was young, he could have lived a long time, he could have been happy with Nicholas, who loved him. As it was now, the baron was a puddle on the floor, completely and utterly destroyed.

  If Elise had foreseen the affects of this, she would never have agreed to do it. Not for Arceia, not for anyone.

  She had to set it right. She owed that much to Arodi. Her conscience was eating up at her insides. If she didn’t tell, then it would kill her, and she would die with a lie on her lips. Let Azrael accept her soul then!

  Gathering up her nerve, Elise sank slowly to her knees beside the baron, and touched his shoulder.

  “My lord,” she whispered. “I have something to say.”

  “What is it?” Nicholas didn’t lift his head. He stared at his hands.

  “It’s about what happened to Arodi,” Elise licked her lips.

  Nicholas’ head snapped up. “What about it?” he demanded harshly. “Did someone do this to him? It was Arceia, wasn’t it? Damned bitch, I knew it was her!”

  “She was jealous of Arodi,” Elise kept her voice as steady as possible. “She didn’t want to lose you to him. She thought that the babies might change something, but they didn’t. She-“

  “Babies?” Nicholas raised his eyebrows at the plural.

  “Twins,” Elise’s voice was small.

  “She killed Arodi,” Nicholas’ voice was growl.

  “Poison,” Elise whispered despairingly, her own tears threatening. “I helped. I had to – she made me!”

  “Damn her, damn both of you!” Nicholas rose to his feet, a hard, murderous light glinting in his eyes. “You killed Arodi! How could you? How could you? WHY?” he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head back. The sob caught in Elise’s throat and she gasped, unable to breathe.

  “You will die, both of you, for what you did to him I will kill you both!” Nicholas grabbed the maid’s neck with both his hands, and pressed his thumbs into her throat.

  Elise grabbed his wrists, her mouth open, attempting to breathe, attempting for a moment to protest her innocence. Neither endeavor worked; at it would have been in vain anyway. For the first time in months, Elise finally felt at peace. She was getting what she deserved.

  Nicholas followed through on his word. She fell back to the ground, and he followed her. He straddled her waist, his knees on either side, and slammed her head against the ground with a terrifying ferocity. The sound was dull at first, like a melon, until finally he slammed it too hard and her skull split open with a sickening crack.

  His hands still did not leave her throat. He pressed his thumbs even further into the soft skin until he felt something give beneath the pres
sure. There was a crackling sound, and her face was purple and blue. The blood was gushing from her head, mingling with her fire red hair. Her eyes stared up at him, dull, dead.

  She had been dead for several minutes when he finally released her.

  But he was nowhere near finished.

  Like an avenging angel, Nicholas rose to his feet. Arodi was dead, but it wasn’t his fault. Arceia and Elise had taken him away. Elise was dead. Arceia would die, and Azrael would have three souls to ferry across the river that night.

  He was still covered in Arodi’s blood. Bending over, Nicholas cupped his hands and gathered Elise’s dark, thick blood which was still freely flowing. It filled his hands, and he lifted them high over his head before releasing the flood of hot blood. It spilled over his head and his shoulders, and he tilted his head back, catching some in his mouth. It was the fiery blood of vengeance. Arodi’s death would be avenged!

  The babies had been born. Nicholas didn’t care.

  But he knew where Arceia would be.

  Arceia lay in bed, staring at the paintings on the roof. She was absolutely exhausted from the pain of childbearing and the long hours of labor. The doctor had given her a few drops of poppy juice to let her sleep, but it hadn’t been effective thus far. She must have been more tired than she realized – too tired to fall asleep.

  She thought of Remphan. She wondered if he would come to see his children, or if he had already forgotten her. Elise had gone to tell Nicholas the news, but it had been hours, and neither of them had returned. It was just as well. Arceia didn’t feel like dealing with either of them that night.

  She rolled over onto her side, wincing with the effort. She closed her eyes and pulled her blankets up to her chin, trying to force herself to sleep. In the morning, she would get to see her babies. She had only caught a glimpse of them before the nurse put them to bed, but she could tell already that they would very much resemble their father. In a way, she was proud.

  She wondered if Nicholas would notice.

  The door opened, but Arceia didn’t see who entered. She paid it no mind. It was probably a servant come to tend to something or other. They were so particular about their duties.

  She heard movement near the fireplace, confirming her suspicions. Something iron dragged across the marble, probably the poker.

  Arceia took a deep breath and sighed, burrowing deeper in the soft covers.

  “Get up.”

  The voice she knew well, and the anger she was well-acquainted with. The danger, however, scared her. Arceia sat bolt upright, oblivious to the pain in her thighs, and looked around the room.

  The light of the fire cast a deep golden glow against the form of her husband. He was standing at the foot of the bed, naked down to the waist. His chest, his shoulders, and his face were all covered in blood. In his hand, he gripped a wicked black poker. It was nothing more than a shadow in comparison.

  Arceia shrank into the pillows, pulling her blankets up to her chin.

  “Nicholas?” she whispered. “What is it?”

  “Get up.” He repeated. His voice was flat, dull.

  “I’ll get up when I damn well wish to,” she flashed back, annoyed. He was acting ridiculous. What the hells did he want with her at this hour? “If you were more of a man, I’d be afraid of you ravishing me. As it is, leave. I’m sure your lover misses you.”

  “Arodi…” she had never heard such pain in his voice. “Arodi is dead.” He swung the iron poker, and it missed her by a few inches, but she got the point. “Get up.”

  She crawled out of bed, fumbling to keep her robe around her shoulders. She looked up at him, terrified, her blonde curls obscuring most of her face.

  “Nicholas,” she hated how small her voice sounded. “What do you want with me?”

  “For you to die, slowly.” Nicholas’ voice was a low, feral growl. “As you let Arodi die, slowly.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Arceia insisted, her voice climbing very high. “I had nothing to do with that!”

  “Don’t you even! Elise told me everything. Everything.” He advanced on her, she shrank away.

  “Where is Elise?” she asked, her voice quavering.

  “She told me that you were jealous. She told me that you poisoned him.”

  “WHERE IS ELISE?” Arceia screamed, tears welling up and spilling over her cheeks.

  “Elise is dead!” Nicholas roared, and leapt forward. He swung the iron poker with the force of all his strength and hit Arceia’s shoulder. The bone cracked, and she screamed, crumpling to the floor.

  He could have killed her immediately, but he didn’t. He slammed the poker again into her stomach, once, twice – once for each demon child she had spawned. He kicked her with his foot and slammed the poker into her back, once, twice – listening to the spine crack both times. He slammed it into her cheek, tearing off half her face. Blood came in rivers, pooling on the marble, soaking his feet. He hit her again, and again, and again. Blood and bits of flesh and bone flew into the air. He felt the tears streaming down his cheeks again. Not for her, never for her. They were for Arodi.

  He didn’t know when she lapsed into unconsciousness. He couldn’t even tell when she died. His arms grew heavy and tired, and soon he could hit her no more. He finished the job with a shattering blow to the skull.

  He looked down at his handiwork. If he hadn’t known it was her, he would never have been able to recognize her.

  Satisfied with his work, Nicholas threw the bloody poker down and turned for the door. He was sapped of all his strength, there was nothing left. Using what little willpower he had left, he made his way back to the room he had once shared with Arodi. His knees buckled at one point, and he had to crawl the last few paces through the door. He crawled right into the bed where Arodi still lay, past Elise’s body, which still lay on the floor.

  He wrapped his arms around the body of his beloved, now stiff and cold with the chill of death. Nicholas buried his face in Arodi’s bloody hair, but he did not cry. There were no more tears left to shed. Grief rent at his heart, he had nothing left to give.

  With nothing else to live for, Nicholas drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  Charon loved the sound of Ezbon’s even, deep breathing at night. He could lie awake for hours and just listen to it. Sometimes he could place his head on Ezbon’s chest and feel its gentle rise and fall. He would often fall asleep to the baron’s steady heartbeat.

  But tonight was different. Tonight he was not so easily lulled to sleep. His thighs still burned from the memory of Ezbon’s passion and his head was still light from all the wine he had drank at supper. Ezbon had fallen asleep nearly immediately right beside him. Normally, Charon would have been quick to follow. But he couldn’t. Tonight, Charon was afraid to fall asleep.

  Since the failed attack on Ivan, Charon hadn’t been visited even briefly by the men from his dreams. He hoped against hope that even though he had failed they would leave him be. He had done what they asked him to do, had he not? They wanted Ivan dead, but he hadn’t been able to do it. Well, if they were such powerful wizards, they could kill Ivan themselves.

  “Good evening,” a voice whispered intimately in the darkness. Charon opened his eyes. He didn’t remember closing them at all. For a paralyzing second, he wondered if he was dreaming again, if the men had come back. He glanced around the room, but he didn’t see any sign of them. Trembling faintly, he reached over to touch Ezbon for reassurance.

  Charon’s hand fell to the bend of a softer, suppler waist. He recoiled, horrified, when he realized it wasn’t Ezbon. Ezbon was gone, and in his place was only one of the men from his dreams, the one who called himself Amnas.

  Amnas laughed at the expression on Charon’s face and rolled over onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. The bedcovers came to halfway up his chest, almost to his shoulder. The very bare minimum was exposed, but what Charon did catch sight of was breathtaking. He had never se
en such skin, pale like fresh cream and soft like silk. Amnas’ shoulders were slender, almost feminine, and his long red hair fell around his shoulders in an abundance of curls.

  Charon felt an overwhelming desire to strip away the streets and get a good view of the rest of that body.

  “What are you doing here?” Charon demanded when he found his tongue. “You shouldn’t be here … not like this …”

  “Why?” Amnas grinned cattishly. “You couldn’t be afraid of your very jealous lover finding you like this, could you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I could, and I am afraid, thank you. But not of Ezbon!” he yanked the covers up to his chin and moved away. “What do you want from me? I did as you asked!”

  “Obviously not,” Amnas’ voice was no longer warm or welcoming, “because Ivan still breathes.”

  “I did my best!” Charon felt his voice break.

  “Oh, I’m sure you did,” Amnas purred. He sat up in the bed, the covers falling down to pool at his waist. He was trim, like a boy; his nipples were soft pink against the vast whiteness of his chest. “But you see, I can’t accept failure…” he slipped his hand beneath his pillow, and drew forth a long stiletto. It was the exact same stiletto that Ivan had used.

  “Why not?” Charon clenched the blankets in his hands, wondering if he should bolt.

  Amnas lunged forward. It was almost in slow motion; Charon had time to register every movement the mage made. Then he still wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up on his back, the mage straddling his hips with nothing but a sheet between them, and a blade pressed to his throat.

  His curiosity was satisfied, there was absolutely nothing of the mage to wonder about now. He was beautiful.

  “What do you want?” Charon whispered.

  Amnas tilted his head to the side, and his free fingers began to worm their way underneath the sheet. Charon swallowed and stiffened with the anticipation.

  “I don’t know – stop!” he cried out when the mage touched him.