He grinned at her then, something humorous in his smile.
“If not to my lady. A gentleman must not forget his manners.” The vampire laughed.
“… And are you a gentleman, my lord?” she asked with a level countenance.
“I cannot claim to be incapable of savagery, but there are certain standards to which I uphold myself.” He sounded serious and not at all indignant like she might have imagined. “I do not hunt people like they were animals. I’ve known vampires who did that, but I consider that barbaric. There is too much pride in me to forget myself. I am not some mindless corpse raised by a necromancer: I only kill for nourishment and for strategic value, not for the sport of it.”
Dulcea gulped. “I suppose for a vampire that is noble…”
“You are a curious lady. I cannot tell if you a jesting,” he said after a moment’s observation.
“I am entirely serious. You’ve a lot more integrity than some people I know.”
Krath snorted. “Anyone has more integrity than a traitor.”
“You are right. It is not a good comparison.” Dulcea rubbed her arm. “I cannot fault your honor. What you’ve promised you’ve kept.”
His eyes held an intense look. “And would you consider my manners gentlemanly?”
“You are… raised to those standards and care about upholding the image required of a man of your station; that much is certain. You can be… ruthless and arrogant, but your good far outweighs your bad.”
He stroked his jaw. “I thank you for your honest observation, my lady.”
Dulcea said nothing, the intensity of his gaze taking her breath away. They were silent for a moment, contemplating a new topic. The tense pause in conversation was still obvious but not as awkward as before.
She perked up. “About your origins… You mentioned your uncle was the king. Wouldn’t that mean your father was the king’s little brother?”
Krath shook his head. “It was my mother who was his sister. She was my Uncle Vingmar’s elder, but law did not allow princesses with male relatives to inherit the throne. It still does not in most countries. The few queens there have been throughout history were out of necessity in times of accident and strife when all others with royal blood were either dead or disowned.”
“King Tarim told me they’ve had queens in Sraeyn since centuries before the Sarusean invasion. Also, Her Imperial Highness Princess Mischallea is to assume the Silverwoods’ throne after her father, but it is true what you say. It is because she has no brothers and not even any male cousins. I would assume the same of Sraeyn’s queens. I think it was mere chance that put them on the throne, not the hierarchy of birth.”
“That would also be my guess,” the vampire said.
“So…” Dulcea tilted her head. “You lived the life of a prince?”
“I suppose so.” He shrugged. “My father passed away the year I was born and my mother before I was four. Uncle Vingmar and his wife raised me, but I was not a spoiled boy. I had no claim to the throne: Vingmar had sons aplenty for that. I got into mischief and trouble with my cousins sometimes—what young boy wouldn’t—but I never forgot my oaths. My uncle had the best swords-masters of the country in his employment. They taught me to fence, and soon I was better than them. I became a knight to my uncle’s realm, sworn to protect its ruler from harm.”
“What of your scholarly interests, are they just a byproduct of your long years?”
“No, history has always interested me. I think my cousins often thought me boring company.” Krath smirked. “They were always more disobedient than me and often got on my Aunt Adellynn’s nerves. My books were many times better entertainment than any of them.”
“Were you ever… betrothed? Married?” His past intrigued her.
He frowned. “Betrothed, yes, but it was rather understood than official. There was some noble lady for whom they had me intended. I no longer recall neither her face nor her name. She was about a decade junior to me, and I had no interest in matrimony, but every member of the royal household must marry. In due time, I would have followed my uncle’s wishes, but circumstances conspired to remove me from life altogether.”
Dulcea drew in a breath. There it was. He was giving her the perfect opening. How did you die? The question was on the tip of her tongue, but Krath was faster.
“What about you, my lady? You mentioned turning down suitors?”
Dulcea swallowed her disappointment.
“Oh. It is as you said, nobles need to marry to continue the line,” she said. “My parents had me promised to a man of excellent background, but I did not want to become his wife. I wanted to study to become an enchantress, and matrimony would have taken that chance away from me. My parents accepted my choice, even though it brought some displeasure upon our House. I could never have found contentment as an aristocratic wife, not with such dreams and ambitions of my own.”
“Life is strange, do you not reckon?” He quirked an eyebrow at her.
“In what manner, you mean?”
“One different choice, and there would be no Dulcea Lightbringer today. No rebellion, no bloodshed. You would have a different title to your name, a child, and a husband who would make you hide in the closet every time that a Sarusean walked by.”
Dulcea scowled. “These soon six years since I left the White Tower have been bloody, dismal, and hopeless enough to last us the next hundred years. However, I cannot regret any of it. Without it, we would still be slaves, and I rather die as a free woman than live as a slave. If I was House Loraquel’s matron, I would not have the friendship of the golden dragons’ leader Amparo Darksun. He is the dearest thing to me in this world—only peace would mean more. Every good thing in this past half a decade is because of them: this world owes a great deal of thanks to the Golden Clan.”
She considered her words, wondering about the advisability of what she wanted to say.
“I pride myself on possessing a vivid imagination, but this is something I could never have dreamed into existence.” She gestured between herself and Krath. “You and I did not start out with a high likelihood of becoming friends. I am still not sure what this is, but I value these conversations with you.”
“It would please me for that to be true. It challenges my opinions to get to know you, my lady.”
“Likewise, my lord.” She inclined her head in agreement.
Krath grinned at her—a slow, genuine smile that did strange things to her shortness of breath. The vampire, perhaps sensing her unease, soon digressed for her comfort.
“How were your losses—and that of the Saruseans’—at Serpent Rocks?”
“On the whole: it was a slaughter. We suffered losses, yes, but most who fell were Sarusean.” She grimaced, feeling the cold dread of remembrance grab her for a moment. “After the poisonous fumes had done their job, and the millstone doors had crumbled, the Saruseans came pouring out of the underground. Many were… not right in the head. I did not realize it would be that bad. Their disorientation made them attack anything that moved—even their own comrades. We took a lot of prisoners and are right now moving them to various prisoner-of-war camps around Usvameer and the rest of Caeryn. However, I fear we are yet to see the full extent of the damage. Many people may yet die because of our attack on Serpent Rocks.”
Her stomach lurched, and she fisted her hands.
“What of that traitor, the one who betrayed you to the Saruseans—did you find him?”
“Delbin? No. Not him and not any of his accomplices,” she said. “He was not at Serpent Rocks.”
They continued their discussion for some length of time. Krath was interested in her account of the siege, keen to understand it like a historian. Dulcea realized with some amusement that she was source material to him, a credible eyewitness account. She enjoyed talking history with him; he was unbiased and did not base his opinions on mere hearsay. He would write about the events at Serpent Rocks, but subjective impressions would feature no role in it.
&
nbsp; She raised an eyebrow at him. “For shame! I think you are taking advantage of me, my lord.”
Krath laughed, the sound soft and merry, as though her words were some arch, teasing comment.
“No, my lady.” The vampire smirked. “Making you write it would be me taking advantage of you.”
He got up then, and Dulcea also resumed her feet, reciprocating his deep bow with a curtsy. Krath pressed a hand to his chest and nodded to her, the barest smile on his lips.
“When might I expect my lady to grace my eve with her presence in Gwyndoorn…?”
It was the first time the vampire had referred to their agreement after they had made it eight evenings before. It was not an appalling thought to visit his castle and dine with him, she only wondered at the purpose behind it.
She dropped her gaze. “I am yet to invent an explanation to satisfy both my generals and my dragon guardian Darksun. The issue may seem like a trifle to you, but it is of utmost importance to me.”
“I understand well enough.” His smile turned feral. “Anyone may seek you at any moment, and you are to be there at their disposal at any hour of the day.”
She crossed her arms. “I care none for your jesting.”
Krath snorted. “Who says I was?”
He took a step back and vanished from her sight. Dulcea stared after him for a good, long moment. Nothing changed. She sighed, turned on her heel, and started on her bedtime routines.
Chapter 20
Recollections in a Dream
Dreams were strange. One never knew what awaited in them.
Sometimes Dulcea dreamed of past happenings; her time at the White Tower, her childhood, and the death of her father at Sarusean hands not long before her escape to Sraeyn. Some dreams made no sense, while others were unmistakable in their symbolism. She sometimes came aware in the dream, while at other times she had no recollection of anything in the morning.
The war trickled into her dreams. Sometimes she saw death and destruction, at other times the hope of a peaceful future. Sometimes, the day’s events replayed in her dream.
Myoden’s words from the afternoon before lingered somewhere at the back of her mind.
---
Myoden frowned, tapping a finger to his chin.
“You say Delbin knew about Grom. Do you think that was for long?”
“Well, he did not say, but why is that of interest to you?”
“Something strikes me as odd. Have you noticed that since Delbin betrayed you, we have had no one trying to interfere with the war?”
Dulcea blinked. “Are you sure? It’s only been a fortnight and a half…”
“Yes, but since it began, when was the last time things were this quiet even for a fortnight?”
Dulcea shrugged.
“Consider what we know,” the priest said. “It started with Captain Saron.”
“Didn’t we agree that was Lady Pendralyssa’s apprentice?” Dulcea raised an eyebrow.
“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Myoden stroked his jaw. “There’s our Hai’Mezene’s impostor in Miranma, leading to our attack on Desert Rocks under false information. Then there are the letters you received, and Nian’s encounter with the rogue soldiers. There’s also the missing correspondence between us and the Shadow Guild. The missing girls in Avarea, which turned the Saruseans’ attention on us. There’s the—”
She grimaced. “Yeah. All the inexplicable happenings at camp.”
The priest coughed. “I meant to say the one missing evening from your—”
Dulcea fisted her hands. “Myoden. You promised not to talk about that.”
He scratched his neck. “I apologize. That’s just a lot of weirdness that stopped happening.”
“If you mean to say it was Delbin who did all that, we will have to agree to disagree.” She snorted. “How would he have gotten himself to Avarea, anyway?”
“He comes from a respectable House with wealth and connections,” Myoden said. “We also know he had accomplices. I do not reckon it impossible.”
“What would he gain from it? He does not seem like the type. It would be uncharacteristic. I can see him trying to weigh his options, assessing the strengths and weaknesses of each plan, but Delbin is not unintelligent. I do not see him trying to sabotage us.”
Myoden sighed. “I don’t know…”
“I doubt he started out with malicious intent.” Dulcea crossed her arms. “Look, I am not trying to defend him, but you were not there. He was honest about his plans. I believe he wanted us to win when this all started—that it was the truth which steered him off course. He feared Grom would decimate us. He betrayed us, yes, but I would like to believe he did it for the greater good of everyone involved in the war and not for his own ambition. I would find that… easier to forgive, perhaps.”
The priest ran a hand through his hair. “You drive a hard bargain, my lady.”
“Always.” She flashed him a little lopsided grin.
Dulcea rubbed her arm. Her brow furrowed. She felt like the puzzle was incomplete, like she was missing a piece.
---
Sometimes, she dreamed of happy, silly things: fireflies, the Moon Cross Festival, and the memory of dancing under the spring moon. Her first kiss.
At other times the danger was ever present in her dreams, years after it had passed.
---
Miranma, port city Sheliath. Long Nights’ Moon (winter season 7090 - 7091).
The fourth year of the Rebellion.
Dulcea entered the establishment and approached the tavern master to inquire if anyone by the name of Hai’Mezene had already arrived. She learned he had not, but the proprietor promised to tell the barbarian chief to join her at her table when he did. Dulcea ordered some mead, walked to a free table, and sat down to wait for the chief’s arrival.
Three hours later, the barbarian still had not arrived. Dulcea’s frustration grew with each passing second. She toyed with her drink, exasperated at the delay. Why had she received no note? Had something happened to Chief Hai’Mezene to detain him, or had he ever meant to come? The hour passed to noon. Dulcea thrummed her fingers on the table. She considered leaving when at last someone sat down in front of her, occupying the free chair at the opposite end of the small corner table. Looking up, she saw it was a man: tanned and dark-haired like all the southerners were wont to be.
“You can drop the illusions, Lady Dulcea. I know who you are.” He gave her an amused smile.
“Oh. You must be Chief Hai’Mezene?” Dulcea asked, altering her concealment charms.
In a room full of people, only he could see her true face.
“I must be.” The stranger smirked, crossed his legs, and leaned back in his chair.
“You differ from what I imagined.” She tilted her head and pursed her lips.
She had somehow pictured him bulkier, more fierce-looking. Dulcea found it difficult to believe this man before her was a well-renowned barbarian chief and the Great Chieftain of all the barbarian tribes.
“You, however, are everything I pictured.” Hai’Mezene grinned.
Something about the man chilled her, and she wondered if coming to meet him on her own had been such a good idea. Her first impression of the chief told her he was a dangerous man to trust.
“Let us drop the niceties and get down to business, shall we?” The barbarian raised an eyebrow.
His tone was sarcastic, as was his expression. Dulcea was silent for a moment, struggling to remain calm and understanding. Hai’Mezene was her best hope to ally with the barbarian tribes of the free lands of Miranma. If she should be so unfortunate as to lose his good opinion, it was the same as falling into disgrace with the whole barbarian nation.
For the sake of her people, she checked her tongue.
She smiled at him. “Thank you for taking the time to meet me. I understand how busy you are. From what I am told, you meet with over five tribe headsmen a day until the following moon’s Winter Meet.”
Hai’Mezene nodd
ed. “Yes, it is what the chief does.”
“What induced you to accept my summons? I have been trying to get my views known for the better part of two months. While independence seems like a universal dream of all the tribes I’ve spoken to, until now no one has tried to encourage me to pursue it. So why now?”
“I grew bored with the company I keep.” He scoffed, and Dulcea reckoned there was a hint of truthful bitterness in his voice. “You of all people, Lady Dulcea, ought to know how slow things are to change. We do, act, and hunt the same things every day. Have you never taken the time to consider it? Something inside you must scream for a change. I hoped maybe you could give me that.” His smile was soft, almost melancholy.
She frowned, a little worried she had misunderstood the chief’s intentions.
Dulcea crossed her arms. “I assumed you approached me because you desired freedom—not because you were looking for entertainment.”
“Does it matter how desire is born? Is it not the same, regardless of its origins?” He tapped a finger to his cheek. “I disdain the Sarusean filth that inhabits the land of my forefathers. I would see you free it.”
“Oh.” She relaxed. “I seem to have… misunderstood you then. I apologize.”
“Perhaps, Lady Dulcea, you would misunderstand me many a time yet,” he said. “We all do that, and often on purpose.”
Her stomach twisted. She felt strange. “I don’t understand why you or I would want to misunderstand anyone just on a lark.”
Chief Hai’Mezene shrugged, a dark look of amusement lingering in his intrusive eyes. He then asked her to indulge him by showing him the dragonstone for which she was so famous. Dulcea hesitated, recalling her earlier misgivings about him. She appreciated the power being allied with him would bring, but his odd behavior and ominous words aroused her suspicion. She wanted to trust him, to believe in the promise of things he was offering her, but the cold fear of uncertainty gripped her insides. What if it was not the warfare politics that interested him but her dragonstone? What if it was his own station he sought to elevate and not the lifestyle and standards of all the barbarian tribes of Miranma?
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