Immortal Defiance

by Laura Maybrooke

  She cleared her throat. “How much do you know about dragonstones?”

  “I know how they work, if that is what you mean.”

  “Are you perhaps planning to become the Golden Dragonlord?” she asked, her heart beating faster.

  “You mean, to kill you, and then take your stone from you?” he said with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yes. Although, I don’t have the dragonstone with me right now. The Saruseans have it.”

  “No, I have no interest in such.” He shook his head.

  Dulcea narrowed her eyes. “Is that true?”

  “You doubt my word?”

  ---

  Sraeyn, Crown City Vyronh. Strawberry Moon (summer season 7089).

  The second year of the Rebellion.

  Less than two years after escaping the Enchanters’ White Tower, Dulcea was back in Sraeyn.

  This time, she had come with an army. Forty-five thousand Silver Elves had marched to war with her. The Adegan Clan was a hundred-headed golden beast by her side. Myoden, who was both a priest and a warrior, had proved himself a skilled tactician. Dulcea had first made his acquaintance upon returning to her hometown of Quel Serana, and the Silver Elves’ former rebel leader was now one of her most trusted allies.

  Another elven realm, the Nameless Mountains, bordered her homeland in the west. The Mist Elves originated from outside their current habitat; some said from S’Aruse, and the taint of their strange customs had followed them into their new home. They were outsiders: their worship of Sarosha, the Lady of the Dead, a stain on their character. Despite this, and their peoples’ intermittent hostilities, Dulcea had sought to make an ally of the Mist Elves. Led by a high priestess of Sarosha, Lady Pendralyssa, eight and a half thousand mountain elves had joined them in the fight.

  King Tarim, namesake of the last Golden Dragonlord King of Sraeyn, rose to defend his kingdom. The royal bloodline, although assumed extinct by many, had survived the massacre six hundred years before. They had since remained in hiding: their descent known only to a handful of secret orders that now vouched for the legitimacy of their birthright.

  The last king of Sraeyn had left behind no heirs, but his brother had later married the king’s young widow. It was their children’s descendants that now approached Dulcea and her army. The excitable, blond-haired young man—still a boy at only fourteen of age—bore the name Tarim. It was like a good omen, like the ancient noble king come back to life to fight for his people. Dulcea did not believe in dead people walking, but the parallel amused her all the same.

  The war lasted a little less than a year in Sraeyn. It was only after that they got into a fight about it.

  “I gave you an army to command, Lady Dulcea.” Pendralyssa narrowed her eyes. “Why are you not using it? We did not come here to defend and rebuild some lone human kingdom. It’s been over three months! Let us move onward, to Dranmore and beyond!”

  Myoden sighed. “I ask for your patience, my lady.”

  “It wears thin, General. You promised us war, but now you would have us play politics. What happened? Are you all cowards? Death is a natural part of life. You must have the courage to end what you started.”

  “Watch how you speak in my house, woman!” Tarim pointed a menacing finger at the high priestess.

  Dulcea slammed her fists to the table and got up.

  “Good grief, you people.” She stalked to the nearest window.

  Dulcea gripped the windowsill with rigid fingers, taking a deep breath. Tarim was wrong to act the way he did, but so was she. She knew better than to let him aggravate her. Tarim had not had an easy time adjusting to the expectations placed upon the shoulders of a king. He had grown up sheltered, hidden from the world, in the company of monks and soldiers loyal to Sraeyn. Dulcea supposed being fed stories of one’s great ancestry might confuse any a man’s head, let alone a young boy’s. How was anyone to live up to the fabled exploits of his ancestors?

  Tarim pushed his chair back, crossing his arms. “Then tell us what you would have us do, my lady. The dragonstone of my ancestors is in your hands, so exercise that power. None of us have any choice but to follow you, now do we?”

  “Do not talk to her like that.” Myoden did not raise his voice, but his eyes were bright with emotion. “She sacrificed a lot to save your kingdom, Tarim. Do you think it was easy for her? You ought to be grateful. Imagine she had never left the enchanters—where would you be then?”

  Tarim’s eyes widened. He turned his head to the side and looked mortified. His boyhood custodian Lord Saron, now the captain of the guard and his adviser in the meeting, went to him and bent low to whisper something in his ear. The youth sniffled, shaking his head, but after a moment he got up from his chair and crossed to Dulcea’s side. He gave her an awkward bow. Embarrassment colored his face red, but his eyes showed a glimpse of wisdom belonging to a king, and not to a mere teenager.

  “I am sorry, Lady Dulcea. I had no right to talk to you in that manner.” Tarim gazed down at his feet. “The truth is, I do not want the stone. I do not have your determination or your courage. This was a test, and I failed it. I can be strong for myself or my brother, but not the entire world.”

  ---

  Dulcea sighed, scratching her arm with absentminded uneasiness.

  “No, my lord. I was just curious. Isn’t such power tempting?”

  Krath shrugged. “Not to me. I want nothing to do with the golden dragons. I hope to remain hidden—I’ve no wish to draw such dramatic attention to myself.”

  Dulcea relaxed. She did not know if he spoke true, but what would he gain from deluding her? If Krath wanted the stone, she was powerless to stop him.

  She perked up, seized by an idea. “Perhaps I could help you remain hidden, my lord. You know my powers. If only I had my Staff with me…”

  “The protection around this castle is ample enough, but I appreciate the offer,” Krath said with an amused smile. “If only you had your Staff, you say? Are you hoping I would fetch it for you?”

  Dulcea pursed her lips. Uncertain about how best to make her case, she tried a different approach.

  “It is a priceless item, my lord. I would rather not see it in enemy hands.”

  The vampire grinned. “And what would I gain from such a venture? We have already established the golden dragonstone is of no interest to me.”

  “Perhaps you would have the Staff itself?” The idea hurt, but she would sacrifice it to save herself from this place. “It channels magic and strengthens your innate talents, but you need not be an enchanter to use it. Amparo Darksun—the Adegan leader, that is—and his clan gifted it to me. I could show you how best to wield it.”

  “In exchange for what, exactly?” he asked with a look that told her he already knew.

  “My freedom.”

  Krath seemed to consider this. He rubbed his chin. Dulcea inhaled. Her heart thumped to an erratic rhythm in her breast. Had she aroused his interest? Dulcea leaned forward, eager to elaborate, but the vampire raised his hand to silence her. The conversation was over.

  “Your pardon, my lady,” he said. “You delight me with your company, but I have things which need attending. A room awaits you in the southeast tower; Lucindra will take you there. I encourage you to rest. The maids will see to your needs, and you may call them anytime, but you are to stay in your room until told otherwise.”

  He rose, and Dulcea did the same. Her mind burned with disappointment. The vampire did not seem irked by her enquiry. So, why the abrupt end to their conversation then? Krath rang a bell, and the maid Lucindra emerged again from the servant corridor, curtsying to them.

  “Please follow me, milady,” she said to Dulcea and headed for the main door.

  She glanced at Krath. He gave her a light bow, and she bent her head in place of a curtsy.

  The maid guided her through the silent castle into a spacious tower room. Dark red carpets covered the floor, and the tapestries on the walls depicted historical scenes with dragons, castles, a
nd knights in them. The Sarusean invasion had ended the Age of the High Kings in Caeryn, and Dulcea supposed these were depictions from that legendary time.

  The three windows in the room did not let in much light, but elegant lanterns hung from the walls, illuminating the space with their warm glow. There was a fire in the fireplace despite it being almost summer outside, but the room felt only mildly warm. Dulcea shuddered to think what a winter might feel like in this place. Chests and wardrobes lined the walls, and a choice set of drawing room furniture made for a cozy living area. A large canopy bed and a dressing table with a mirror completed the room’s design.

  The maid left her alone, and Dulcea heard a key turn in the lock as she closed the door. She was a prisoner, but at least her cage was comfortable.

  Dulcea walked to the nearest tiny window and gazed outside. The castle was in a narrow, rugged valley framed by fir-covered slopes. Higher up the mountainsides were gray and rocky, but their high peaks were still snow-capped. These must have been the Ghardar Mountains that framed the Kingdom of Usvameer in the east. She had ended up much further away from their camp at West Ford than she had thought, although it meant she was somewhere close to General Haden in the east. She could hear the distant rush of water in her room. Dulcea craned her neck to the left and glimpsed white waterfalls running their waters into one sparkling river, which flowed by the castle.

  She smiled, clapping her hands together with glee. That was a good sign. The river was so wide even here at its headwaters that it must have been the River Sithra or one of its tributaries. Haden’s army at East Ford, by the foot of the mountains, could not be too far away. She could make that walk, but first she would have to get out of this place. Dulcea sighed. With a curse upon her and none of her magic to help her, it would not be easy.

  She wondered what Krath might do if she attempted to escape. He could appear and disappear at will, it seemed. With powers like that, wouldn’t he be able to follow her anywhere? He might catch her in the blink of an eye and bring her back, and he might not be this polite, then. Dulcea thrummed the cool, dark stone by the window with her fingers. He had shown little emotion so far, unless one counted amusement at her expense. How would someone like him behave when angered or upset? She decided she did not want to know, not when she was so vulnerable still. He seemed to appreciate her company, though, and he was open to conversation, so she would try patience and persuasion first.

  Dulcea glanced at the opulent canopy bed with heavy blankets and fur covers placed upon a feather mattress. A great weariness stole over her. Krath’s advice sounded in her mind. She had not slept in a full day, and who knew what went on in this castle at night. Dulcea decided she would rather sleep during the day in case she would need to stay alert when it was dark. She took off her gown and her shoes, undid her hair and braided it to keep it from tangling, and then slipped under the covers.

  She stared up at the canopy, wondering what was going on at Camp West Ford right then. It was morning. They must have noticed her disappearance by now. Were they looking for her already? And what was Delbin doing? Dulcea fisted her hands in anger. She hoped Myoden and Nemnyan would have the sense to doubt every word of that backstabbing upstart.

  Despite her concerns, Dulcea was quick to drift off to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  Traitorous Intent

  Krath stood in the shadows, watching Dulcea Lightbringer sleep in the bed prepared for her. He was invisible, but it was invisibility unlike what the enchanters practiced. He lingered in the half space between the Netherworld and the corporeal one, in an endless moment lost between two frozen heartbeats. It would not matter if she woke up, she would not notice his presence.

  It was not decent behavior to spy on a lady in her bedchamber, and a small part of him disapproved of what he was doing. His uncle had raised him well, and the ideals of knighthood were still important to him, but fifteen long centuries had also passed since then. She was beautiful and tempting, but he meant her no harm. He could appreciate her beauty, but it roused no great desire in him.

  He wanted to know her mind, not her body.

  A creature as long-lived as he, and yet she was only maybe the fifteenth or sixteenth elf with whom he had ever talked. Before her rebellion, many humans lived their entire lives without ever even seeing one of the elven kind. Blaze Elves lived somewhere in the deserts of Avarea, and Wild Elves inhabited the forest on the other side of the Ghardar Mountains, but both rarely ventured outside their homes. The Sea Elves had once built great cities in the natural harbors along the coast of Caeryn, but their race had since disappeared. No one had seen their kind for more than a thousand years.

  The Mist Elves were a peculiar sort and reminded him of things he wanted to forget. The Silver Elves, too, had a certain reputation. Lady Dulcea’s home forest of the Silverwoods had always struck him as a place of cautious and withdrawn conservatism. Krath snorted, gazing at the sliver of a pale bare arm peeking out from under the heavy covers. She was different. Dulcea was not only a rebel against the Sarusean rule, but she defied even the customs of her own people.

  He had driven himself into a corner by not allowing the Saruseans to kill her. She was dangerous simply because she lived; it invited too much attention to a person too near him. Her death would have meant an end to the war and release from an outcome he dreaded. But desire mixed with some unfamiliar urge had guided his hand, and now she was here with him, and want and indecision battled for supremacy in his cold, dead heart. What to do with her? She had a sharp mind; it would be a shame to thrall that out of her.

  There had been no vampires other than him for a long time, and the thought of companionship was tempting. His former companions had all been human males. It was not a conscious choice he had made; it was rather the way the society worked, but Lady Dulcea was different. She was not like the other women of his acquaintance—beautiful but pretentious noble ladies, poor and tired housewives, or harlots working the alehouses where he hunted for a meal.

  The impressive calm of her countenance throughout their conversation had surprised him. He had expected otherwise: thinking she would either fall silent, or cry, scream, or act otherwise agitated. Lady Dulcea did none of that. She conversed with him as before—her face only a shade paler, betraying her nervousness. She even challenged him. Perhaps she still entertained some notion that he had saved her. If he wanted her, he would get her. He might need to seduce her, but his will would prevail, and she would accept the change and become a creature of the night by his side.

  He knew what he wanted; the years spent observing her had only strengthened his desire, but it was inadvisable. Blood bound both ways, and it unnerved him how comfortable he was in her presence. She fascinated him, and he enjoyed her company, but he also recognized alarming signs of infatuation in himself. That would not do at all. It could destroy everything if he became attached to her. He could not afford to get distracted by her presence or let her influence his decisions. He had played this game too long to lose now.

  Krath shook his head. He was a fool to think it might work. It was too dangerous—he might not treat her like the subservient fledgling she would become. He might end up indulging her simply because she was so alluring, and he had been alone for so long. She might end up ruling him, when all reason dictated it ought to be the other way around.

  He ought to just kill her; that was the safest way for everyone, and the thought of tasting her blood thrilled him like nothing else. But death was so permanent. He wanted to keep her alive and unspoiled a little longer. Her behavior toward him reinforced this wish. Had she reacted to him with utter revulsion, he would have found it easier to end her life without remorse. But Lady Dulcea bathed, dressed, ate, and slept how and when he told her to, and did so without displaying much fear or suspicion. She treated him almost like she would treat any noble and respectable host, and this made him want to continue to behave like one.

  Unable to decide on a course of action, Krath faded back into th
e shadows of the Netherworld.

  ---

  There was no escaping the memories of Delbin’s betrayal even in her dreams.

  ---

  Usvameer, Camp West Ford. Blossoming Moon (spring season 7093).

  The sixth year of the Rebellion.

  It began with the courting presents, ever since the Council of the Houses had recommended that House Silanquel should receive the title of the Royal Adviser. Her hand in marriage had been much sought after that. She had been a desirable match before, but now with the impending royal title, every House with an available son pursued her for becoming their daughter-in-law. The Houses were soon competing about who could offer her the most advantages in a marriage.

  Dulcea had no wish to marry anyone. She had refused marriage once already in her youth, to the displeasure of her parents. They had since died, and there was no living relative to assume the role of a marriage negotiator on her behalf. It complicated the matter somewhat. Whatever their feelings for her, custom discouraged suitors from approaching her in person. Love matches were rare among the nobility: it was the parents of the prospective bride and groom who arranged and agreed on the nuptials.

  When a hopeful husband candidate at last approached her in person about an alliance by marriage, it was by the person she had least expected. Her surprise was great. Dulcea had half feared that Myoden might say something to her, whether out of desire or sense of obligation, but it was not him. The formal request for an audience came from Lord Delbin Surinquel. He aroused no interest in her, but she was polite and granted him the hearing. Dulcea planned to receive him with her guards in the War Tent, in formal attire and with her Golden Staff in her hand. She hoped it would deter his amorousness toward her.

  What she did not expect, however, was that he would make it to the meeting first. Dulcea found him from the War Tent in the company of her guards, prattling away with each other with such familiarity that put her ill at ease. Delbin was a handsome man, but his countenance was always haughty, and his smile never reached his eyes. He got up when he noticed her enter the tent with the rest of her entourage.