~ Winter of the Viros~
Shadows of Deception

The pall of night drew near, its embrace a refuge for some and a curse for others.
Zuriek tasted the bitter sap of his own venom and rolled an increasingly dry tongue back and forth between his crooked rows of teeth. Long incisors curved from his cracked lips, a pair of sallow, well-used daggers, meant for nothing but the inevitable kill. The chase grew tiresome. He was consumed by only a primitive determination to survive. Each footfall was heavier than the last. Hunger clawed at his innards and the hunt for food burned in him.

How long had he fled? In his haste to escape the Red General, time became an illusion. The Sariya vampire tried to remember exactly why he fled, besides the desire to keep his head a top his shoulders. He had killed someone out of turn and couldn’t quite recall why or who. No matter. It was a paltry circumstance. Zuriek shrugged it out of his small mind with a snarl and another run of his tongue along his teeth. He had killed so many; what was one more? Blood was blood and he drained it where he could find it. His stomach churned, reminding him that it was time he found more. He could not remember a time in life when the thirst did not drive him. The Sariyas were strong; they were many; and they were always hungry.

The wind picked up, shifting in from the south. Zuriek went still among the forest bramble. The wood had been dense to begin, but as he ventured south and east the trees gave way to larger spaces and the occasional clearing made travel easier. The growth yielded more to patches of grass and small shrubbery where he could hear the skittering of lesser creatures. They made for poor nourishment and had been his only source of food since his flight had begun. Now he lifted his nose to the breeze. His tattered garments rose and fell with the wind. They emitted his clan’s stench and the reek of his travel.

Something sweet was carried to him on the air from the south. Something young. Something fresh.
Zuriek sneered and smacked his lips. His yellow eyes narrowed to a honed hunter’s gaze. The mild wind retreated, but he had already locked on the direction of his quarry. He loped soundlessly towards his meal, a fanged specter with a low growl rising in his throat.

A single thought encompassed his mind.

Blood.

Chapter 2

Where am I?

“Oh, Vinnette, did you fall again?” Emily Edur’s voice flowed through the air, a spring breeze made with gentle words.
Vinnette peered up at her mother, surprised to see her and see her so young. She knelt down to where Vinnette sat on the floor, her blue-gray eyes shining. She and Vinnette were, more often than not, mistaken for an older and younger sister instead of mother and daughter. Emily wore a simple white, cotton dress and she smelled fresh, her scent a mixture of dish soap, clean linen, and the bread baking in the kitchen. With her pale skin and hair she had appeared to be some sort of heavenly apparition floating from room to room as she attended to her motherly and wifely duties, always with a smile touching her lips.
“How many times have I told you, Vinnette,” she continued softly, but sternly. “If you want to run around like an animal, do it outside.”
“I’m sorry, Mam,” Vinnette recognized her own voice though it was a child’s now, shrill and sad at being disciplined.
Vinnette remembered this day. She had been five years old and tearing through the house like a marauder on a quest for treasure despite her mother’s warnings that several of the floorboards were in poor repair and her father had not yet gotten around to fixing them. This was the third time that morning her mother had spoken to her about it and this time Vinnette had a skinned knee to show for her foolishness.
“I just want to be inside with you.” Young Vinnette struggled to meet her mother’s steady gaze.
Emily sighed forgivingly. She shook her head and placed a tender hand on Vinnette’s cheek. Her palm was fragrant and warm from working in the kitchen all morning, baking bread and sweets for later on.
“I’ll be out to play with you later,” she promised. “But for right now I want you to mind your ways. Understand?”
Vinnette nodded slowly, her eyes glossy with tears. She was witnessing all this through her five-year-old self, having no control over her speech or movement. Although her knee stung and tears blurred her sight, she was happy. She was with her parents again, hopefully forever.
I must be dead. I’m a star in the sky.
“Why don’t you go outside and find your pap?” Her mother suggested. “I bet he could use some help out there.”
“I can help!” Vinnette cried and jumped up with a child’s exuberance, instantly forgetting her skinned knee.
Emily rose to her feet and ran her fingers through Vinnettes hair.
“Make your way then,” she said. “I’ll be out soon. And no running until you’re out that door. The Great Lords are watchful, Vinnette.”
“Okay, mam!”
She made for the door, playfully skipping, but careful not to run. She listened to the familiar creaks of each wooden board under her feet and the clang of dishes that came from the kitchen where her mother had promptly returned. The front door was open, sunlight cascading through and alighting the pollen in the air to a golden haze. The comforting scents of dragon goblets and pine drifted to Vinnette.
The sound of hammering came from somewhere outside. No doubt, it was her father working diligently on his latest endeavor to improve the home that Vinnette had always thought was charming despite its lack of grandeur or working his craft to sell as a vender down at Purrean Bay. She grinned, knowing that at any moment her hard-working, but clumsy pap would slam his finger with a misplaced stroke of the hammer and curse the gods under his breath for letting it happen.
Vinnette bounded out the doorway of sunshine only to freeze in horror just beyond the threshold. The dazzling light melted away to a black void. She turned to run back, but the door and the cottage were gone. Her parents….faded to memories. She was surrounded by nothingness with only the sounds of her own terrified gasps in her ears.
“No!” Her desperate cry reverberated across the blackness.
She looked down at her trembling hands and saw those of her older self. Past her hands, Vinnette could see no floor or ground. There appeared to be no other person or thing existing in the black abyss. She crossed her arms and hugged herself, shivering.
A voice came from the darkness. It was a woman’s, but most certainly not her mother’s. The new voice was a bit deeper, flat and serious. This voice sounded as if it could crush a person’s soul. It was a far away echo at first and Vinnette couldn’t make out the words. She strained to hear from which direction it came.
“Hello?” The stranger’s voice was right next to her. “Can you hear me?”
The words were clear now and she could distinguish other sounds; the chirping of birds, the rustle of wind tossing leaves outside, and a heavy breathing that might or might not belong to the female addressing her. Memories of the vicious beast tearing at her and draining her blood came flooding back. She held her breath, afraid another like him hovered over her, waiting to feed.
She was aware of her body, numb and listless. Her head ached; her temples were pounding and sending lightning bolts of pain to the backs of her eyes.
“Open your eyes,” the voice persisted, now accompanied by a calloused, cool hand on her forehead. “I know you’re awake.”
Vinnette frowned and dared to do as the voice commanded. Perhaps there was a chance this visitor was a friendly one, but judging from the tone of the voice she doubted it. She opened her eyes, only to utter a frightened squeal and impulsively press her back flat to the floor as if the wood might give way to a hidden retreat.
On her right loomed a great black cat, panting heavily and staring at her with calm, yellow eyes. To her surprise, it simply sat unblinking and mostly unmoving. She gazed back, dumbfounded until the voice spoke again, snapping Vinnette to attention.
“He won’t hurt you….Knight doesn’t kill the innocent.”
Vinnette looked left to a pair of emerald eyes and a marble white face. The strangers night black hair was pulled tightly behind her in a braid that fell close to Vinnette as the woman hovered over her. A crimson cape was draped over her shoulders, swallowing most of the woman’s body in its shadow. It was purposefully held back in one place by the jewel encrusted hilt of a sword. Vinnette’s gaze finally settled on the two small white fangs protruding slightly over her lower lip. She swallowed nervously.
“Please,” she began, but her voice sounded thick. She cleared it and tried again. “Please don’t hurt me. Last night…”
Her voice trailed off, unable to complete the thought. Fat tears ran down her colorless cheeks and she unconsciously covered her neck in defense. Depleted of energy, it was all she could do to try and save herself.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” the woman said. Her voice was cold, neither kind nor reassuring, but it held a weight of truth. “What is your name?”
“Vinnette,” she responded, trying to regain her natural voice. “Vinnette Edur.”
“Hello, Vinnette Edur,” she said in a formal tone. She dipped her head and touched two fingers to her collarbone without removing her gaze from the girl. Vinnette was unaccustomed to the greeting movement. “Do you know who I am?”
Vinnette carefully studied her face and clothes, noting the clasp securing the red cloak. It was a large signet broach, dull silver in color and engraved with tremendous detail, a dragon with wings spread and the full moon rising behind it. It was the symbol of the Viros, the ruling house of vampires that had governed Astalgia for centuries beyond mortal reckoning. She peered into eyes that held restrained volatility and realized although they had never met before, Vinnette knew to whom she spoke. This was the heir to the throne and the general of the land’s military forces. What in the Great Lords will had brought her into Vinnettes home?
“Princess….Lexia….Winter of the V-Viros,” she said breathlessly.
“You may address me as General Viro, Miss Edur.”
Every word from this woman’s mouth was a command, Vinnette imagined. She did not suggest, advise, or make otherwise ambiguous statements. Her tone and countenance made it clear that she should be obeyed under all circumstances.
“Yes, General,” Vinnette complied.
The vampire nodded approvingly.
“Now, I’m going to move you to your bed where you can rest more comfortably. Then we are to have a talk, you and I. Knight,” the General spoke to her feline companion now who, at the sound of his name, averted his gaze to the vampire and waited expectantly. “The door.”
The panther stood up, paced back and forth once, then sat as still and solid as iron at his post. Vinnette watched for a moment, astounded by his size. The beast was easily the largest animal shed ever laid eyes upon, except for the horses that occasionally passed through the glade – easily nine paces long from the top of his head to the tip of his tail.
Satisfied they would not be disturbed, the vampire slid her arms under Vinnette’s shoulders and knees. Vinnette could feel the General’s muscles underneath the fabric of her shirt against her own sweating skin. She scooped her from the floor and cradled her effortlessly as if Vinnette was no heavier than a small child. Now that she was so close to the General, she could detect the scent of leather coming from under the cape and there was another subtle undertone. It was a mild, pleasing fragrance, like flowers.
In a moment, Vinnette was lying in her bed, thankful to be sinking into the clean linens. She sighed with a certain amount of relief.
“Thank you,” she tried to smile, but General Viro’s stern face stifled it.
“Do not thank me,” she said, chasing away any relief Vinnette had felt. “Our business has not yet concluded. We must speak, Vinnette Edur. You will answer what I ask with truth only. Then you will be left in peace. Do you understand?”
She nodded slowly in much the same way she did when she was five and her mother chastised her. She clenched handfuls of sheets with hands drenched in congealed blood and perspiration, waiting for her to speak.
“This was done without your consent?”
“Yes,” Vinnette answered.
The General nodded as if she had known what the answer would be. “The vampire’s name is Zuriek. I am currently pursuing him for another crime,” she explained.
“What did he do?”
“That does not concern you. What does concern you is the transformation you have already begun. By tonight you will be a different being, a creature of blood.”
She stepped closer to the bed and looked down on her. Vinnette stared back with eyes that refused to blink.
“For those who were not born vampires, this new way of life can be strange. There are many things to be aware of and certain responsibilities. It can be frightening.” She paused, glowering, perhaps assessing the girls ability to absorb any new information in her current state. “But for now we talk of Zuriek. Did he speak to you?”
By now, General Viro had circled the bed. She stood on the opposite side, hand on the hilt of her sword.
“Only…only to tell me that I was a meal,” she wept and recoiled from the vampire warrior shadowing her bed. The wound to her throat was on fire; her tears were salty.
“He gave no implication to where he would go afterward?” She questioned further.
“No.” The word was a rasp.
The vampire cocked her head slightly, eyes boring into her. “And you did not see the direction of his departure?”
Vinnette’s jaw worked itself up and down, but no words would come. She squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered. What woman was so pitiless as this? What woman would continue to interrogate a young girl who had been near the brink of death only hours before? The answer was glaring icily down at her when she opened her eyes again.
“I know your experiences over the last hours must come as a shock to you, Miss Edur,” the royal heir spoke impatiently. There was an audible snarl in her throat. “But I am tracking Zuriek and every moment I spend here, he is farther from my grasp.”
“I’m, I’m sorry, General,”
The vampire was frowning deeply now and tightened the grip on her weapon. “I require answers. Now.”

“He did this to me,” she gestured weakly to the raw tears in her pale flesh. Vinnette broke into weak sobs. “I saw nothing afterward.”
There was silence from the fanged woman. Perhaps she was considering finishing what the monster last night had started or possibly only weighing the veracity of Vinnette’s words. Either way, her green eyes revealed nothing. The sobs wracked Vinnettes bones and she expected that at any moment the General would do away with her. The jeweled blade would slide from its sheath to slice off her head or perhaps pierce her heart. Finally, she spoke. “Calm, Miss Edur. Calm. I see you speak truth. What do you know of my kind, young lady?”
“That….that, uh,” the words came on a high-pitched tenuous breath then fell into nothingness.
“Miss Edur,” her voice was absolutely atonal.
“Y, yes?” She tried to suppress her trembling.
General Viro arched a brow, examining the quivering daughter of Jonathan and Emily Edur.
“How old are you, girl?”
Vinnette attempted not to stutter. “Seventeen,” she answered and twisted the sheets between her fingers.
Palpable frustration came in the vampire’s exhale. “By the Lords. You’re barely more than a cul.”
The word was unfamiliar to Vinnette, but she guessed that it eluded to her being no more than a child.
“Family?” General Viro asked.
“Dead,” she whispered, lowering her eyes. The lids were suddenly heavy and the simple task of rolling her sight back to the vampire was quite a labor. She managed to meet the frigid orbs.
General Viro nodded as if making a decision. She rapped her knuckles lightly over Vinnettes cheekbone, enough to bring her from the brink of exhausted sleep and, at the same time, cause no real pain.
“I must go,” she stated firmly. “But I will provide you with some information before I depart. Pay attention. Closely now.”
“Yes, General,” Vinnette focused as much as she could.
“There are laws that apply to you now, Miss Edur, but I do not have the luxury of quoting all of them to you. So I will tell you the most important of them. You shall never kill another vampire unless it is in defense of your life. You shall never partake in the blood of a mortal without their consent. Attacks such as the one you suffered last night will not be tolerated. You shall never change a mortal to a vampire without the consent of the mortal and approval of the vampire master to which you belong, although in recent years, different houses have become more lax on the master approving such actions. Finally, you shall not take the life of any race or being in Astalgia for sport, spite, or pleasure.”
Vinnette listened attentively as General Viro rattled off the laws of her people in a clear, concise soldier’s voice. She tried very hard to take them all in, repeating each one in her mind.
“These are the laws of our Lord King Enan. They are absolute and all offenses are punishable by the sword,” the General finished. “Have you any questions?”
Vinnette shook her head silently. This vampire did not seem like the type of woman to tolerate many questions.
“Then it is done.”
The Viro adjusted her stance and as her cape parted a bit, Vinnette noticed that the sword was not the only weapon she carried. A black whip was coiled in a loose circle at her hip, looking as a coiled snake at first glance.
“Now,” the General continued. “You may join with your clan or you may go about life on your own. That is your own choice in this matter. Also, you must maintain yourself. You may be immortal in years of life, but vampires are not indestructible. You will be able to heal quickly, but will scar just as any mortal. Your fangs will have grown in by tonight. The size of them depends on the vampire that changed you. In this case, count on them being quite long. Soon you will notice a puffiness in the gums behind your new teeth.” She gestured to a place behind her fangs. “Those are your venom pouches. They are what allow us to turn mortals to our kind. You may experience other changes. It is different for everyone. Again, much depends on the lineage of your sire. Zuriek’s family, the Sariyas, is not particularly fond of sunlight. I wouldn’t spend too much time in the day light until I knew my resistance to it, if I were you.”
“I understand,” Vinnette said, her hands now folded in her lap. Her eyes still shed steady tears.
“The rest you will learn on your own.”
General Viro stepped to the bed, her expression darkening. She leaned forward, coming eye level with the timid blonde. The vampire’s eyes were portals of murder. Vinnette shrunk back into her pillows.
“If you find your time as a vampire very troublesome, make way to Viro City. It is west and north of here. There are vampires there who would aid you,” she instructed. “Do not disappoint me, Vinnette Edur.”
She turned and left the room, leaving Vinnette huddled atop her bed, a frightened child who has just been dredged out of a terrible nightmare. She heard the low murmur of the General’s voice once more and then the familiar “clunk” of the door being shut.
Vinnette slumped down even farther, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. She felt exasperated. She wasn’t sure who had scared her more, Zuriek or General Viro. There was nothing she could do to ensure that she and Zuriek would never cross paths again, but she vowed to learn and live by the laws she had been told in order to prevent another visit from her latest guest. Even though she had treated Vinnette with some decency, the General carried a menacing air about her that she never again wanted to experience.
Putting her face in her hands, Vinnette shook her head furiously. It felt heavy and full of muck. She needed clarity. When she was young and her mind was cluttered, her mother would often instruct her to pray to the Great Lords of Astalgia.
Even if the gods’ answers cannot be heard, the very act of praying can help clear the mind and soul.
Vinnette remembered her mother’s words. Perhaps a prayer would calm her. She first forced herself from bed and drew the curtains at the only window in her room, heeding the General’s advice to avoid too much sunlight.
At her bedside, in the dimness of the room, she knelt down and clasped her hands in front of her chest. They stung from the deep nail marks Vinnette had inflicted on herself the night before. By now the blood had dried and crusted to her palms. A sudden headache blurred her vision and she bowed her head. She prayed silently, one prayer for each of the three Lords. First, she spoke to Niran, the centaur god of love and light, asking that he give her the strength and wisdom to choose the correct paths in her new existence.
Next, she addressed Phirumun, the mischievous imp deity of the elements, imploring him to let the sun be kind to her new form. Of all the beauties in creation, Vinnette most enjoyed the sunshine. She would be greatly grieved if she could no longer take pleasure in watching the dawn or the slow, peaceful sunsets, which she had grown to love.
Lastly, she made a brief plea to the death goddess, Devthema, that she would stay her dark grip on Vinnette’s life for awhile longer. After her scrape with Zuriek, she realized she was not quite ready to give up her place in the world.
The short meditation relaxed Vinnette and she was suddenly very drowsy. The sharp pain in her temples had subsided to a dull ache. She stood with some difficulty and rolled back into bed. The gray light and the shadows swirled together before Vinnette’s tired eyes, appearing to take on the shape of moving faces and bodies. The room was a black and white mural as they danced and mingled together. She pulled the blood stained sheets over her eyes.
Before long, Vinnette was lost in sleep. She did not dream.

Chapter 3

Lexia cursed herself for wasting so much time with the girl at the cottage. It had slowed her progress considerably. By now, Zuriek might be a full day ahead of her. She could only hope that traveling day and night would tire him and his skin would feel the scorch of the unforgiving sun. Though Lexia could survive many days and nights without rest or nourishment, Zuriek could not. His bloodline was weak against the heat and their bellies craved blood often. It was her most important advantage over him at this point.
The mongrel had not been difficult to track. The Sariya family had a distinctive scent. The smell was that of spoiled, raw meat. It was the stench of unwarranted killing — murder — sickening bloodlust. They were a disgusting pack of savages, multiplying incessantly.
Now, she rode with stealthy haste through the forest, rapt by the pace of the hunt. Her mount was a unicorn stallion. Flame. He was a magnificent creature; fast, light-footed, and intelligent. He had strayed from the herd of wild horses that often grazed on the Azere Plain when he was a colt and was discovered by the King’s riding party as they returned from the city of Rinthe. He became a gift for the Princess General who had raised him up as her own. Although unicorns were not unheard of, they were quite rare and Lexia had never before seen one. This one in particular grew to be one of the strongest and fastest steeds in the castle’s stables. He was of no outstanding size, but his other qualities more than compensated for that.
The panther, Knight, kept pace close beside them, seemingly tireless. He was a massive animal with impressive strength and agility. For many years he accompanied Lexia on her journeys throughout Astalgia. Never hesitant to follow her into danger, Knight traveled by her side willingly, neither as a pet nor a servant. She considered him a close friend, one of the very few she had.
He had been on the southern plateau overlooking the Azere Plain when she first found him. Three harpies, filthy, leathery, flying demons, surrounded him. They hissed and stabbed at him with crude spears. They no doubt meant to eat the cat. To hunt was the only reason the winged predators emerged from their caves on the cliffs.
Skin and fur flapped back from the panther’s shoulder where one of the she-monsters had slashed him. He snarled and roared. His claws pawed the air in ferocious swipes, but his body moved sluggishly. In a matter of minutes, the harpies would have had his life.
The harpies had surrounded and trapped him against a steep ledge when Lexia leapt into the fray, drawing her sword and slashing off half one harpy’s wing, sending her over the cliffs with a shrill shriek. Before the other two could react with little more than startled screams, her whip lashed out from the other hand catching the one closest to Knight by the ankle. The other screeched and retreated over the ledge with a flap of her wings, clutching her spear and hissing. Lexia yanked the third harpy toward her. It struggled violently and flapped its wings, kicking up clouds of dust. The beast hissed through a mouthful of crooked, pointed teeth.
Lexia displayed her own fangs and loosed a roar. The monster flapped her bat-like wings only to rise a few feet off the ground before she was snapped down to her back and run through the chest.
As she was returning home, Lexia took notice of the great cat following her, always keeping a safe distance away and often disappearing into the shadow of the forest only to reappear minutes or hours later. Despite his wounded shoulder, he managed to trail her for days, until she reached the castle where he allowed her to nurse him back to health.
That had been little over fifty years ago. What Knight’s age was she could not venture a guess. He could very well be older than she was and she was fascinated by his longevity as she knew few other common animals to retain this extended a lifespan. It did not seem like they had been together for so long. The decades of Lexia’s life tended to melt away behind her, each year more fleeting than the last, blurred together by blood and death.
She glanced down at Knight now, negotiating the logs and brush at his level. The panther did not look back at her, but kept moving forward diligently. He was uniquely loyal and Lexia was grateful for his silent company.
Lifting her head up, she sniffed for Zuriek’s scent. Her fangs dripped venom. She would claim his head and it would serve as a poignant reminder to the Sariya clan of what fate awaited those who murdered, who disobeyed, who dared test her vigilance.

Chapter 4

The aquatic maid lay casually in the soft bed of grass, her tail swishing back and forth in the tranquil water of Coraline Lake. Her wet, blue skin, waxen under the white moonlight and long, royal blue locks would have been a mesmerizing and exotic sight to anyone, but Zuriek was beyond famished. This was only a very convenient meal.
He had fed two nights ago on the fair-haired girl, who, to his delight, proved to be vulnerable and delicious prey. Usually, his thirst would have been satisfied for one or two more days, but the endless pursuit through the woods had run him to painful exertion. He traveled night and day to avoid capture, only to have the unrelenting General gain on him. The sun was beginning to take a toll as well, turning patches of his skin into burning, red blisters.
Zuriek ignored the heat of the sun poisoning in his skin and the perspiration stinging his eyes as he slowly advanced. The mermaid relaxed, her arms crossed behind her head, unaware that she was being stalked. At the last moment she saw Zuriek, fangs slick with venom and bearing down on her in a wild fury. He sank his teeth into her neck, only to pull away spitting and hacking. The water maiden’s blood was salty and bitter. He tried to spit it out, but its consistency was too thick, sticking to his mouth and throat.
Enraged and still starving, Zuriek snapped the neck of the mermaid with one cruel twist. Her body fell limp, her fin splashing in the water one final time. The black sap that was her blood seeped slowly from the gaping slashes in her neck. Her cold, dead eyes stared blankly at the stars, twitching at the corners as the last of her life bled out onto the cool grass.
Zuriek hunched over the edge of the lake and retched. He cupped his hands full of water and desperately tried to wash the sticky substance from his mouth.
He stared hatefully at the lifeless maid. “Foul tasting water wench!” he spat.
Black ichor dripped from his fangs and chin, the taste still lingering on his tongue. About to take a final mouthful of water to rinse the acrid blood away, Zuriek noticed small ripples in the otherwise motionless lake. He inspected the surface. He saw nothing but the shimmer of the moon on the water. There was a splash in the distance and the ripples became little waves, lapping at the grassy edge.
Zuriek sneered and loped away, a bit south and toward the trees, hoping he had not been seen. The General would undoubtedly overtake him if she had someone to point her in the right direction. Maybe by doubling back into the woods, there was a chance to lose her. For his next few meals he would have to resort to hunting woodland creatures, but it was a small price to pay to keep his head.
He was contemplating what manner of animal would best suit his tastes when he heard the pounding of hooves moving rapidly through the woods.

Chapter 5
Lexia reined Flame to a slow gait as they entered the small strip of open grassland between the trees and Coraline Lake. She was certain Zuriek had passed this way. Her nose told her so. The air was inundated with his stench yet there was no sight of him.
Knight sat heavily with a growl, tail flicking back and forth as if he, too, were disappointed by the absence of their quarry. A bit of spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth and he panted with a dry tongue.
“Thirsty?” Lexia asked, dismounting. She patted Flame on his flank and leaned forward to roughly nuzzle Knight’s velvet fur. He responded with a growl and a swipe of his warm tongue across her cheek.
“We can rest for a moment,” she said.
They started toward the water, Lexia leading Flame by the reins. A drink of water wouldn’t quench her thirst for blood, but it could at least relieve the dryness in her mouth.
There was a sound ahead of them, not far off. Lexia halted, her hand instinctively dropping to her sword. Knight growled, his body low to the ground and shoulders twitching.
“Wait,” Lexia knelt next to him and relaxed her grip.
Upon closer inspection, she could recognize a familiar shape near to the water. The figure blended almost completely with the deep blue shade of the lake. Had it not been for her sharp eyesight, she would have overlooked him altogether. It was one of the water folk and the sound she heard was a soft weeping.
“No danger,” she assured Knight.
She approached the stranger, finding it was no stranger at all, but the second prince of the Salen Sea, Balil. Lexia did not know him well, but had dealings with his father, King Beru, from time to time. At first they had attempted to trade lessons in languages, but quickly discovered that Lexia’s people had no way to produce the sounds required to articulate the water folk’s dialect. The water dwellers, however, were equipped with both a set of gills that were set in line with their ribs and also a set of lungs, which allowed them to breath above the surface. So over many years in her youth, Lexia did her best to instruct them on her own language. As she grew older, they would meet occasionally and share stories from their different worlds. It was an interaction that was nothing short of difficult in the beginning, but became more fluent and enjoyable as the years pressed on.
The water folk were a peaceful race, untroubled by weapons and war. Lexia envied them for this. They were beautiful, all of them with skin blue as midday sky and hair as dark as the ocean at midnight.
In the past, the water dwellers were not an uncommon sight. There were days when the shore of Coraline Lake was lined with lounging, carefree bodies, drawing visitors from across Astalgia and the neighboring nation of Kirin Tah, including Lexia herself, to admire their aquatic radiance.
Unfortunately, the peaceful coexistence slowly began to fade as more mortals discovered this place and one by one the water folk were plucked from their home. The men would come from the cities and villages, trapping the young maids and lads and keeping them as pets or giving them as gifts to their wives and mistresses. Some were displayed shamelessly as trophies in places of business. The poor beings would often languish in tanks of stagnant water until they perished. In a matter of a decade, the lake had been virtually wiped clean of them. Those who remained fled to the depths of the water, rarely to be seen again.
In an effort to save them from this abuse, Lexia convinced her father to issue new law that any entrapment and imprisonment of their kind to be an offense punishable only by death. Beru thanked her for laboring to save their space inland, but much of the damage had already been done. Although most of the perpetrators were found and punished accordingly, regrettably very few of the captives were able to be returned alive and well to their home.
Now, Lexia looked on a sight she had not seen in years, grinding her teeth with both sadness and white hot fury. The weeping Balil laid across the body of a lovely young maid, her inanimate body sprawled out and her neck twisted at an obscene angle.
Lexia was hesitant to interrupt his lament. “Balil,” she said softly.
He lifted his head to her. His eyes were glossed and unmistakably fish-like. He shed no tears, but his face was contorted in anguish just the same.
“Princess,” he addressed her and bowed the best he could manage. The word was watery and distorted, but understandable. He spoke her language fairly well, though not with the fluency of his father.
She bowed her head and touched to fingers to her collarbone. She knelt on one knee beside him.
“Did you see who did this?”
Lexia asked the question already knowing well who had slain the maid. The deep gashes in her neck were fresh. Zuriek must have been desperate for nourishment. He grew weak in his flight.
“She was already gone,” Balil cradled her head in his arms, stroking her cheek and burying his face in her hair. “Already gone,” he repeated through tearless sobs.
“I’m sorry, Balil,” the words were entirely insufficient.
“I told her to come here,” his voice wavered and struggled with the foreign words. There was regret in his voice. “She was to be my jahhi.“
Lexia bowed her head in silent respect. She said a prayer for the soul of the mermaid to have a peaceful journey to the Supreme Light of the stars and another prayer to Lord Niran to help guide her and bring Zuriek swiftly to justice.
“The villain will not escape me,” she pledged to herself as much to him. “I swear this to you as a Viro, Prince Balil.”
“I will hope for that,” he said.
He slid back into the water. Lexia bent down and gently laid the girl in Balil’s arms. His dead love in his embrace, he floated away from the land until he was gone beneath the surface.
Nearby, Flame and Knight drank from the pure water. It was an odd sight, a unicorn and a panther side by side and drinking so calmly. If they had encountered each other in the wilderness, Knight would have pounced on Flame as would be his natural instinct, but they maintained an amiable coexistence through Lexia’s instruction.
She found when she was young that she had the ability to communicate with a variety animals and since then had cultivated the skill to such a level that she could speak to most beasts and, in turn, understand when they spoke to her. It was an unusual gift that she did not speak of. Though some vampires were blessed with potent mental abilities, it was limited to communication with other vampires and the mortals whose minds were soft and malleable. Even then, this was an acquired talent only seen in those that had been alive for centuries upon centuries. Perhaps there were other vampires with gifts similar to her own, but Lexia was not aware of them.
If Zuriek was keeping a steady pace, he could be far ahead of her in any direction. A strong wind blew in from the nearby ocean ushering dark rain clouds closer to the mainland. If it rained, Lexia would lose Zuriek’s scent. By the look of the sky, the storm was not only eminent but it would be raging within the hour. After that it might take Lexia days to find his trail again. By then, even more damage would be done.
She left the animals to rest and regain their strength. Flame was already starting to graze and Knight could hunt down a meal in the nearby woods. The easier sport would do him good.
Lexia headed toward the plateau where she could get a better vantage point. The stretch of land was difficult to reach as no clear path lead to it. The only way to her destination was a sharp incline littered with jagged rocks, unstable boulders, and poisonous snakes. The plateau overlooked the Salen Sea to the south, dropping off sharply to a series of cliffs and hidden caves where the harpies resided. To the north, the entire expanse of the Azere Plain stretched for miles. The small town of Byrne rested some miles out from the foot of the plateau and the Temple of Niran stood out of sight at the north of the grassland, while other settlements dotted the landscape to the north and to the east.
Perhaps by reaching a higher elevation, she could catch sight of Zuriek. If Lexia was in luck he might be trying to escape her across the plain. In that case, she would see him immediately and her endeavor would be nearly finished. This was her last chance to find him before the rains started. Ominous clouds were rushing in with all the speed the wind had to offer.

Chapter 6
Zuriek was convinced his eyes deceived him. He could only be in the midst of a dream with fortune such as this. Perhaps he had fallen ill from overexertion and starvation and was lost in a delirious fantasy. But he was not dreaming.
He watched with growing excitement as the General walked hastily to the opposite side of the lake away from his hiding place among the trees. His future growing brighter with every one of her steps, she began to make her way upward through the scattering of rocky debris. She left the animals behind, the unicorn plucking at the grass and the big cat lazily sprawled on the ground. If he could steal quietly away without drawing the attention of the panther, his escape would be sealed.
He moved slowly and cautiously at first, putting some distance between himself and the animals. Confident he had made a safe gap between himself and the cat, he broke into a loping sprint. This turn of fate had revitalized him, temporarily dispatching his hunger and fatigue. Zuriek doubled back through the woods. There was a crash of thunder in the distance. A rainstorm would wash away any evidence of his route through the trees. Even the impregnable General Viro could not track in the rain. The thunder boomed overhead and the sky’s curtain was gashed open by a flash of white lightening.

Chapter 7
Vinnette could not believe it was night though the moon peaking its luminous head from behind the storm clouds told her it must be so. Her eyes were seeing as well as if it were a bright, sunny day. The colors were intensely vivid, everything outlined perfectly. The world was suddenly very clear.
A new energy coursed through her veins, her muscles tense with the anticipation of a hunt. She ran her tongue curiously over the length of one of the fangs that now curved over her bottom lip. They were long, as General Viro said they would be. Vinnette felt the venom sack behind her teeth. It was a soft pouch, protected only by a new, tender layer of skin. She prodded it with the tip of her tongue. There was a tingling sensation, almost a numbness, then a tasteless liquid thicker than water dripped from the fang.
She heard motion in the woods nearby, but was unafraid. Hunger drove her now.

Chapter 8
The town of Byrne had been a regrettable waste of time. Full of liquor houses and prostitution, it was a festering pit of sewage and stench. The muddy streets were littered with refuse, the locals stepping over it or simply walking through the discarded trash as if accustomed and resigned to their town’s gradual decay. The businesses were run down, the wood rotting through and discolored. The residences were little more than poorly constructed shanties, most of them not suitable to house even the lowliest of creatures.
Lexia made her way through the sludge and filth, barely noticed as the drunkards and painted ladies went about their business. Staggering idiots engaged in fistfights along the row of pubs while others vomited sour ale over their clothes and in the streets.
The women selling their wares hung back from the commotion of the men, come-hither smiles painted in red on their faces. Most wore raggedy dresses with plunging necklines and swaths of cloth that somehow passed for skirts. They greeted their customers with open arms and false desire, some of them conducting their affairs in plain view of the passersby.
“Possies,” Lexia hissed the vampire word as she walked by.
Supposedly, there was a cohort of soldiers assigned to each town in the realm as an extension of Viro City. They were charged with keeping standards in order and dispatching any justice that might be required. She had first stopped by the barracks located at Byrne’s southern entrance, but found it vacant. The living quarters showed signs of use, made evident by unmade beds, a haphazard arrangement of gear — including weapons, and the sour odor of men and vampires who had decidedly abandoned regular bathing practices. Lexia’s intention was to leave them with the task of notifying the locals of Zuriek and be on her way. The absence of the small cohort didn’t phase her. She couldn’t allow this to cause any more aggravation on top of her failure to track the miscreant. But she would stow this in her memory and most assuredly address it later.
Issuing warnings of Zuriek to each proprietor and instructing them to pass the message on to their customers, Lexia trudged from place to place knowing her words fell on deaf, ignorant ears. But it was her duty to protect these people and she would carry out this task regardless of her loathing for them. Half of the bottom feeders she spoke to were too intoxicated to know their own names and the other half were so oblivious of the outside world to know who she was or care about any threat there might be to their lives. She wondered how this once quaint, welcoming town had transformed into such a degenerate slum. Had it been so long since she’d been here?
It was a relief to finally reach the last liquor house before exiting town.
Out of all the stinking, rabble filled grogshops she had visited this last was the worst. The place was loud and rank with the smell of ale and sweat. The rowdy customers drank down their liquor heartily, belching, roaring, and laughing obnoxiously at drunken jokes that were mediocre at best.
Lexia grimaced as she entered, the stench hitting her hard. She tried to ignore the intoxicated laughter and walked to the bar. Surprisingly, the bartender here had not been drinking along with his customers, a practice which seemed commonplace in Byrne from what she had seen. It did not make the conversation any less difficult.
The bartender was a short, hefty man with greasy skin and a fat mole next to his mouth. He smiled with ugly, black teeth as Lexia approached.
“Well, what’ve we here?” He leaned forward, his breath reeking. “Not oft we get lovely lady visitors here. An’ a vampire lady, too. Don’t suppose I can offer my services to quench your thirst, milady?”
He winked at her and licked his cracking lips. Lexia answered his remark with a poisonous stare, offended by his very existence.
“Barkeep,” she said and leaned in, despite his terrible hygiene. “I would not wet my lips with the blood of a bovine such as yourself if I was mad with starvation. I would sooner consume a fresh pile of imp droppings before keeping company with the likes of you.”
His face dropped and the few patrons close to them who were lucid enough to understand their conversation fell silent. The raunchy pig scowled, embarrassed at being belittled in front of his customers. If any of them remembered this tomorrow it would spread quickly that he had been slighted by a vampire in his own bar.
“What’s yer business, wench?”
“I believe,” she began, peeling her lips back to fully reveal her fangs. “That you might show a bit more respect.”
The bartender sneered and crossed his hairy arms.
“An’ why would I be doin’ that now?”
Because, Lexia thought to herself. Because if you don’t stifle your insolence this very instant, I’m going to drag you out into the darkness, slice your fat belly open, and let the wild dogs feast on your entrails. Is that reason enough?
A doltish fellow to the left of Lexia cut in on their exchange, pointing an unsteady finger at the family crest on her clasp, carved from Astalgia’s copious stone silver. He took a deep swig of his drink, half of it streaming in runnels out the sides of his mouth, and spoke in a slurred voice.
“You, you’s a Viro, ain’t cha?”
He finished off his ale, belched, and continued, not allowing time for a response. “Yup. You’s a royal all right. Alrighty right! Never meant….no wait…never met a royal before. Yup.”
The drunk’s eyes rolled back in his head for a moment, then he swiveled away from them and jabbered incomprehensibly to his empty glass. Lexia regarded him with a raised eyebrow and fleeting curiosity, then returned her attention to the sweaty barkeep.
“That true?” He looked over her garb incredulously. “You ain’t dressed like no proper lady. Anyways, ain’t got no use for you uptight royal types. This here’s Byrne and none of your laws mean nothin’ to us folk.”
“Is that true now?” Lexia’s voice lowered to an agitated growl.
“True as it gets,” he snorted. “So you best be movin’ along, woman. Unless you’d like to keep me and some of the other boys here cozy warm tonight.”
The room roared with drunken praise as the crowd of degenerates raised their cups to the bartender’s remark. Apparently, a few of them were sober enough to have taken interest in the conversation and had alerted their slovenly chums to it. Lexia ignored the ruckus, watching with venomous eyes the cackling fat man behind the counter. Spit bubbles popped at the sides of his mouth and his round belly heaved with laughter. He wiped a tear from his eye as the clamor subsided.
“So, dearie,” he reached across and pinched a strand of her hair that had fallen loose from the braid between his stubby fingers. “What do you say to that?”
Before the crude bartender could take another breath, Lexia snapped his hand away from her and palm down on the counter. She drew her sword and in one fluid motion, sliced his hand off at the wrist. A collective gasp filled the room, a few glasses shattering on the floor. One drunken patron still chuckled amongst his hushed peers. The bartender’s mouth was a circle of silent horror. He backed slowly away from her, staring at the stump where his hand had been a mere second ago. He trembled violently, his jowls jiggling. His skin went sickly white under his sweat and stubble. A piercing scream rang through the air and his now solitary hand groped wildly at the shelves behind him as he collapsed, a rain of bottles crashing down with him.
“You had ample opportunity to be polite, you swine.”
Lexia snatched a cloth off the bar and wiped her sword clean before sheathing it, leaving the severed hand where it lay in a puddle of blood on the counter. She faced the room of flabbergasted faces and chose the most sober one she could find.
“You,” she pointed to a young man who looked barely old enough to be in an unruly tavern. He flinched as she singled him out. “Cul, come here.”
He obeyed and tripped clumsily on his way over to her. The same dim patron was chuckling at another table. Lexia took him by the collar and nodded her head, indicating the unconscious barkeep.
“Get back there and tend to that injury best you can, boy. Use the liquor; wipe it down; get it clean and dry, then cauterize it. I don’t care how. We don’t want him bleeding out. I want him alive and well to remember this lesson in respect.”

Chapter 9

The marshlands that stretched to an eye’s limit on the southern and western sides of Viro castle were a hazy labyrinth swirling with dense mist and full of treacherous sinkholes.  There were no trees, grass, or any other signs of green vegetation.  A sickly brown moss covered the ground, interrupted only by small, stagnant puddles of water and the occasional rock or boulder.  Animal life was scarce, limited to the harmless bog mice and the black-tongued moss snakes that fed on them. A faint, golden blur that was the sun fought to penetrate the fog.  It was the perfect place for Zuriek to take cover from the light.  By now, his skin which had been blistering in small patches just hours ago was red and burning on every inch of him that had been exposed to the sun.  His face was a mask of pain.  It took a tremendous amount of will power to keep him from clawing at the irritated welts on his cheeks and forehead. Reaching the sanctuary of the swamp, Zuriek slowed his pace.  He enjoyed the humidity and the decayed stink of the moss.  He could easily survive here for days, feeding on the bog mice and regaining the rest he sorely needed. As a boy, Zuriek would roam the swamp, hunting down the vermin for sport.  He would snap a leg off or gouge an eye out and hold them down with the sharp tip of his nail.  He would watch, his eyes unnaturally wide and livid, as the helpless creatures squealed and screamed, tossing in mad seizures until at last he would put them out of their misery by drowning them in a shallow puddle. Many times in his youth he became lost and had some very close calls with the hidden sinkholes, but he soon learned these obstacles were easily overcome.  The sinkholes were easy enough to spot if he kept a sharp eye.  The moss would dip slightly and was a darker shade of brown than the area surrounding it.  These fatal cavities varied in size, some no larger than a child’s foot, others could swallow up a large horse. Finding his way out was a bit trickier at first, but was quite simple once he realized that the reason the bog mice were able to survive was because they fed on scraps from the castle’s cookhouse, which closely bordered the swamp.  It was a matter of finding a place where the mice were congregating and patiently following them to where they ate.  Once the castle was in view, Zuriek would have no trouble finding his way back to the Sariya Haven. He laid down on a thick patch of wet moss, ignoring the steady downpour of rain and wary of any sinkholes nearby.  It would have been pointless to come all this way and escaped the clutches of General Viro only to be sucked under to his death.  He sneered at the thought of her.  The self-righteous shrak was more trouble than any royal should be. Zuriek closed his eyes as one of the furry brown mice skittered across his chest.  The rodent darted its head back and forth, searching its surroundings with bulging black eyes and its nose and whiskers twitching rapidly.  He snatched it up, the rodent’s bones cracking in his fist, and bled it dry before settling into a deep sleep.                                

Chapter 10

Vinnette woke to her second sunset as a vampire, but with none of the exhilaration she experienced the night before.  Her chest was heavy and her eyes tired from crying.  Her dress and hair were disheveled.  There was crusted blood on her neck and chest and dirt under her fingernails.  She badly wanted a bath. When she left her home the night before, Vinnette was newly alive, energized, and hungry.  She craved sustenance, whether it be from man or beast she had no care.  Her body felt free and weightless as she breezed through the forest with a strength and speed she had only seen in the animals that occasionally sprinted through the glen. She came upon a doe and her fawn in a small clearing, the mother’s head resting protectively over the fawn’s body as the younger grazed.  With an uncontrollable surge of strength, Vinnette pounced and tore through the deer’s hide.  The young one escaped to the woods as Vinnette gorged herself on the sweet blood.  It flowed warmly down her throat and poured down her chin and chest.  As she lapped up the last of the doe’s life, her eyes rolled to their whites, her body hot with excitement. Afterward, she stared at her prey, looking blankly into the dead, black eyes.  Its blood and hair were caked under her nails, around her mouth, and on her neck.  In her zealousness, Vinnette had torn through the bulk of the doe’s neck, leaving the head dangling by only a few bloody shreds of flesh.  The rain refused to wash her act away. She pulled her knees to her chest and bowed her head, crying and gagging.  She didn’t know how long she spent in tears next to the doe’s carcass.  It felt like an eternity.  When she was able to collect herself, Vinnette made her way to the garden beside her home and picked no less than half of the dragon goblets there.  She chose only the healthiest and reddest among them.  In a fugue, she managed to find her way back to the deer and let the petals flutter upon it until they made a thin red veil. The guilt was drowning her.  Not because she had killed an animal.  It was the manner of killing.  This wasn’t as if her father had gone out with his bow to put food on the table.  This felt much more akin to murder. Shaking some sense into herself, Vinnette went home to confront herself in the mirror. The dried blood painted her face and chin.  She scrubbed with boiling hot water until her skin was raw, partly to make certain she was clean and partly as penance for the death of the doe.  While inspecting her hands for stains, Vinnette noted that the nail marks in her palms were completely healed, nothing more now than thin white half- moon scars.  Her neck was another matter.  Zuriek had not been kind when he ripped into Vinnette.  The wounds he put in her neck had healed into a mangled scar that spoiled her skin. Vinnette did her best to cover over the scar with her hair, collecting it all to one side and tying it with a blue ribbon in a loose bundle.  She put on a fresh dress and her only pair of shoes.  Her mouth folded into a terrible grimace.  Her lovely gray eyes had gone a dim, ugly yellow.  She wiped away new tears and wrapped herself in a light cloak. She was headed to the city. 

Chapter 11

“Tell me once more what the problem is.”

“I told you twice already!  I killed a deer!” Vinnette cried. “It was just standing there with its baby.  I couldn’t control myself.  The next thing I knew there was blood everywhere!” Vinnette swiped her cloak at the tears streaming down her cheeks and stared up at a tan- skinned vampire who had identified himself as Captain Kristoff Kyro.  He clamped her in a skeptical gaze.  His eyes were deep and intelligent, his hair dark brown and sleekly pulled back into a short tail.  He was a prodigious man, well over six paces tall.  A black cloak of similar fabric to General Viro’s was draped over his shoulders and the hilt of a sword was obvious at his hip.  The Captain seemed confused about the cause of her distress.  Dismounting from his horse, he kept his suspecting eyes on her.  They had been locked in the same circuitous discussion and it was wearing on both their nerves.

“Captain Kyro,” a woman’s voice came from the darkness and silvery rain behind him.

A pale, auburn-haired woman rode towards them on a gray and white speckled horse.  She was dressed in the same layers of soldier’s attire as Captain Kyro; black pants and riding boots; buttoned maroon vests over crisp white shirts.  She joined him, glancing briefly at Vinnette.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

“This is Miss Edur,” he gestured to the girl. “She seems to be most distraught over a doe she killed in the woods last night.”

“Oh?” the female soldier cocked her head and looked over Vinnette, half smiling.

“Miss Emily Edur of the Sariyas, this is Captain Octavia Ivora,” the captain introduced her formally.

“Hello,” Vinnette said nervously, lowering her eyes in shame.

Captain Ivora smiled pleasantly and nodded, touching two fingers to her collarbone as General Viro had done.  She offered the girl her hand.  Vinnette took it, aware of her own hand being cold and clammy against the Captain’s comforting grip under her leather glove.  She dared to look up now and realized with strange relief that this second captain was mortal.

“I was patrolling along the swamp when I happened upon this young lady,” Captain Kyro explained. “On her way to the city, she says.  Must have gotten turned around somehow.”

“I-I’ve never been there before,” Vinnette stammered.

“And what or who is in the city, Miss Edur, that you must travel there on foot in this weather?”  Captain Ivora asked.

“I-“ Vinnette went momentarily speechless.  “I don’t know.”

“Then why, by the Lords, are you on your way there and why are we standing here wrapped up in it?”  Captain Kyro demanded.

“That’s where the General told me to go,” Vinnette quivered and stepped away from him.

“You spoke to General Viro?”  His voice boomed angrily and Vinnette started at the sound of it.

“Was she well?” Octavia questioned, also changing her tone.  She sounded more concerned than the vampire captain.

“Y,yes,” Vinnette nodded, struggling with her thoughts and words. “She said to go to the city if I needed help.”

“And what is your trouble, dearest girl?” Captain Ivora came closer to Vinnette and laid a caring hand on her shoulder.

“I murdered a deer,” her words dropped to a whisper. “I drank its blood.”

Octavia raised her eyebrows, unable to contain her amusement.  She smirked, looking from Vinnette to Captain Kyro who was clearly exasperated and irritated by the bizarre confession.

“Well, it isn’t every day we meet someone as forthcoming as you, Miss Edur.” she said, returning her attention to the troubled Vinnette. “But you have done nothing wrong.  I don’t think the death of a single deer warrants a visit to the city.  Do you?”

“But I need help!” Vinnette pleaded.  Her voice rose sharply through the thick night air.  She wiped the precipitation from her face with a shaking hand.

“Perhaps you only need a decent day’s rest,” suggested the vampire captain.

Vinnette burst into tears. “But I’ve been walking for days and nights!” she wailed. “There were a few hares along the way to drink from, but I’m getting hungry again and I don’t want to hurt any…body.”

“No need for tears,” Captain Ivora comforted her. “When were you bitten, Vinnette?”

Vinnette called on all the composure she could muster and wiped her eyes, which were red and stinging again.  “More than four nights past.” she answered.

“Did General Viro make you aware of our laws?” Captain Kyro asked.

“Yes.  She said I would learn the rest on my own, but I can’t go on by myself.  She told me to stay out of the sun and it will be morning soon.  I’ve already been burned during my travel.  It hurts.”  Vinnette immediately raised her face towards the sky as if the sun were already there, waiting to scorch her flesh.

“Then you should be able to figure it out, Miss Edur.  Thousands upon thousands of vampires have done so before you,” he said and lifted himself up onto his black horse.  “The Sariya Haven is almost directly south of here, if you care.”

“An hour or two more in the sun will probably make you a bit uncomfortable, nothing more.” Captain Ivora assured her. “You’ll come with me.”

“Captain Ivora,” the vampire captain grumbled.

“I will take her from here, Captain Kyro,” she replied sternly.

“She is a Sariya, Captain.”

“That’s bad, isn’t it?!”  Vinnette cried.

The two captains glared at each other, apparently in a silent argument while Vinnette wiped more rain and tears from her face.

“We will meet back in the castle at change of the guard, Captain” she met his disapproving stare. “If the King does not approve, he may take it up with me.”

“Very well,” he said without inflection. “Please, be safe, Captain.”  The vampire nudged his mount with his heel and continued onward with his patrol.

Vinnette hugged her cloak around her. “Forgive me,” she said. “I didn’t mean to-“

Captain Ivora dismissed her apology with a shake of her head. “You have nothing to apologize for.  Now don’t be afraid.  You’ll be safe with me.”

“Oh, thank you,” Vinnette said meekly.

“Up you go.”  The captain held her horse by the reins. “Come along.”

Vinnette rose awkwardly into the saddle, followed by the captain who made the transition seem effortless.

“Comfortable?”  She asked from behind her.

“Yes, thank you,” Vinnette answered.

“Hold on, then.”

Vinnette grasped the horn of the saddle and squeezed her legs tightly against the horse’s body.  They rode at a slow trot, the ride much smoother than Vinnette had anticipated.

“You’re not a vampire,” Vinnette stated the obvious.

“No, I’m not,” Captain Ivora confirmed.  Vinnette could feel her breath on her neck as she spoke.

“How did you get to be a captain?”

“Hard work and pain mostly.  My family has served the Viros for generations, both in the Royal League and as hosts.” she explained.

“Hosts?” Vinnette had never heard the term before.

“Hosts are those whose station it is to nourish the vampires.”

“Oh,”

“When we arrive at the castle we will find you a suitable host,” Captain Ivora said.

“Are you a host also?” Vinnette asked.

“No, dear.  The mortals in the military cannot be used as hosts. It would be counterproductive as we need all our strength for our duties.”

The sky was growing brighter, the moon lingering plump and white among the clouds despite the sun’s rays slowly creeping over the horizon.

“Is he dangerous?” Vinnette asked suddenly, turning her head to the side.

“Who?  Captain Kyro?”

“Yes.  He seems dangerous.”

“He can be.” Captain Ivora said and shifted in the saddle. “He is only dangerous when he needs to be.  Don’t judge him too harshly.  His duties are very important to him and he does not appreciate distractions.”

“Do you know him well?”

There was a pause.

“I know him well enough.”

“Oh,” Vinnette frowned and worried out loud, “Will you be in trouble for this?”

“Never mind that, Miss Edur,” Captain Ivora told her.

“I wonder what the castle it like,” she tried to change the subject.  “I’ve never been there.”

“Dark,” Ivora lowered her voice. “Very dark.”

“It doesn’t sound as if you like it very much.”

“You’ll see it in a moment.”

They gained speed, abruptly emerging from the trees onto a wide, cobbled road.  They road west on the road until they faced the stout monstrosity that was Viro castle.  Its black stone walls loomed over them, casting the land around it into shadow.  The outer wall curved around seeming smooth and scaly as a snake’s skin, interrupted only by the great steel doors at the entrance.  There were no windows, no sweeping terraces.  There was but one lonely tower, jutting towards the sky, looking completely out of place compared to the rest of the castle.  It was lighter somehow, weathered by the sun and rain.  The tower was the only place the gleam of a window could be seen as the sun rose in the east.  It was not at all what Vinnette imagined a castle to look like.

“Most of it is underground,” the captain explained. “What you see here is only the first two levels.”

“It’s very dreary,” Vinnette shrunk against her.

The stone beast emanated a sense of forbidding.  Sunlight slowly crept over its walls, bathing the entire area in its golden beams.  The rain was turned from silver streaks to gleaming, transparent gems, but it did little to diminish the ominous presence of the castle.  Strong, dark, and seemingly impervious to the outside world, the beast stood.

“Manek zien cah na Viros.”

Captain Ivora uttered the strange dialect under her breath.  At first nothing happened.  Then, to Vinnette’s surprise, the metal doors began to creak outwards, groaning and giving way to a torch lit corridor.  The ceiling and walls were lost to darkness except where the torches’ firelight fell, flickering only enough to create a dim path in the wide hallway.

“A mage’s charm from the old days,” the captain said.  “I keep hoping to get used to the darkness, but it doesn’t change for me.  The vampires don’t need the illumination at all, but there’s so many mortals that work and live in the castle.  There’s candle or lamp light in almost every room and corridor.  You can see clearly, yes?”

Vinnette nodded mutely.

They entered the chasm of shadow, hoof beats echoing loudly through the open space and bouncing off the stone walls.  The doors shrieked on their ancient hinges and the steel mouth closed behind them.

Chapter 12

Urien was a welcome change from the gutter of Byrne.  Full of respectful and hospitable people, it was a thriving town made up mostly of farmers and craftsmen and their families.  The streets were clean, the inns and shops well kept.  The residents’ homes throughout the town were mostly constructed from the strong oak that bordered Urien’s northeast side.  The rest were made of local stone, including the appropriately named Stone Shelter Inn. After arranging Flame to receive suitable food and accommodations in their stable, Lexia settled herself, along with Knight, in the tavern’s common room.  It was warm and quiet, a satisfying relief from the merciless rain that had pelted her and the animals as they made their way almost blindly across the Azere Plain toward Urien.  It was morning and the bar was empty.  A mere handful of patrons sat at the small, round tables that furnished the cramped space.  They lazily sipped their tea and munched on morning pastries.  A few of them tried to carry on with normal conversation while stealing conspicuous glances at Lexia.  The rich scent of baked goods wafted from the kitchen and mixed with smoke from the seasoned logs burnt to their last embers within a deep fireplace in the corner.  The hearth and surrounding floor were blackened by soot and the stones housing the fireplace were crumbling in places, but it was far from a state of neglect.  Lexia sat at a table in the corner away from everyone else and as close to the deadening fire as she could get. She removed her rain-soaked cape and draped it over the chair on the opposite side of the table to dry.  Knight sat beside her and dropped his head onto her lap, yawning and licking his chops.  His velvety hide was slicked down by the thunderstorm.  Staring into the soothing orange remnants, Lexia scratched behind his ears. The air around the fireplace would usually be far too hot for Lexia, but felt more like a blissful kiss to her skin after days in the elements without food or rest.  She watched the embers glow as sleep beckoned her.  They reminded her of the nights she would spent with her mother, sometimes sitting for hours upon hours, taking in the heat. Lelandra.  An exquisite beauty; a capable Queen; the most devoted wife and mother.    She was a woman of noble blood from a land across the eastern seas called S’ren Loeth.  Her mother’s homeland was all grasslands and rolling hills and green as far as one could see.  It was surrounded on three of its borders by near impenetrable mountain ranges.  Its isolation had ensured ages of peace in an otherwise turbulent world.  The two of them would sit through the night and sometimes until the golden hues of dawn washed over the Castle Viro, Lexia cozied in a blanket or wrapped in Lelandra’s embrace.  Story after story her mother would tell of her kingdom, each tale more lovely and enticing than the last.  Lexia remembered the last night she had the pleasure of her mother’s company.  Her rich, brown hair had been wrapped in a prim bun and she wore a conservative, black nightgown that swept the floor, but could do little to conceal the natural curves of the Queen’s body.  Lelandra’s cheeks were piqued with color, her eyes bright and earthy brown.  None contended with her grace. Lexia had been fortunate in inheriting her mother’s features.  Her colorings, however, identified her as the daughter of the Viro king.  She possessed her father’s pale skin and black hair and maintained a lean build.  Yet everyone who met the Queen and Princess agreed that despite their differences, Lelandra and Lexia shared identical faces…..from the curve of their cheekbones to the lines at the corners of their eyes when they smiled.   She had always been proud to be compared to her mother, but knew she could never achieve the warmth and sincerity that Lelandra seemed to radiate wherever she tread.  Poor spirits fled in the presence of the Queen and smiles touched the lips of those surrounding her.  The realm was a drearier place without her.

“‘Scuse me, General, ma’am,”

An older vampire with a hunched back and gnarled hands stood next to her table.  His stance and manner of speaking was humble.  He had a pair of yellow fangs, one of them, the left, chipped at the end.

Unlike Byrne, Urien had a modest population of vampires.  As in Viro City, they lived peaceably together and with negligible incident.

“Good day,” Lexia nodded and touched her fingers to her collarbone.

“Oh, I’m sorry, General ma’am,” he said and mimicked her movement.  “I’ve been so many years removed from the old ways.”

“I don’t usually see many vampires out this way in these latest years,” Lexia remarked, continuing to pet Knight.

“No, General, ma’am,” he agreed.

“From the Coya family, aren’t you?”

“You have a smart nose, General,” he affirmed happily. “You live up to your reputation.  My name is Secan Traj of the Coyas.  This is my tavern.” 

“Secan.  Secan,” she repeated him.  “I know that name.  Did you serve?”

“Yes, General, ma’am,” the decrepit Coya took on a reminiscent expression and he smiled at something his memory conjured as he spoke.  “I served under your father, the Lord King Enan, when he was still a young man and his father, the Lord King Enlar, before him.  There was much glory.”

“Perhaps my father has mentioned you, Secan.  I will tell him that I’ve made your acquaintance.”

The innkeeper bowed his head and crossed his arms over his chest so that his hands rested on his shoulders in an archaic military salute.  “The Princess General honors this old Coya,” he said.

Lexia returned the gesture and tried to calculate what the vampire’s age could be.  If he was one of the troops under her father and her grandfather, Secan was well over six hundred years old.  She suspected that old battle injuries accounted for his enfeebled appearance and that he paid for his longevity with a multitude of discomfort.

“Does the General need a room?”  He asked, finally getting to business.  “You’re lookin’ quite weathered, if I may say so.”

“A room would be appreciated.  The quietest one you have.”

“Y,yes, General, ma’am.”

He shuffled his feet and fidgeted for a moment.

“I’m not tryin’ to turn away royal customers, General, ma’am, but the barracks here in Urien is very large and I would hate for you to pay for my accommodations if-“

“Secan,” she lifted a hand to cut off of his train of worried thought.  “I have been to the barracks for nourishment, but there is not much privacy.  You understand.”

“Of course, of course!  Please come with me then, General Viro.”

She and Knight followed Secan up a steep, narrow flight of wooden steps and down a hall that was only the slightest bit wider than the stairs.  He led them to the last of four wooden doors and produced a small key ring.  He fumbled with the keys, dropped them, and finally found the correct one after several failed attempts at the lock. The door creaked open to a closet sized room.  The furnishings consisted of a small bed with a squat trunk set at the foot, and a side table with an oil lamp.

“It’s the quietest one I’ve got, but if you want more space-“

“No, it is quite adequate for my needs,” Lexia assured the anxious man.  She stepped in and inspected the room.  A flat pillow and wool blanket dressed the bed and the only other way into the room was a small window above the nightstand.

She folded her cloak into a neat square, placed it on the trunk, and turned to Secan. “Is that the only key to this room?” she pointed to the faded metal key he still held separated from the others.

“Yes, General, ma’am.  I got the only keys in the place.”

“Give it to me,”

“The key?” he looked down at it, confused.

“Yes, give it to me,” she held out her hand.  There had been attempts on her life many times in the past and Lexia learned quickly to take no chances.  In exchange for Secan’s courtesy, she would reward him with a few gold Venei, the Viros’ royal currency, when she returned the key the following morning.

He worked it off the brass ring and handed it over.

“Anything else, General, ma’am?”

“No.  Good day, Secan.”

He attempted a bow, trying to suppress a groan.  It was obviously painful with his disfigured spine.  He winced as a series of pops and snaps sounded from his back and joints.  Lexia waited patiently as he righted himself, allowing the elderly vampire to maintain his dignity.

“Rest well, General, ma’am,”

She nodded back to him. “Thank you.”

Secan hobbled out of the room, closing the door behind him.  Between the two of them, Lexia and Knight occupied almost the entire space.  The cat wasted no time in sprawling out next to the bed and closing his eyes.  Lexia locked the door, tucking the key into her waist pocket. Her body weary, she unbuckled her belt, the whip and sheathed sword still hanging from it.  She laid them across her cloak on the trunk and drew the sword.  It had become customary to have it drawn and ready while she slept when she was not at home. The weapon was exquisite – forged by the Centaurs, rivaled in beauty and durability by no other sword she had ever seen.  The hilt was crafted from the finest steel in Astalgia, which could only be mined near the horsemen’s glen, Nokimis, hidden in the forest.  It was encrusted with chips of diamond and onyx and at the base of the hilt, rounding off the end, was one perfectly round bloodstone.  To the untrained eye, it was often mistaken for an oversized ruby.  The difference between the gems was that the ruby was a lighter shade of red and lacked the density and weight the bloodstone possessed.  Never mind the rest of the sword, the stone itself was extremely rare and invaluable.  It was a perfect sphere by natural design and, this never failed to surprise her, was always warm as if it had just been plucked from the heat of a fire.

Sitting on the bed, Lexia moved her fingers to the bloodstone-

            Still warm.

            -then carefully up the hilt and to the blade.  Like the bloodstone, the blade of the sword was priceless and often mistaken for something it was not.  It appeared to be made of glass.  Many guessed it was Dersian crystal, shipped in from the remote island in the distant south. Dersian crystal held a faint golden yellow tint and this material did not.  It was clear and pure and although the blade was quite thick and battle worn, looking through it was like peering through a window, its edges crafted to soft waves until converging at a sharp, gleaming point. This was dragon diamond, yet another rare find.  It was rumored to have originated near the depths of the Red Valley, underneath the hulking Mount Stroud, but so few returned from the underground caverns that rumor was all Lexia and everyone else had to rely on. Unlike the bloodstone, the dragon diamond was eternally frigid.  It was as if they were two counterparts of some kind, placed strategically at opposite ends of the hilt.  If their combination on the weapon was in some way useful, Lexia had not yet discovered it.  What she had discovered soon after her acquisition of the sword was that not only was its coldness everlasting, but so was its acuity.  For the better part of two centuries, the blade had endured the clash of steel in battle, the scrape of bones, and the abuse of nature’s elements.  Yet it remained as icy and biting as the day she thrust it through the chest of the sword’s original owner. Lexia held it out at arm’s length so that it was parallel with the floor and turned the blade to look through it.  What she should have seen was the drab wooden door opposite her.  Instead of seeing the other side of the room, Lexia was suddenly viewing a memory from her past coming back to her all too vividly. She could see herself, young, slim, wearing a sleek, black ball gown.  The young princess was sobbing over her mother’s bloody remains, her face a mask of grief. Lelandra’s eyes, which had once held the light of a thousand stars, stared, dull and dead, into nothingness. Shaking the images out of her mind, Lexia laid back on the bed, clasping the sword tightly in her right hand and resting it alongside her leg.  The left hand she put behind her head.  Her hair was still very damp, but she barely felt it.  She closed her eyes and much needed sleep poured over her.  So did the nightmares.

Chapter 13

“How is the girl?” Kristoff had only the faintest sign of concern in his voice.

His patrol had ended hours ago, soon after sunrise.  Octavia was relieved to be back with him in the chambers they shared.  Their rooms were secured in the castle’s belly where only royalty, high ranking military personnel, and guests of great importance were permitted to reside.

“She’s better now,” Octavia answered from the bed where she sat on a plush quilt, brushing her curls. “I assigned her a host who will instruct her how to feed.  Vinnette should be well adjusted in a few nights.  Of course, we should probably keep a watch on her to be safe.  She did not seem well when you came upon her.”

“You should not have brought her here,” Kristoff said flatly. “She’s not a pet, Octavia.”

He stood near their blackwood bureau, his back to her.  Kristoff had changed into a pair of dark red satin pants and wore no shirt.  Out of his captain’s uniform, he lost no air of his authority.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child, Kristoff.  I know what she is and she needed help.  The Sariyas were not going to do that.”

He closed the door to the bureau and leveled a stern gaze at his wife.  “The burden of Vinnette’s care will fall to the Sariyas.”

“Putting her in the charge of that family is not wise.  Not at all.”

Octavia put the brush down and slid off the bed.  Her oversized robe trailed behind her as she crossed the room to him.

“They’ve no morals,” she continued. “Vinnette doesn’t belong with them.  You saw her.  She’s a terrified girl.”

“It is her place. You should know these things by now, ‘Tavia.”

Dark circles burdened his eyes and his jaw was set.  Placing one palm on his broad chest, Octavia stared back at him, her ocean blue eyes unwavering.  With the other hand, she smoothed a strand of hair away from his brow.

“Tell me what really weighs on you,” she said softly.

He sighed and enfolded her in his arms.  Octavia hugged him back.  She pressed against him, her head resting on his chest.  His strong embrace was the very same as ten years ago when they wed.  Kristoff held her so tightly that the breath was almost taken from her, but Octavia never complained of it.  Instead, she squeezed him with all the might in her body until he released her.

What is it?”  She persisted.

Kristoff took her hand in his. “There was a time when a mortal turned vampire would join the family responsible for the transformation with no issues raised.  Our intervention in this matter should be minimal, if at all. This is not a military situation.  The girl should be with the Sariyas.”

“She’s not like them, Kristoff.”

“I know,” he said, his voice losing some of its gruffness. “But there is only so much we can do. We can’t take care of all the strays that are produced.”

“If Lexia wanted Vinnette with the Sariyas, she would have instructed her to go to their Haven, not the city.”

Kristoff growled and let go of her hand.  He walked away, standing in the middle of the room between Octavia and the bed.

“General Viro thinks of little but her own priorities.”

“That is not true!” Octavia argued.

“I question her motives more by the day,” he said, coloring with anger. “You think you understand her, Octavia, but I have known her since the day of her birth.  She doesn’t know the meaning of accountability.  Until we came upon Miss Edur, nobody had seen or heard from her in days.  The General rode off with no warning, pursuing her own endeavors, as is her way.  The woman is heir to the throne and commands the entirety of our realm’s forces, by the Lords!  Yet she acts more like a bounty hunter for hire.”

“She left to hunt down Zuriek for good reason.  You know that!” Octavia jabbed a finger at him. “He’s a killer, Kristoff.  He’s already murdered two of your fellow vampires and attacked poor Vinnette.  Who knows how many more innocent people he will hurt?  Or the ones he already has and we don’t even know about.”

“Then she should have assembled a company of men to aid her,” he shot back.  “One of us…..anything, but running off alone.”

“Lexia has Knight with her.  She feels he is enough,” Octavia said.

Kristoff scoffed harshly and it sent a shiver through the mortal captain.  It was strange to see her husband so enraged.  He was often tense as his mind was constantly on his duties as the General’s senior captain, but rarely so much that they would argue over such a trivial issue.

“I know General Viro is your friend-“

“Which has nothing to do with this,” she interjected.

“But mark me now, Octavia,” Kristoff continued, seeming not to hear his wife. “Someday she will ride off on her own as she always does and our King will not only have lost his Queen, he will have a dead daughter as well and the throne will be in jeopardy with no heir.  Perhaps you don’t realize that means civil war.  The clans would be at each other’s throats with the Sariyas in the forefront, stirring the madness.”

Relieved in a way, Octavia understood what truly plagued her husband’s mind.  Although Kristoff had no love for Lexia, in fact, there was probably some true and mutual hate between them, it was his faithful concern for King Enan that drove him.  Kristoff was eternally loyal to King Enan, having served him for almost his entire life, well over five hundred years.  Throughout the years, he had become a close friend to Enan as well as a diligent captain.  The thought of any ill times befalling the King or the realm caused him incredible distress.  She had seen it before.

Octavia went to him and cupped his face in her petite hands.  She peered into his eyes, trying to understand how Lexia’s actions could cause him such terrible anguish.  Did he not see the same woman Octavia looked on as a sister, a mentor, a friend? 

No, of course he did not.  Could not.  Lexia confided in few people and Kristoff was the least of them.  These days, the Princess General was reclusive during her stays in the castle.  She occasionally made time for Octavia and her father, but was mostly aloof.  In fact, Lexia and Kristoff barely spoke to each other.  Most communication between them was relayed through Octavia or First Commander Lawson.  At this point, Octavia was resigned to Lexia and Kristoff never coexisting amiably.

“She means no harm to her father,” Octavia tried to defend her friend and mollify her husband all at once.  “She loves him.  He’s her family.”

“I know she doesn’t,” he conceded.

“She will be Queen someday,” Octavia went on, caressing his hair. “Then we will serve her.  You must put some trust in Lexia.”

Kristoff turned his head away from her. “She gives me no reason to.”

“Let’s get some sleep,” she suggested. “Things will look better after we’ve rested.”

“Yes,” Kristoff agreed and looked back at her. “You’re right.”

He gently placed his large hands around Octavia’s neck, covering it completely and used his thumbs to tilt her chin upward.  They kissed, Kristoff placing his lips only lightly on hers.  She could feel the prick of his fangs, though only slightly.  He had always been careful not to pierce her skin.  His tenderness had initially surprised Octavia, considering his mass.  He respected her desire to remain mortal until she was ready for the transformation and she loved him all the more for it.

“Maybe sleep isn’t the only thing that would make us feel better,” she whispered.

She drew away from him, her heart pounding.

He smiled, a genuine gesture that dispatched any darkness from Kristoff’s usually earnest appearance.  It was a part of himself he reserved for a select few and Octavia was grateful to be one of them.

“Now there’s some reason,” he growled and swept her up.

In the candle lit darkness, he took his wife to their bed where, at least for awhile, their duties were forgotten and were replaced by the familiar delights of each other.

Chapter 14

Lexia staggered through the forest.  She was alone and her bare feet made no sound as she stepped one unsteady foot in front of the other, laboriously making her way forward.  Caution had overtaken her and sweat dripped from her brow.  She was lost.

There was no moon above Astalgia tonight.  She wondered at first if it was perhaps hidden behind a blanket of cloud, but the sky was clear.  A lunar eclipse was a plausible explanation, she supposed, although Astalgia was not due for one.  The branches of trees scratched against Lexia’s arms like outstretched talons, cutting long lines in her skin and drawing blood.  She winced at the pain and struggled along, afraid that if she stopped she might succumb to panic.  The night was silent except for the sound of her own distressed breath. She could see nothing but shadows.

Why am I so tired?

The thought fled from her mind as quickly as it had come.  She saw a faint glow of light in the distance.  The glimmer was as silver and sparkling as a beam of moonlight.  Lexia raised her head to check the sky again.  It was perfectly black.

No moon, no stars, she thought. Why can’t I see tonight?

Lexia moved faster, her legs aching as if she’d been traveling for days on foot.

Where is Flame? Where is Knight? Where is my sword?

The cluster of trees ended abruptly.  She found herself in a tiny clearing, in the center of which resided the source of light.  It was a small pool of water, perfectly circular and a mere three paces in diameter.  The glittering rays emanating from the pool were cold and malevolent, only bright enough to illuminate this isolated clearing of woods.

Lexia shook as a harsh wind blew through the air and coalesced with the icy light.  It swirled about, curling and slithering in tendrils towards her.  She felt it against her face and pinching at her bare legs with fierce, wintry fingers.

Bare legs?

Looking down at herself, Lexia gasped in astonishment and stumbled backwards enough to almost lose her footing.  She wore a tattered white slip that was smeared with mud and grass stains.  Her arms were covered in gouges and painted with blood.  As horrific as Lexia’s appearance was, it was her belly that gave her a start.

It was ripe and round, curving naturally and beautifully out from her body.  She gingerly touched this new extension of herself, first with her fingertips and then with her palms.

A child!

She uttered another gasp, this time in ecstatic joy as she felt from inside her the movement of her unborn child.  All feeling of uncertainty and apprehension was lost and Lexia smiled for the first time in ages.

“Lexia,”

The raspy voice demanded her attention.  It originated from the pool of light, she was sure of it.  She stood, rigid and waiting.

“Lexia,” it repeated in a black caress.

It was a woman’s voice.  And it was unequivocally evil.  Lexia couldn’t answer. She was too afraid.  Tears streamed down her face and her knees were beginning to buckle underneath her.  She had entered an unholy place.  Instantly overcome by the urge to protect the life in her womb, she hugged her arms around the treasure, holding it tightly.

“Lexia,” the voice intensified, seeming closer. “She’s mine.”

The tendrils of silver energy were now concentrated around her mid-section.  Probing.  Invading.

She cried out in terror and slashed her hand through them.  Lexia’s lips trembled.  Her entire body was tense and sore.  It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe.  An invisible weight bore down on her chest.

“No,” she said weakly, the word falling soundlessly from her mouth.

“Yes,” it answered her. “She’s MINE!”

On the last word, the water flickered to an ominous red, flooding the clearing in a scarlet aura.  The air turned winter cold, imprisoning Lexia in its relentless grip and overtaking her lungs.  She summoned all her strength and will to keep from crumpling in fear.

“No!” she screamed, her voice hoarse, not her own. “You can’t have her! You can’t have her!”

There was a sinister cackle as the light flashed yet a darker, blood red.  The laughter reverberated through the woods and in Lexia’s mind.  Her temples throbbed painfully and despite the icy wind, fresh beads of sweat popped from her forehead.  She squeezed her eyes shut and fought against the urge to faint as the forest swirled around her and the evil laughter grew deafeningly loud between her ears.

Aware that she was falling forward, Lexia thrust her hands out to break her fall.  But instead of hitting the ground, she fell through the carpet of dead leaves under her feet and into a mindless oblivion.  She floated weightlessly, her ears ringing and her head in a fog.

Lexia woke up short of breath and clutching her stomach with such strength that her fingers left pink indentations in her skin that would probably turn to bruises.  She stared at the ceiling and slowed her breathing.  A film of sweat covered her body and saturated her hairline.  She wiped a hand across her wet forehead and held it up in the dingy light of the barely adequate room.

There was a deep groan beside her and she turned her tired eyes away from her hand.  It was Knight, standing in a statuesque manner.  His feline expression was filled with something Lexia could only interpret as concern.  He watched her intently, unmoving and ears flattened to his head.

Had she been screaming in her sleep?  By the panther’s reaction, the answer must have been yes.  Lexia had been suffering the same dream often as she slept for over a year now, but it had always come in a blur before, often cut into disturbing bits and pieces, never forming a full, linear dream.  This time all the images had culminated and taken shape into a vivid nightmare where she was lost and terrified and had no control.  She thought that was what frightened her the most, the lack of will.

Lexia tried to speak and discovered a dry lump had formed in her throat.  She swallowed hard and tried again.

“I’m well,” she assured Knight.  Her voice was hoarse and uneven.  She cleared her throat once more.  This time when she spoke, a voice more her own came out.

“Really, I’m well, Knight.”

You were hurting again, Knight’s thoughts came to her mind in a low, bestial purr.  A dull aching pulse accompanied his thought.  The minor pain, Lexia found it more irritating than anything else, seemed to be the only price she paid for her gift.

Swinging her feet off the bed, Lexia gritted her teeth as pain burned through her abdomen.  She held an unsteady hand out to Knight, hoping he would come to her.  After the unsettling nightmare, she felt unnerved, unlike herself.

To her relief, he swiped his warm tongue against the tips of Lexia’s fingers and relaxed his taught muscles.  With an effortless leap, the cat joined her on the bed, which creaked loudly under his weight.  He sat close, examining her, their faces barely a finger’s length apart.  Knight’s nose twitched as he smelled her, his hot breath coming in short puffs.

After a few moments of consideration on his part, perhaps determining whether or not she was as well as she claimed to be, he ceased his investigative sniffing.  He set a heavy paw on her leg and rested his chin on her shoulder in his way of comforting.  Lexia put one arm around his neck in a half embrace and leaned her head to meet his.

The truth was that Knight was a more caring and steadfast companion than most people Lexia met could ever aspire to be.

Chapter 15

King Enan Deor of the Viros sat upon his throne, a frown and a furrowed brow disturbing his usually set, stone features.  He was a tall, lank creature, covered in lean muscle.  His face was composed of jagged edges; high cheekbones, a straight and pointed nose, and a jutting chin.  The severity of features was further pronounced by his pallid skin.  The pure blackness of his hair was nearly matched by his sunken eyes that were such a dark shade of brown, they might as well have been black altogether.  A pair of razor sharp fangs protruded from between his taught, thin lips.

His seat of authority was carved from Astalgia’s famed blackwood and the material held true to its name.  When all the scratches and rough edges were buffed out, blackwood gleamed like polished onyx.  Although the throne boasted no sparkling gems, gold, or any other ostentatious adornments, it was inarguably a work of unmatched crafting talent.  It was a deep seated chair with thick arms and a towering back.  The throne had been polished to achieve an almost glossy exterior and all the angles and edges were perfectly symmetrical.  The throne and the King suited each other.  There was a single decoration on the seat, which could only be viewed when unoccupied.  A stone silver medallion embedded on the back of the throne bore the Viro family crest of the full moon rising behind the dragon.

Enan had been roused from sleep by the apprehensive page on duty and been informed that Leon of the Sariyas was urgently requesting an audience.  In an increasingly foul mood, the King waited for the master of the Sariya clan in the stillness of his throne room.  Never had such an appropriate name been given to a chamber as the massive blackwood seat was not only the focus of the room, but it was nearly the only piece of furniture in it.  The vast chamber was laid with a red and black marble floor while several impressive chandeliers hung from the high, vaulted ceiling.  Both the northern and southern walls were mirrored, giving the illusion that the throne room was double its already expansive size.  There were long dining tables and chairs set near either of the mirrored walls and another set against the eastern wall.

On occasion, celebrations and ceremonies would be held here, though not as often as when Lelandra graced the halls of the castle.  The room was capable of occupying hundreds of people within its walls, but Enan preferred it as it was at this moment.  Quiet.  Cool.  Completely tranquil.  It cleared his mind and helped him think.  And at this moment, he was pondering what could be taking his daughter so very long to return home.  If there was too great a space between them, his kinship link with her would be broken and he lost track of her movement.  Sadly, Enan was convinced this was one of the reasons for her frequent and lengthy treks into the wilderness.

“My lord,” the voice echoed loudly, distracting Enan from his thoughts.

A young, but confident guardsman stood inside the high arched doorway that served as the sole entrance and exit to the throne room.  He bowed with one arm hooked across his chest as the King looked on him.

“Master Leon Noth of the Sariyas to see you, my lord,” he announced.

Enan acknowledged the guard.  “Bring him to me.”

“Yes, my Lord King,” he bowed again and disappeared around the corner.

Enan couldn’t remember this soldier’s name; he noticed that although the guard had very few years under his belt in the League, he carried himself well enough.  It was a refreshing change from the myriad of green personnel that had been of personal service to him in the past.  One of the Sient, his small host of bodyguards – Dalex Lar of the Kyros, was also in charge of castle duty assignments and found some sort of amusement in sending the worst bunglers he could find straight to the King.  Enan had been meaning to speak to him about it.

The guard returned with the Sariya master moments later.  Enan dismissed him with a wave of his hand and the guard took his leave with another official bow.

“Master Leon,” he said, turning his attention to the head of the Sariya house. “I assume your business here is of great importance to wake me.  The sun has not yet set.”

Enan glared at him, his face rigid and unmoving as a statue.  He retained little patience and even less respect for Leon’s family.

It had been the Sariyas, for the most part, who attempted the overthrow of his rule a little over a hundred and eighty years ago and were responsible for the murder of his wife, his love.  A number of individuals from other houses had been involved, along with a handful of mortals, but if it had not been for the Sariyas’ adamant urges to rebel against the Viros, the events leading up to his wife’s murder and the attempted assassination on the King himself would never have taken place.  The Sariyas had always been a conniving, deceitful breed of vampire, derelicts of society as far as Enan and most others were concerned.

Having executed Leon’s own father for leading the uprising and acting as the assassin against the King after his minions made botched efforts, Enan knew Leon held no esteem for him in return.  There existed a mutual contempt between the Viros and Sariyas before and since the attack.  The hate was palpable within the chamber as the two vampires regarded one another.

“Indeed, my lord,” Leon answered, making no effort to blanket his scorn. “My grandson, Zuriek, has been driven from our Haven without warning or provocation by General Viro.”

Leon’s voice was raucous and hostile as were his animalistic yellow-green eyes.  He had long, gaudy sabers as fangs, the defining mark of the Sariya house.  His brown hair was slicked back and fell over his shoulders in greasy curls.  His dress was that of a commoner, plain shirt and pants, tattered boots.  The only article of clothing he wore that had any worth was a knee length coat.  It was an ugly brown velvet with long diamond clasps for buttons.  It was yet another attempt by Leon Sariya to appear more established in the vampire community than he could possibly become.

“Yes?” Enan cocked his head slightly, eyes boring deep into Leon’s.

“We haven’t caught a sign of him in days,” Leon continued, his words seasoned with loathing and accusation.  “General Viro has stepped beyond the boundaries of justice and continues to go unchecked as the members of my house repeatedly fall under her sword and endure her prejudice.”

“It was my understanding, Master Leon, that Zuriek was seen murdering two of our brother vampires.  As you are well aware, this is clearly against our code and punishable by death.”

“Lies!” Leon spat. “He was defending himself.”

An intense wave of rage swept over Enan.  It was Leon who was spouting falsehoods and had the audacity to tell these lies to his own lord and King.  In more youthful days, his first reaction would have been to pounce from his seat and cut Leon down before another breath could escape his body.  However, over eight hundred years of life had allowed him time to cultivate his temperament and learn to think before flying into a blind fury.  Such actions could start civil wars.  Instead of attacking Leon, he arrested the hot anger in his chest and gripped the arms of his chair.

When he spoke, Enan projected the voice of a level headed and articulate nobleman. “I do not believe any vampire would have to protect themselves against a young pair of Ambiols, Leon.  They are the most docile family of vampires among us,” he said.  “They barely have fangs, by the Great Lords!”

“It’s true what I’ve said,” Leon maintained.  One hand was clenched into a tight fist.  “Your daughter is a ruthless woman, my lord.”

“I do not disagree, Leon.  My daughter is as ruthless a creature as I have ever laid my eyes on.”

At that statement, a meager wash of hope passed through Leon Sariya’s slitted eyes.  Perhaps he thought the King would sway his judgment in the Sariya’s favor.  Enan recognized this and quashed the seed of hope from Leon’s mind.

“But,” Enan continued. “She is an honest woman.  Ruthless, yes.  Cruel, perhaps, on her worst days.  But always honest.”

The King paused for a moment to think and placed a long talon of a finger on his temple, then said, “I don’t suppose there are any witnesses willing to come forward to describe the events that led to Zuriek’s dire need to defend himself?”

Leon uttered a low, irritated growl and looked away, both hands balled into fists now.

The King leaned forward and offered a challenge he was reasonably certain Leon would refuse.  “Do you wish to bring charges against Princess Lexia Winter of the Viros in our hallowed tribunal, Master Sariya?”

“No, my Lord,” Leon was unable to speak without bearing his teeth in outrage.

“I see,” Enan said with a certain amount of smugness.

The conversation could have been easily terminated at that moment, but Enan allowed his contempt to seethe from him.  He stood, pulling himself up to his full height, a menacing phantom in this darkness.  An involuntary twitch spasmed on Leon’s face as the King drew closer.

“But do not be vexed,” Enan advised.

“Why shouldn’t I be?!” Leon demanded.

“Because Zuriek still lives and breathes.”

“How do you know?”

Enan sneered, revealing fully his sharp incisors.

“Because, Master Leon,” he hissed, leaning closer to the Sariya vermin before him. “My daughter has not yet returned with his severed head.  My captains will be sure to inform you when she does, however.”

Leon glared, his eyes burning in apparent loathing.  He tightened his jaw and made an inadequate, disrespectful bow before stalking out through the arc.

Enan watched him leave with fleeting satisfaction.  In mere seconds, his thoughts returned to Lexia.  He wished he could sense her presence closer to home.  She was more than capable of taking care of herself to be certain, but he worried for his only heir.  An intelligent and powerful force, Lexia had accomplished more as a general then he could have ever hoped for.  She brought order to his tumultuous kingdom and made lucrative trade agreements domestically and abroad.  The people of Astalgia had thrived under her supervision….and lived each of their days in uncertain fear under the blade of her sword.  Enan knew as a ruler that a thread of fear bred a wealth of respect just as he knew that a nation living in too great a fear could rise in revolt at the most opportune crisis.  Lexia walked a fine line with the level of apprehension she invoked in the people.

The king had watched his daughter grow into herself over the last two hundred years and he couldn’t help but feel more than a hint of pride.  She was as lovely and elegant as her mother had been; she carried herself with noble dignity of the Viros, ever attentive to her countless duties.  Lexia was a keen hunter and a talented swordsman.  She inspired her troops and when she led them to battle, the Princess General was alongside them in the blood and dirt and grit of war.  She accepted nothing less than victory.  Death before surrender, she had told Enan once when he had made a father’s request that she return home safely.

For all the pride he felt, there was an equal amount of sorrow.  Though she was very successful in her ventures and earned immediate respect from most who made her acquaintance, his daughter was a shell of her former self.  Lexia had been a happy, exuberant child with a bright future as an upstanding royal woman when her mother was taken from her.  From that day, she had become cold and distant, consumed with an unyielding lust for justice and order.  Her eyes were threatening, her lips never smiling.  Worst of all, she was alone, keeping most of the world at arm’s length.  Astalgia might never see another heir to the throne.  The Viro line might well be fated to end with his daughter.  And that meant war.

“My Lord King?”  The boyish guardsman had returned.  Enan turned to see him bowing apologetically.

“What is it?” he asked, impatience creeping into his voice.

“Another visitor requesting an audience, my Lord King,” the young man kept his composure under the Viro’s glare.  “Will you see him?”

“Tell them to return later this night,” Enan ordered, vaguely wondering who it could be at this time of day.

Before the guard could respond, a smooth, familiar voice came from beyond the wide entranceway.

“You wouldn’t turn away an old friend, now, would you, Enan?”

The soldier bowed and exited on cue when Enan waved him away.  He greeted the vampire who entered with open arms and a toothy grin.

“I didn’t think so,” the visitor said when he saw Enan’s reaction.

The vampire who emerged from under the arc was Lucian Phainor of the Darkane clan.  His clan had been allies to the Viro house since the advent of the vampire reign in Astalgia.  Lucian had served as an advisor and personal bodyguard to the King, Queen, and Princess before the Sariya uprising.   His entire family perished during the rebellion, defending their lives.  Lucian himself scarcely survived the attack having taken an arrow through the chest, close to his heart, to save the King.  Grief stricken by the loss of his house, he had left behind Astalgia without word to anyone but Enan.  After so many years, he had barely changed in appearance.

Lucian was of average height, having to look up to meet Enan’s eyes as most everyone else did.   Old fondness welled up in Enan as he approached the man responsible for keeping his wife, daughter and himself alive on numerous occasions.  He had known him for most of his years and placed more trust in him than nearly anyone else he had ever known.  Lucian was a valiant warrior and a selfless comrade.  His former bodyguard still had the look of a formidable, experienced fighter, but Enan could see the long years of his life hidden beneath the surface of his blue eyes.  Lucian’s once long dark blonde hair, reaching toward the middle of his back, was cut to the tops of his shoulders.  Other than this, the vampire remained mostly unchanged.

“Lucian!”

“It’s been far too long, Enan.” Lucian smiled and laughed good-naturedly.

They shared a brief, but strong hug.

“Good to see you within this castle again, my friend,” Enan said and clapped him on the shoulder.

“I apologize for the timing, but the guard said that you were already awake.”

“Yes, but for another less pleasant matter that we need not delve into.  No need to start this reunion on a sour note,” the King said, then continued.  “Are you passing through or here to stay?”

“I would be deeply honored, if you’ll have me, my Lord,” The Darkane hooked his arm across his chest and bowed.

“Lucian Phainor of the Darkane clan, noble and fearless, you are forever welcome in the Viro lair.”

“It does me well to hear it,” Lucian nodded.

“By the Great Lords, where have you been?”

“Everywhere,” Lucian chuckled.  “But this is home.”

Enan nodded agreement.  “Yes, yes it is.  Later, of course, you’ll tell me of your travels after you’ve settled in.”

“I will regale you with all my tales as soon as I can figure out where to begin,” Lucian promised.  “And how has time treated you, my friend?”

“There always remains a ripple upon the water, a squall on the horizon,” Enan said, thinking of his recent meeting with Leon Sariya. “But my daughter keeps the affairs of the kingdom running rather smoothly.”

“Princess Lexia Winter?” he pronounced her full name with mild interest. “The last time I saw her she was but a child.”

“The girl you knew has become a woman.  She’s almost two hundred years old and the best general I’ve ever employed.  Oversees most of Astalgia on her own, with the aid of her captains.  I fear I will soon be obsolete!” He joked.

“General?  I thought Captain Kyro would have stepped to that position by now.  Is he still with us?”

The question sobered his mood.  “After the uprising, it was chaos for awhile.  There was no ranking General and Captain Kyro is too steeped in tradition to simply step up and take the leadership without my direct promotion.  By the Lords, Lucian, it happened so quickly.  Lexia took charge after she recovered from Lelandra’s death.  If you can even call it a recovery.  One day she was a princess and the next she was in uniform, issuing orders, running drills, everything.”

Enan frowned.  It had been a long while since he’d considered the events after the murder of his wife.  He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Enan,” Lucian said.  “It was not my intention to stir bad memories.”

Despite the stab of past anguish, the King was compelled to finish his thoughts. “Captain Kyro is indeed with us and steadfast in his loyalty,” he answered Lucian’s question.  “He has not been pleased with Lexia usurping the role of General, but he complies.  I let her take it.  Perhaps I was wrong, but what else could I give her?  Besides, she has become great in her own way.”

“I look forward to meeting this great general.”

Enan tried to smile, but faltered as he wondered again what could be detaining her.

“There is a weight on you, Enan.” Lucian said, his voice filling with more concern. “Is she all right?”

“I believe so,” Enan responded, trying not to reveal the extent of his anxiety. “She’s hunting.”

Chapter 16

Fatigued and empty bellied, Lexia found little comfort in the falling darkness.  Home was too many more moons away to rest again and there was still the business of warning any worshipers at Niran temple of Zuriek’s possible threat.  More of an open shrine than a temple this place of worship was constructed during the reign of Lexia’s great grandfather, Endeen Azere of the Viros. A wall of weeping willows bordered most of the structure, opening only briefly to allow passage inward.  The entrance faced east, overlooking the Great Plain.  Leading up to the platform were five tall, marble white steps.  Most people were forced to take giant strides to reach each one.  It was as if the steps were actually constructed for the horseman, Niran, himself.  The soaring dome ceiling, interrupted by a circular sky light in the center, was upheld by four thick, solid pillars, clean and blinding white as was the rest of the temple.  There were no walls save for the gnarled, ancient trunks of the willows.  The floor was wide and open, leading to the rear of the temple where a breathtaking likeness of the god of life had been erected before the memory of any who now lived in Astalgia.  The statue was also crafted from the same white stone.  The bearded centaur was gargantuan in size, reared up on powerful hind legs.  He faced the east and held a long spear in his hand, raised above his head as if saluting the rising fire in the sky.

Though Lexia was eager to reach Viro City, she did not regret having to make a brief visit to Niran Temple.  She hadn’t been there for months and craved its solemn ambiance.

The animals were tired.  Flame continued on at a steady trot while Knight led the way, always at least two dozen paces ahead.  He was as anxious to return home as Lexia.  The wispy blades of grass swayed and parted where he made his trail through the plain.  There was, of course, a winding, beaten path from Urien to Niran, but Lexia cut a shorter route through the plain to save as much time as possible.  Once her task was complete, she would take the western path from Niran, which eventually converged with an extension of Dragon’s Claw road and would take her directly into the city.

The night was clear and the air pleasantly cool and crisp.  Phirumun, the Imp God of the elements, must have been in a contented mood.  Stars winked into sight, one by one, as the cerulean sky dimmed slowly to deep purple and then to black.  The moon was at Lexia’s back, painting the landscape around her in lambent white light.

She imagined arriving at Viro castle and indulging in a hot bath and a meal of fresh, succulent blood.  Her stomach grumbled and her mouth watered at the thought of satiating her thirst.  By the time this journey reached its end, she would be ravenously hungry.  Lexia would not take the life of an animal to quench her need for blood unless it was absolutely necessary.  Wild game, of all sizes, almost always was bitter to her palate.  She would press on, forcing herself to wait until she reached the comfort of her home.

Where are you?

Lexia blinked at her own father’s flinty voice within her mind.  She must have finally ventured close enough to home for their link to be restored.

Close to Niran.  She answered, concentrating to send the message.

What of Zuriek?  He asked.

She growled, disappointment renewed at the thought of losing the filthy rodent’s trail.

Lexia?  Enan persisted.

I lost him in the south.  Lexia revealed reluctantly.

No matter.  When will you return?

Four more nights.  She responded.

No longer?  He asked.

No longer.  She promised.

All my love, Lexia….

These last words were little more than a whisper.  Then the bond was broken, her father’s inadvertently oppressive presence dissipated.  She felt her shoulders slump as the trio carried on, the long, green blades ebbing and flowing in the wind like the fluid waves of an off color ocean.  Lexia surveyed her surroundings, confirming her solitude.  It wouldn’t do to have someone see her in this state, hunched and tired, badly in need of nourishment and a bath.  At this point, she imagined that she didn’t appear much different than a common drifter.  Lexia became aware of her head bobbing listlessly, her eyes fading in and out of consciousness.  The nightmares of late had left her fearful and unrested.

Lexia righted herself, forcing her back into a straight posture.  She yawned widely, a small roar escaping from her throat and her fangs cutting into the darkness like ivory daggers.  She shook herself, trying to drive the fatigue away.  Thankfully, a sharp wind sliced through the plain, whipping loose strands of her hair against her face.  It was an unusually cold wind for this time of year, but not unheard of.

Her face pinched as the cackle from her dream ricocheted through her mind again, then was astounded by the sudden desire to speak with her father.  They had become distant over the years, Lexia often feeling as though they were two strangers who were coincidentally bound by blood.  It was not she who had drawn away at first, but her father.  Unable to bare the sight of his own daughter because of her likeness to Lelandra, Enan had avoided her for years, casting her out of his life as if she were as dead to him as her mother.  By the time he realized his folly, Lexia had found adulthood and taken over as General of his army.  Enan had tried desperately to regain the affection of his only child only to be pushed aside as he had done to her.  They spoke often, but only of military and trade affairs.  Enan seemed to have given up on the hope of restoring the once open and loving relationship he shared with his daughter, settling for empty embraces and the occasional dry kiss on the cheek.

For weeks after her mother’s brutal death and her father’s subsequent isolation, Lexia would weep day and night, depriving herself of nourishment and sleep, until her eyes were swollen and itching, her mouth parched.  It went on this way until one day the tears refused to flow and had not come since.  She plunged into a draught of emotion, leaving her once fiery heart a desolate tundra.

But now, after so many years, Lexia felt compelled to speak with her father about the unsettling visions.  She didn’t know what good it would do, but following her instincts was Lexia’s singular comfort in a mad world.  She relaxed her mind and reached out to him through a turbid fog of other consciousness.

Father, she spoke tentatively in her mind.  It had been years since she made any effort to contact him in this manner. Father, she repeated.

He didn’t answer at first.  He was most likely startled at her voice coming to him so suddenly as she had been at his.

Yes, Lexia, he responded.  His voice was rasping, but gentle as it had been when she was a young girl. What is it?  He asked.

She wasn’t sure how to begin so she spoke bluntly, as if giving him a report.

I had a dream, father.

What kind of dream? He asked.

A nightmare. Lexia said. A terrible nightmare.

Tell me.

She elaborated, disclosing every detail about the forest, the probing light, the menacing voice, and the discovery of her pregnant belly.  Enan did not interrupt as Lexia recounted the events of her dream, including the sheer terror she experienced at the thought of her child being ripped from her womb by the evil force.  When she finished, her father paused for so long Lexia wondered if perhaps their connection had been severed.

Are you well? Enan finally ventured.  Even though the words were not coming directly from his mouth, his voice sounded dry, strained.

I am now.  Lexia said, wondering how her voice sounded to him.

I command you home, Lexia.

I’m headed toward the temple, then I shall return, she said.

No!   The word had a sharp edge.  When was the last time he had even bothered to castigate her?  The temple is unimportant.  Return home!

Very well, Lexia surrendered; she was simply too tired to do much else now that her hunt was temporarily impeded.

Make haste, he added, then was gone.

His reaction troubled her.  He had knowledge of something that she was unaware of.  The need to learn the truth behind the nightmare gave Lexia a renewed energy.  The weight lifted from her eyes and the tiredness melted from her muscles.  She felt more herself.

“Let’s go home,” she told Flame and tugged the reins gently to the side, directing him slightly to the southwest and avoiding the temple.  She tapped him twice on the side of the neck near his shoulder.  The unicorn responded, breaking into a powerful gallop.  Lexia laid low, her head close to his mane.  They passed Knight who sprang forward full speed to match Flame.

At last, after the seemingly interminable days and nights of hunting, Viro City appeared as a speck on the horizon, a crowded stone forest preluding her arrival to the castle.

Chapter 17

Leon arrived at the Sariya Haven well after sunset days later, seething with rage at the pompous king that held unhidden abhorrence for his family.  In years past, the Sariyas had once been treated as equals by the other houses, even respected in some circles.  Freedom and savageness reigned and blood was spilled in rivers every night to slake the uninhibited vampire thirst.  This way of life was the essence of vampire history and had suited him quite well until the meddlesome Lelandra tarnished Astalgia with her ascension to queen.

Soon after her arrival, King Enan began to issue arbitrary laws that restricted feeding and the conversion of mortals to vampires, banishing traditions that had been upheld since before Leon could recall.  Lelandra’s molding of their once ferocious king like a malleable ball of clay had upturned their world, stripped them of their pride.  But the late queen seemed but a slight irritant compared to her daughter.  It was a shame Lelandra’s cursed spawn hadn’t been slain along with her mother.

Of course, Zuriek had been guilty of murdering the two Ambiols.  He had probably torn out their throats and left them to bleed out on a whim.  But, in Leon’s mind, that was no matter.  The clear truth in his soul was that if it had been any other house imploring the King to show mercy and command his daughter to do the same, he would have at the very least considered the plea.  Instead, Enan had dismissed him like a rinit and insulted him with the insinuation of his grandson’s impending death.

Scowling, Leon approached the entrance to his home.  The Haven hid in the woods due south and days out of Viro City.  There was no building here among the suffocating brush of pine trees, making the Sariya sanctuary almost impossible to find if one didn’t know precisely where to look.  The entrance consisted of a simple set of cracked and weathered stone steps leading downward in the soil to a worn, but solid wooden door with a black iron handle.  The door was marked by a circular, bronze inset bearing the silhouette of a crow, the Sariya family sigul.

The door opened inward before Leon could reach the handle.  Vinx stood in the shadows just inside the doorway.  He greeted Leon, one of his yellow-green eyes hidden behind the shock of black and brown streaked hair that fell unkempt around his face and shoulders.

“Father,” he said, his voice was grating.

“Vinx,” Leon nodded.

“You were gone longer than expected.”

“Clearing my head,” Leon said and stepped into the familiar darkness of his lair.  The underground structure was a labyrinth of compact rooms and narrow stone hallways.  The corridor walls were only a little more than an arm’s length apart, barely enough room for people to walk two abreast, and the ceiling was low enough to touch.

Leon and Vinx navigated the maze to Leon’s private chambers.  It was an unimpressive space as were the other rooms within the haven and was furnished with dull arwood seats and a dark, sooty fireplace.  The sound of their boots became muffled as they stepped onto the brown carpet.  The material showed signs of being treaded on over the years, bald in many places and the fringe lining frayed beyond repair.

Leon sat down heavily in one of chairs facing the black, gaping mouth of the long unused fireplace.  Vinx sat opposite him, dressed in a formal black suit, a silken scarf at his neck.  His mother’s son till the end, he always had an eye for finer clothing and more blood than he could ever consume.

“Things went badly at the castle,” Vinx stated rather than asked.

“Yes,” Leon answered, glaring into the empty fireplace. “We were foolish to think Enan would stay his daughter.”

 Vinx nodded, rubbing the cleft in his chin thoughtfully.

“Enan believes Zuriek still lives,” Leon said.

“Let us hope so,” Vinx grunted.

“General Viro has not returned with proof of his death.  He may still come back to us.”

“No one escapes General Viro,” Vinx pounded his fist against the arm of the chair.  His lips peeled back from his teeth in a white grimace.  “If he did slip away, she will not stop until he is dead. She would will all of us destroyed if she could!”

“Calm yourself!” Leon snapped, poorly containing his own anger.

“My only son is at the mercy of that tyrannical shrak!” He spat out the curse of a nearly forgotten vampire dialect.

“Perhaps it is time we improved our situation,” Leon suggested.  His voice was steady and pensive now, his eyes brooding.

“The last time the Sariyas tried to ‘improve’ their situation, we landed General Viro and her sword in our laps.” Vinx pointed out.

 “Then this time we must not fail.”

“What are you planning?” Vinx leaned forward eagerly, his eyes hateful yellow flames.

“Nothing yet,” he answered. “For now we will forge our alliances. The Arcastes. The Myshens. An opportunity will present itself.  When it does we will strike swift and fierce.  By the time we’re through, the reign of the Viros will be a thing of the past.  By the end, my son, General Lexia Winter of the Viros will beg for our mercy and her lifeblood will fill my belly!”

He belted out a sharp, cacophonous laugh and settled comfortably in his seat.  He pressed his fingers together in a bony steeple and licked his lips, hungry for the bloodshed that would ensue. The fall of the Viro house.  Quite soon.  Yes.  Leon could feel it burning in his blood, in his bones.  Soon there would be an overthrow of the royal family and the ancient ways would be restored.  Mortals and vampires alike would cower at the name Sariya.

Chapter 18

Dawn approached, expelling the night once more and bringing vampire life in the castle to a slow crawl.  Visiting nobility trickled back to their homes in Viro City, their tittering laughs and meaningless prattle floating on the first hazy rays of sunlight.  The hosts returned to their quarters on the unremarkable second floor of the castle, their living space comfortable, but not reaching the extravagance of the chambers enjoyed by the third and fourth floor inhabitants.  Troops of soldiers returned from nightly patrol to retire for the day, resting up for yet another uneventful night of work while the day patrol, mostly mortals, set off.

Among those ending their duties was Captain Octavia Ivora.  Kristoff had been relieved of his usual obligations tonight, the King requesting his presence.  She found her husband about to enter Enan’s private rooms, dressed in his captain’s attire even though it was unnecessary when he was not performing his duties.  Kristoff had the heavy door half-open and one foot already inside when she caught his attention with a quick kiss to the cheek.  Standing on her tiptoes and craning her neck to reach his face, she tittered as he attempted to dip and meet her too late to be helpful.

“Still awake I see,” Octavia said.

“I was about to bid the King good day and take my leave,” Kristoff said, stepping closer to her and pulling the door almost closed.  An amused half smile came to his lips. “What are you grinning about?”

Octavia touched her cheeks self-consciously and found she was in fact grinning from ear to ear.

“Word is through the city,” she said. “Lexia comes this way.  She will return shortly.”

“I see,” Kristoff’s smile flattened to a grim line he reserved especially for the General.

Glancing through the crack in the door, Octavia caught sight of a stranger who appeared to be nobility speaking to King Enan in the between the first and second rooms of his chambers.  He was dressed in black, wearing a short, buttoned up, leather coat with a high collar.  A savage battle mace was clasped to the place on his back where an archer would keep their quiver, but he did not seem threatening.  He held himself proudly, his hands clasped behind him as he spoke to the King.  His mannerisms reminded her of Kristoff, in a way, and the other elder vampires residing within the castle who carried themselves with an inborn grace.

“Who is that man?” Octavia subtly gestured toward Lucian.

“Lucian Phainor of the Darkanes,” Kristoff answered with what Octavia thought was a fair amount of reverence in his voice.  “A former resident of the castle. He acted as the royal advisor and bodyguard for centuries.”

“Darkane?”  She vaguely recognized the name. It was old; it was steeped in history. “I don’t know even one man or woman of that clan.  Are they from across the sea?”

“No.  He is all that is left.”

“How sad,” she said, true sorrow dampening her rosy complexion. “Does he know Lexia?”

“Yes.  He left shortly after the death of Queen Lelandra,” he explained. “His entire clan was destroyed.”

“So she was very young.”

“Very young indeed,” Kristoff said disdainfully.

“Why do you say it that way?!”  She kept her voice low even in her exclamation and closed the door fully so she would not disturb the King and this Darkane vampire.

Kristoff also lowered his voice and took her another step away from the door. “Of course, I cannot be sure, but I believe they engaged in an improper relationship.”

“Oh?” Octavia said, hoping he would go on.

“There was undoubtedly a certain amount of affection between the two of them,” he said. “And they kept it very well hidden from the King, though I’m sure Queen Lelandra was aware of it.  She was awake to everything in this castle.”

“What’s so terribly wrong with a little romance?”

“He was centuries old and she was barely old enough to wield a weapon.  That’s what made it terribly wrong.”  Kristoff stiffened his shoulders and clenched the hilt of his scimitar.

“Oh, Kristoff,” she laughed softly under her breath. “When we married, I was only twenty and you were four hundred and thirty three years old.”

“I waited until you were a woman.”

“So this will be the first time they’ve seen each other in years. Over a century.”  A girlish excitement was overtaking Octavia.  She tugged lightly at her curls, a sure sign that she was scheming.

“Octavia,” Kristoff spoke sternly.

“Yes, my love?”  She answered, her mind working busily.

“Don’t meddle.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she insisted.

“Octavia, I’m serious.”

“You’re always serious.”

He placed a firm hand on her shoulder as she moved toward the door again.  “Please,” he was almost pleading. “Don’t do anything.”

“I’ll try,” Octavia responded truthfully.

“Thank you,” Kristoff relaxed and adjusted his belt.

“Will you do something for me?” she asked.

 What is it?” He raised an incredulous eyebrow.

“Don’t be so quick to judge, Kristoff.  Quite unbecoming of a captain, you know.”

He smiled and nodded. “I’ll try.”  Kristoff promised.

“That’s all I ask.”  She kissed the tip of her finger and tapped it to his chin. “Are we going in?”

Kristoff shook his head and unsuccessfully attempted to muffle a deep laugh, putting a hand over his mouth.  Then he said, “You simply can’t suppress the urge to make trouble, can you?”

“My love,” Octavia said melodically and put her hands up in a defensive position.  “I don’t know of what trouble you speak.  I simply would like to inform our lord, King Enan that his daughter is due to arrive.  And if Master Darkane happens to overhear, then who will it harm?  Really?”

“Well,” Kristoff said. “Here is your moment of glory, Captain Ivora.  Ready?”

Octavia smoothed a few stray hairs away from her face and dropped her smile to the grave expression she donned when acting not as Octavia, but as Captain Ivora.  Pulling her black cloak neatly around her, she thrust her shoulders back and placed one hand on the hilt of her sword.  She stood with an erect, soldier’s posture and noted Kristoff’s look of approval, which gave her a warm satisfaction.

“Now I’m ready.”  Octavia said, her voice official.

Engulfing the brass handle in one hand, Kristoff rapped on the door.

Chapter 19

Lucian had walked the whole of the familiar interior of the castle twice over since returning to Astalgia.  From the kitchen, caregiving and injury wing, and armory on the ground floor, to the hosts’ and servants’ quarters and laundry on the second level, to the posh finery of the third and fourth underground levels, it appeared that nothing had changed.  The shadowy, torch lit hallways.  The steep, wide flights of stone steps that connected the floors at north, south, east, and west on each level.  The busy faces darting to and fro throughout the castle, all possessing their own important agendas.  All these familiar sights brought back a trove of both fond and vivid memories.

The lone Darkane master did not feel at home.  Although the Viro lair itself hadn’t changed, the atmosphere in it and throughout the kingdom had become dank and depressed.  Even as he reached the shore at Purrean Bay in the southeast, Lucian sensed that underneath Astalgia’s veneer of order resided a festering pool of unease. He could taste bloodshed and fear in the very air he breathed.

He could not place the source of this feeling until speaking with his old friend.  The Viro King was as forthright a vampire as he ever was and continued to hold a commanding presence, though he was resigned to allow his daughter to rule his country’s affairs.  It was Princess Lexia Winter of the Viros, it seemed, who had cast the black cloud over the land.  Lucian could not fathom how she could have made such a transformation.  She had been kind though spirited and held a deep love of the people.  Yet he heard whispers of her in the corridors.  According to these exchanges, if they held any credence, the Princess he had known was gone and replaced by vicious killer, a tyrant whose will abided no contest.  The kingdom was at peace while the hearts of its people squirmed in turmoil.

Lucian shook his head in disbelief and clasped his hands behind him as he ambled down the corridor to the steps that would lead upstairs.  He had recently departed from the King’s company after Kristoff and his wife, who apparently was a captain as well, announced Princess Lexia’s arrival in the city.  It had been Captain Ivora who made the announcement.  She wore a grave mask, but her thoughts were open to his experienced seeing of the mind.  The young captain was, in reality, only just containing her joy at the Princess’s return.  A brief glimpse into her mind told him that Captain Ivora was a bright, intelligent woman, brimming with an untarnished happiness. His extended senses allowed him to take in the warmth of her unseen aura. Kristoff’s fortune in mating had been great and well deserved.  She was exactly the type of woman a battle hardened, dour man needed by his side.

Captain Ivora’s reaction to Princess Lexia’s arrival lifted Lucian’s spirits after all the negative sentiment spiraling around her.  It was reassuring to know there was at least one person in this kingdom, besides Enan, who did not fear or loathe her.

As he ascended the staircase, Lucian told himself another tour of the castle would help to relax him, tire him a bit more so he could enjoy a restful, proper sleep.  But he was already exhausted after his travels.  He knew why he climbed the stairs when he could have just as easily returned to his chambers. The rooms had been graciously restored to him upon his arrival, on the fourth floor.  He was intrigued by the Princess he had not set eyes on for the better part of two centuries.  He secretly hoped during his stroll about the castle that he might catch a glimpse of this woman who commanded so much terror yet obvious respect.

Lucian reached the third floor and turned left into the empty corridor.  He could hear muffled voices from behind the doors where the castle’s inhabitants had retired for the day. Inadvertently, his mind brushed over their thoughts and emotions.   It would be the same on the second floor where the hosts and staff slept, their schedules coinciding with the vampires they served.  He was midway through a short stretch of hallway that led from the staircase to an intersecting corridor when he heard footsteps ahead of him.  Lucian paused and watched the intersection, imagining the Princess gliding by in a long, trailing gown, hair pulled back, and chin nobly held aloft.  The way he remembered her, of course.  To his chagrin, it was a servant girl carrying linens.  She crossed the hallways hastily, unaware of being observed.  Her footfalls soon disappeared and Lucian realized he had been holding his breath in anticipation.  He also became aware that he was not alone.  There were eyes on him and a scent in the air that seemed familiar, but muddled in a way.  He let out his breath slowly and turned back the way he came.

There, in the space where the staircases paused to allow for the wide hallway, she stood, appearing not at all as he envisioned.  The Princess was dressed as a soldier, equipped with a sword and a whip at her hips and a crimson cloak that was tattered and blackened at the bottom.  Her hair had grown long and one raven lock hung over her face.  He had been right about one thing.  She held herself up with dignity, though she was clearly travel worn.  Lucian could scarcely believe this was the lovely young Princess who, last time he had seen her, had her toes barely on the threshold of womanhood.

At first, neither of them spoke.  Lucian met her eyes and was taken aback.  They were green and brutal.  Her expression was grave.  Her face held the Viro King’s pale and feral features and grazed the devastating beauty Queen Lelandra once brought to this land.  Lexia unabashedly examined him, scrutinizing with glacial eyes.  She took her time looking him over, her face devoid of emotion, until finally settling on his gaze.

“Ah-ben ey enlei, Lord Darkane,” Lexia greeted and welcomed him in the ancient vampiric tongue that had been a nearly dead language even in Lucian’s youth.  She dipped her head and touched her fingers to her collarbone.

“Princess Lexia Winter,” he responded, bending in a low, sweeping bow.  He lowered his eyes, thinking as he did so that if she were out of his sight for too long, she would disappear like some sort of apparition.  But when he righted himself, she was still there, rooted in place.

“Have you returned for good?” she inquired, though her voice conveyed indifference.

“Time will tell,” he answered even though he did indeed plan to stay in the castle he had called home for so many centuries.

She nodded solemnly seeming neither pleased nor displeased by his response. “I’m sure our paths will cross again, Lord Darkane.”

“Let us hope so, Princess” he said and hoped she could discern his sincerity.

After a respectful nod good-bye, the Princess continued down the staircase before Lucian could return the gesture.  He sucked in a startled breath as a sleek and monstrously sized panther followed behind her like some sort of pet.  The feline predator surveyed him briefly, licked its chops, and went on its way, tail twitching as it passed from Lucian’s view.

After the initial shock retreated, Lucian found himself even further fascinated by the Princess.  What manner of woman could keep the company of such a beast?  Despite her off putting demeanor and rampant gossip of her being a callous slayer of her own kind, Lucian resolved to learn more about her at every opportunity.

Chapter 20

Weary, starving, and nearly stumbling down the steps that would lead her to the deep, merciful solace of the basement level of the castle, Lexia caught a scent in the air.  She halted and placed a hand on the cool stone wall to steady her weakened body.  Knight made as if to lumber past her to investigate.  She stopped him with a touch to his shoulder and put her finger to her lips.  Honing her sense of smell, Lexia closed her eyes and lifted her head.  Her nose jutted out in front of her like an animal seeking out its prey.  The signature in the air was subtle.  Clean.  Earthy.  Masculine.

Her brow furrowed as she absorbed the invisible aura and attempted to conjure up an image in her mind to match it.  She was becoming increasingly impatient with herself when a memory suddenly flashed behind her eyes and they fluttered open in surprise.  Her heart thudded so loudly in her chest and in her ears, Lexia was sure if she had shared the stairway with anyone else they would have heard it as well.

The scent she happened upon was that of her father’s former bodyguard and advisor, Lucian Phainor of the Darkanes.  As a young child she had idolized and admired him much as a girl might look up to an older brother.  Certainly he had earned her respect, having saved Lexia’s life several times from most hazardous circumstances, some of which she herself inadvertently created.

Once, when Lexia was five, Lelandra left the girl in her bedroom to draw and practice her letters and the old language before retiring for the day.  Lexia had given her mother a kiss and profuse assurances that she would see herself to bed when she was finished.  After Lelandra went to join King Enan in their chambers, Lexia soon became tired and abandoned her studies for the comfort of her bed.

The only light in the room was a dimly glowing oil lamp, which was set on the edge of the nightstand, left from the staff servicing her quarters.  She watched the faint orange and blue light until her eyes flickered closed only to be awakened by a brighter hue of orange shortly after.  In the course of her brief slumber, Lexia had managed to knock the oil lamp from its place and bring it crashing down to the floor beside her nightstand.  In a deep sleep, Lexia hadn’t been disturbed by the clamor and continued to sleep until she felt the fiery tongue of the flames licking at her flesh.

Screaming and choking, she was jilted from her sleep.  Her skin was soaked with perspiration and her nightgown clung stickily to her body.  The fire was raging fiercely, already engulfing the room to the left of her bed and was crackling and creeping up her blankets and bedposts.  Black smoke billowed up from the fire, charring the ceiling and filling the room with a thick smog.  The door to her room was hidden behind the wall of flame and smoke.  She was trapped.

In between choked breaths, Lexia screamed for her mother and father.  She tumbled off the opposite side of the bed as she retreated from the heat and bashed the back of her head against the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed.  She cried out and pressed her hand to the wound.  Her fingers came away with a smear of blood.  Lexia rolled onto her hands and knees, hacking and crying uncontrollably.

It was in this helpless state that Lucian found her.  She heard the door crash open and the sound of her name being called.  She knew who it was that came to her rescue.  He was the only one who called her Princess Lexia Winter.  Her parents called her only by her first name and all the servants and royals simply addressed her as ‘Princess’.  She tried to call out to him, but her lungs and throat were burning and tight.  It made no difference.  He located her within seconds, his face already stained black by the smoke.  Without a moment of indecision, Lucian wrapped her in his cloak and swept her off the floor.  He hugged her against his chest like an infant and carried her to the safety of Lelandra’s arms.  Lexia remembered breathing him in as he made his way through the inferno, trying to inhale anything but the chest clogging smoke.  She memorized his scent that night.  It was her safety; it was her assurance.

As time progressed, a child’s admiration became a young woman’s intrigue.  She often found herself stealing glances at him, wondering what it would feel like to run her fingers through his hair or how his lips would feel pressed against hers.  Lexia’s infatuation went unnoticed until her sixteenth birthday.  The party was held in the throne room where many important events in the kingdom took place.  The north wall, to the right when entering the room, was mirrored, reflecting the magnificence of the gala and all the attending guests.

After an evening of banal conversation and endless birthday wishes, Lexia had managed to slip away from the smothering crowd and was facing the room reflected on the wall.  She inspected her appearance at first.  She wore a conservative cream colored gown with long sleeves and a diamond sequined collar.  Her hair was tied back in a tight bun like her mother’s and she remembered grimacing at the sharpness her father’s pallor lent to her visage .  Her eyes wandered over the moving picture and found Lucian among the guests.  He was speaking with one of her father’s many cousins who resided in the castle simply for the fact that they had been blessed with the Viro name.  Lucian smiled and talked and gestured naturally, unaware of Lexia’s young eyes on him.

She placed one hand just below her neck, touching her collarbone as a hot flush covered her body.  Lexia’s lips curved into a half smile as she watched him.  Her eyes phased in and out of the celebration, indulging herself in one of the many heated fantasies she had summoned over the past couple years and paying no heed to the other bodies mingling about in the reflection.

Nearby bursts of laughter jilted her out of her reverie.  Lexia was uncertain how much time had elapsed, but Lucian’s partner in conversation had departed and he was standing alone.  He was parallel with the mirror so she could view his profile.  The heat of desire was transformed to ice and embarrassment as Lexia realized that he was facing her.  She dared to face him and was relieved to see him smiling at her.  She tried to smile, but found her face was frozen and was forced to nod a greeting.  He leaned into a gracious bow as he always did, one hand to his chest and the other arm hooked behind his back.  But this time he kept his eyes on her instead of lowering them respectfully to the ground.  All the while Lexia wondered how long he had been watching her stare at his reflection.

From then on the two shared a daily flirtation whenever they found themselves together though few words were ever spoken in public.  Their private lives had turned into another matter.  She was not old enough to take him as a mate….. but they had enough of each other to know that secrecy was pertinent.  Their fantasies had come crashing down around them, of course, the fateful night of the uprising.

These memories flooded back to Lexia from recesses of her mind she thought she had locked up for all time.  Gingerly placing both sets of fingertips on the wall for support, she sidled down the steps quickly and stealthily.  Lexia approached the third floor corridor feeling entirely foolish sneaking around her own castle like a bandit.  She peeked to the right first.  Nothing but an empty corridor.  She turned and poked her head into the left corridor.  Her nose had yet again served her well.  It was Lucian of the Darkanes.  He was walking away from her, but suddenly stopped mid-step.

Certain he had detected her presence, she stepped into full view.  After all, his sense of smell was just as keen as hers, if not better.  Lexia pulled herself up into a dignified stance as best she could considering her fatigue.  She waited, but he simply stood, stock still, appearing to be waiting for something himself.  She listened and heard what must have stopped him.  There were steps echoing in the hallway, but the passage was curved and she couldn’t see to whom they belonged.  It was probably a host returning to their room or a servant tending to their duties.  Lexia wondered why either of these things would alarm him.  Lucian had always been cautious, but never an apprehensive vampire.

The footfalls came and went, drawing no further reaction from Lucian.  Lexia was preparing to address him when he did a slow about-face and saw her.  She stared at him.  He possessed a strong, calm visage and a prominent nose.  His eyes were an unnatural shade of blue.  They were a luminous silver blue, the color of the pale morning sky as it coalesced with the remainder of the white, fading moonlight.  Lexia felt the pangs of past feelings well up in her chest and promptly suppressed them.  Circumstances had changed.  Lexia reminded herself that no matter how much older he was and no matter how friendly he was with her father, she was the royalty.  She would be queen someday.  The realm was within her command.

Lexia examined him, noting that his mode of dress and choice in weapon had not changed.  That suited her.  She wasn’t particularly fond of change.  Change brought surprises and Lexia had had more than her share of them in her lifetime.

She initiated a brief exchange and left him to go about her business.  Hopefully, he would stay for her father’s sake.  King Enan was a lonely soul and it would do him good to have his old friend residing in the castle again.  Lexia told herself this was the sole reason she wished his presence in their home and realized, to her disappointment, that a spark in her still burned for him.  Perhaps it would be just as well if he left.  Lucian Phainor of the Darkanes was a distraction and Lexia had learned over time that distractions, whatever form they took, were very bad.  Distractions were dangerous.

Turning into the fourth level corridor, Lexia paced along frowning and disgruntled.  She wanted to dispatch this weakness, to extinguish the spark that had so easily flared at the sight of Lucian.  Lexia had believed herself to be hardened, impermeable.  What good could she possibly be as a general and leader if her heart could be so easily moved by one short encounter?  She continued on with her self-deprecation until she was greeted by another, more welcome face halfway to her father’s chambers.

“You look absolutely dreadful,” Octavia chided, but smiled happily.  She extended her arms and Lexia allowed herself the embrace. “Are you all right, sister?”

When Lexia had taken Octavia under her wing as an entry rank soldier they had forged a bond slowly throughout the grueling training.  They eventually came to enjoy a remarkable friendship.  Lexia appreciated Octavia’s kindness and playful sense of humor, knowing that underneath beat the heart of a formidable warrior.  She discovered quickly Octavia’s skill with the sword, wielding it with the speed and adeptness of the other Ivoras that had served under Lexia’s command.  She had been hard on her to the point of the girl having fractured bones and working through tears more often than not.

Not long after breaking her first bone under Lexia’s stern instruction, Octavia made a habit of calling her ‘big sister’.  Despite her efforts to quash her softer feelings for the promising young soldier at first, Lexia found Octavia’s term for her endearing and, in turn, began calling her ‘little sister’.  Unlike most people, Octavia experienced little apprehension in Lexia’s presence.  Instead, Octavia seemed to bask in her attention.  Lexia found Octavia’s attitude toward her refreshing though she would not have tolerated it from anyone else under her command.

“I’m tired, nothing more,” Lexia responded and pulled away.

Octavia wrinkled her nose.  “Is that the fragrance all the noble ladies in the city are wearing these days?  I must say, perhaps I should get a bottle!”

“Are you finished?”

“You stink,” she added brightly.

“Must you always look so cheerful while doling out the insults?”

Octavia smoothed a stray lock of hair away from Lexia’s face and flipped it over her shoulder. “Not insults.  Just truths.  Isn’t that so, Knight?” she acknowledged the cat who simply shifted his eyes at his name.

“What are you doing here?” Lexia asked. “I thought you would be in bed with Kristoff by now.”

She shrugged. “I see Kristoff most days.  I never see you.  I wanted to welcome you home.”

Lexia nodded, suspicion floating to her mind’s surface. “And?”

Octavia smiled impishly.  The woman was terrible at hiding her emotions no matter how she struggled to contain herself.  Lexia never needed to employ her power of seeing to know exactly what was passing behind Octavia’s eyes.

“There’s a man in the castle,” she cupped her hand on the side of her mouth and lowered her voice as if it were a tremendous secret.

Leaning in, Lexia also dropped her voice. “I’ve seen many men in the castle,” she said, knowing very well that Octavia was referring to Lord Darkane.

“Not this one!” Octavia said excitedly.

Lexia closed her eyes for a moment. An exhausted sigh escaped her aching body.  Her joints and muscles complained in silent unison.

“I’ve seen Lord Darkane,” Lexia tried to end the exchange. “I’ll see you later tonight, sister.”

Octavia didn’t budge. “And?”

“And we spoke briefly,” Lexia said impatiently.

“Is he very nice?” she persisted.

Lexia ground her molars painfully and stilled her temper.  She possessed deep affection for Octavia, but the captain was not immune from making Lexia cross.  She glared and growled at Octavia. “This conversation is over.”

“As you like,” the smile fled from Octavia’s face, but she seemed otherwise unaffected by Lexia’s anger. “Why don’t you get some sleep?” she suggested.

“I must speak with my father.”

“I’m sure the King can wait until tonight to see you.”

“I’m here now.”

Octavia nodded and then as if she suddenly remembered why Lexia had been gone in the first place, she asked, “Did Zuriek receive his just punishment?”

“He escaped me,” Lexia grumbled, shifting uncomfortably.

“No,” Octavia said, disbelief in her voice and in her eyes.

“He got away,” she repeated. “I shall return to my search after some rest.”

“I’ll accompany you,” Octavia volunteered.

“My first destination is the Sariya haven,” Lexia warned. “Are your feelings well with that?”

“Of course,” Octavia’s voice was resolute.

“Will Kristoff approve?”  Though Lexia was indifferent to whether or not Captain Kyro approved of her own actions, she did not wish to disrupt his relationship with Octavia.  They enjoyed a solid, contented union and Lexia would not jeopardize Octavia’s happiness.

“It is not Kristoff’s choice to make,” Octavia said. “Besides, I hold almost as much authority as he does.”

Lexia nodded and clapped a hand on her shoulder. “No, you don’t, but you may go with me anyway.”

Octavia shrugged off the comment.  “Tomorrow night then?”

“Tonight,” Lexia corrected.

“That’s not much rest,” Octavia hugged her once more and squeezed tightly. “It’s good to have you home.”

“Good to be here.”

“Promise you’ll get a good day of sleep,” Octavia said.

“I promise.  I have energy for nothing else.”

Octavia scratched Knight behind the ears, extracting a friendly sound from the panther, and was on her way in the opposite direction from where Lexia came.  Lexia looked after her for a moment, contemplating the complications that would arise from their visit to the Sariya Haven.  Lexia hung her head and pinched the bridge of her nose as another dull ache overtook her head.  She and Octavia were in for a trying evening.

Chapter 21

The thick, red carpet cushioned Lexia’s footfalls as she walked across her bedchamber to the faint crackle of embers, glowing hot and orange in the fireplace.  There was a red velveteen couch set before the hearth.  It was long, with a high, curving backside and finished wooden arms and legs.  It occupied the space at the very deepest part of her bedchamber, a carved out nook with space enough for only the fireplace and the couch.  For all its worth and splendid appearance, the couch was the most underused piece of furniture Lexia possessed. These days there was little time to sit and ruminate.  Lexia rarely found herself in the the seat and it was left it in the light of the fire to take up the empty space. She had more pertinent matters to attend at seemingly all times.

Instead of sitting, Lexia stood behind the couch and leaned against the back of it.  After roaring throughout the day, turning Lexia’s rooms into an unbearable furnace for most, the fire had finally dwindled.  She stared into the ochre remains of the logs that cast a soft light over her symmetrical features and pallid skin.  Darkness embraced her from behind, mingling and melding its shadowy being with her ebony tresses.  Her hair was brushed free of the bramble of tangles she’d acquired over the past days and it flowed long and straight to her waist. The black robe she wore, as well as her hair and skin, emitted the scent of the purple tipped iris petals that Lexia used in her bath.

Restlessly, Lexia tapped her fingers against the couch.  She was wide awake and refreshed after having a bath and a mercifully dreamless rest.  Her stomach was more than adequately full thanks to her host, a mortal in her third decade – Mayda.  She was an appropriate host for Lexia, not inclined in the slightest to ask questions about the General’s personal affairs.  Lexia kept the petite woman on a strict diet of fruit, vegetables, and meat in order to keep her blood tasting sweet.  In return, Mayda was afforded personal chambers on the host level with an annual salary of gold Venei to be spent however she deemed fit and the freedom to come and go from the castle as she pleased once Lexia’s needs were adhered to.  When she reached the age of fifty, Mayda would be discharged from service as all hosts were and given a final stipend for her services that would easily support her and her family for the remainder of their lives. The days of vampires gone on the hunt for blood had passed to history here in Viro City and, indeed, most of Astalgia.

With her thirst for blood quenched, Lexia was hungry again for her own hunt.  Zuriek would not escape her twice.  She would not be made a fool of by a mongrel.  It was not often that her prey escaped her and it sent blasts of fire into her heart, boiling her blood into an animal rage.  She touched her tongue to her fang and licked off a drop of venom that had seethed out.

Before she could resume her quest for justice, Lexia would report to the throne room where her father would wait her coming this evening.  King Enan had dismissed her that morning after a single glance at her appearance and ordered she recuperate from her journey before she fainted dead away.  Lexia realized later on when she viewed herself in a mirror how disheveled she was.  She had looked like a waif, overexerted and badly in need of a bath.

Lexia left the scant illumination of the fading fire and paced into the darkness of her room.  She passed by the unlit candles on her nightstands and on the vanity table that stood on the opposite side of the room and faced her bed.  Lexia remembered how delighted she was when Lelandra had presented it to her.  There were no oil lamps in the room after the incident from her childhood.  The candles remained in an almost perpetual state of disuse as Lexia could see perfectly well in the very blackest of shadow.  To a mortal’s eyes, darkness was a menacing specter, concealing their surroundings and blurring their perception, which created an uneasiness and often times fear.  But for Lexia it was an enhancement, each object painted in a shining lacquer and sharply defined.

Slipping out of her robe and into a uniform that matched Kristoff’s and Octavia’s except for her black vest, Lexia dressed quickly.  She buttoned the crisp, clean white cuffs of her shirt, fastened the vest, and tied her hair back with a simple silver clasp.  She strapped a dagger to either thigh and lastly, she buckled her belt, making sure her weapons were in place and easily accessible.  Lexia hung her cloak over her arm and made for the door.  A survey of the room was unnecessary to establish that Knight was not present.  He was prone to slipping out during the comings and goings of servants and had probably left when Mayda made her exit.

Once in the corridor, Lexia headed immediately in the direction of the throne room.  Her mind was closed and pondering how long it would take to apprehend Zuriek.

“Princess Lexia Winter,” Lucian’s voice halted her steps midway to her destination. She berated herself for being so immersed in her thoughts that she had not detected his presence.  She sniffed the air, newly astonished at how subtle his scent was.  He moved somewhere behind her, his footsteps barely audible to her finely attuned ears.  She remembered that he had been quite a stealthy hunter.

“Princess?” his tone turned inquisitive.

Lexia breathed steadily even as her palms grew clammy and a knot tightened unforgivingly in her stomach.  She didn’t want to be alone with him, had no interest in reminiscing about what might have been between them.  Turning slowly, Lexia saw he was much closer than he sounded.  He bent in another of his noble, sweeping bows, mere paces away from where she stood.  She nodded in acknowledgment, but said nothing.  In addition to the sickness filling her stomach, a dry lump had formed in her throat.  He made her anxious and she abhorred him and herself for that.

“Is something the matter, Princess?” he asked, appearing truly concerned. “You’re very pale.”

Yes, Lexia thought vehemently. I am finding your presence quite bothersome, Lord Darkane.  How could I have let you sneak up on me so easily?  If you were hunting me I could be dead.  Unacceptable!

“Princess Lexia?” Lucian took a step forward and Lexia was inclined to move away, but stood her ground firmly.

Finally, she found her voice.  She dredged it up and forced it out no matter how badly it sounded. It was better than saying nothing at all and continuing to look foolish. “General,” she corrected him gruffly.

Lucian looked at her curiously. “You prefer General?”

Is he taunting me? Lexia thought, unexplained anger rising in her.

“It is my primary function,” she intentionally kept her voice dull and flat.

“That’s a peculiar way to describe it,” he said, unsmiling.

“It’s only the truth,” she shot back with more venom than she intended. “Do you require my attention for something, Lord Darkane?”

“The honor of a General’s company,” he smiled.  It was dashing and sincere.  His teeth were white and perfectly aligned, his fangs slightly larger than her own.

“I’ve matters to attend, Lord Darkane.”

“You’ve only just returned. A moment perhaps?”

“I don’t remember you being in the habit of questioning the actions of royalty, Lord Darkane!” Lexia hissed.  She wanted to attend to her business.  Her skin was on fire and she wished to the gods that she wasn’t blushing.

“My apologies, General.” He frowned lightly.

“Good-bye, Lord Darkane,” she said, ending the conversation abruptly.

Lucian bowed his head, but Lexia caught only a glimpse of it.  She was already putting distance between them with long, fast strides.  Each step she took away from the Darkane, the more confidence she regained.  By the time she reached her destination, Lexia had nearly forgotten about the twisted ball of nerves in the pit of her stomach and felt her heart pulse instead with the anticipation of acquiring her target.

She arrived at the arched entranceway where Octavia waited for her, clad in full captain’s uniform and standing at attention.

“You look better, General” Octavia noted approvingly and with more of a soldier’s deference now that they were both in uniform.

“Thank you,” Lexia said. “Have you been waiting long?”

“No.  I arrived just a moment ago.  Will we set off then?”

“Soon.  I must speak with my father.”

Octavia nodded. “I’ll make ready the horses and wait at the south end for you.”

“Good,” Lexia paused, then asked, “Have you seen Knight?”

“No,” Octavia shook her head and frowned. “Is he missing?”

“Not really.  He probably went off to find something to eat,” she guessed. “I’ll be with you soon, Captain Ivora.”

“Yes, General,” Octavia said, clicking her heels and bowing before taking her leave from her commanding officer.

Lexia entered the throne room, her footfalls dancing in the cavernous air.  King Enan occupied the throne, filling it well with his ambiance of authority.  He was the one person who could instill any trepidation in Lexia.  Lord Darkane, Captain Kyro, the King, and a handful of their strongest soldiers were the only ones who had any ability to overpower her, but she did not fear Kristoff.  Her death would mean Enan’s grief and Kristoff would never facilitate that.  Thankfully, her father was not an enemy and he loved her, but she retained the cold fear that a child always feels towards a stern parent.  That dark feeling that ebbs on the border of respect, but is clearly defined.  Drawing closer, she saw that his face was sullen and tired.  He met her gaze and managed a thin smile.

“Come here, my daughter,” he stood and held his arms out to her.

She allowed him a short embrace, after which she withdrew a couple steps and he settled back into his seat.  Not wasting a moment more of valuable time, she inquired about the dream.

“What troubled you so badly that you ordered me home, Father?” Lexia asked.

“The dream,” Enan said, then paused, wearing a deep frown.  Lexia waited for him to collect his thoughts and he soon continued. “You are not the first to have it.”

“I don’t understand,” Lexia was not often confused and she didn’t like the sensation. “Who else has had the dream?”

“Your mother,” Enan grimaced as he said the words.

“My mother?” Lexia’s throat felt as if it would seal closed.

“She used to have the very same vision,” he explained. “When she carried you inside her, Lexia.  Lelandra would wake up screaming and clutching at you in the womb, terrified she had lost her child.  Eventually, she stopped sleeping altogether to avoid the torment.  When she did sleep, it would only be for a few hours at a time and she would wake covered in a dreadful sweat.  The time before your birth was long and intolerable, but your mother was strong.  She survived the horror without her spirit breaking somehow.

“She never told me.”

“Your mother would never burden you with such tales,” Enan said.

“But I am not with child, Father.  I have not yet chosen a mate.”

“It’s Devthema, Lexia.”

“Devthema?” What could the Goddess of Death want with one single being?

“For some reason, she opposed your birth.  At first, we thought the nightmares were a figment of Lelandra’s own mind until Devthema revealed herself in one of the visions.”

“What happened?” Lexia pressed.

“Nothing at the time,” Enan replied. “It was a dream.  The Demen have never been known to act outright, but Devthema did all she could to prevent your coming.  She sent minions and henchmen to dispense of Lelandra.  Those ten moons were a torrent of despair for your mother and I.  Lord Darkane certainly had his hands full.”

Lexia wondered what she had done or what her mother could have possibly done to incur such wrath from the goddess.

Enan lowered his voice to a confidential tone and bent forward as if Devthema herself were in the room, lurking among the shadows. “I want you to take caution wherever you go, Lexia.  If Devthema has set her gaze upon you, be sure evil is afoot.  I won’t ask you to curtail your duties.  I know you won’t, but please be extremely careful.”

“I will be on guard,” Lexia promised.

Enan nodded. “Very well.”

He settled back into the blackwood throne.  His face was set in stone, but Lexia recognized the dolor in his eyes.  Recalling memories of his departed Queen laid an open wound on his heart as it did on her own.  Time did not heal these wounds.  If anything, it breached them even farther through the pain of memory until one cut of loss became a bloody, gaping hole of blackness and despair.  Lexia’s heart no longer beat red and hot with the fire of life. It pulsed coldly, seething vengeance and death. 

“Is there anything else?” Lexia asked, donning her cloak and securing it with the Viro emblem.

“Where are you off to this evening?”

“Sariya Haven.”

“With Captain Ivora?”

“Yes,”

Enan pursed his lips. “Still pursuing Zuriek?”

“He has already killed three and transformed a girl,” Lexia justified her actions confidently.

“I know about the girl and the two Ambiols,” Enan said. “Who else has fallen under him?”

“A maid of the water dwellers,”

Enan sighed heavily. “That is a sorry thing to hear.”

“I’ll be sure to relay your sorrow to Prince Balil when I see him next.  She was his intended bride,” Lexia said, her words biting.

“I see,” Enan touched one long finger to his temple.

“I vowed to him that I would bring Zuriek to justice,” she continued.

“Do what you must,” Enan said.

 “I intend to.”

“Your birthday approaches, Lexia,” Enan stated what she was already painfully aware of. She was hoping to avoid the subject. “I look forward to seeing you at the celebration.”

“There needn’t be a celebration,” Lexia said.

“The two hundredth birthday of my daughter and heir is important to me and to the people of Astalgia.” he insisted.

“They despise me.”

“You will attend,” he commanded, drawing himself out of his throne and to his full height.

“Yes, Father.”

He stepped closer to his daughter and touched her face gently, but she knew the power in that hand. “Take care, Lexia.  Return home safely.”

“Death before surrender, Father.”

Chapter 22

With time to spare before Lexia arrived, Octavia prepared for their ride to Sariya Haven.  She saddled her own stallion, Bright, and left Flame barebacked as Lexia preferred.  Leading them by the reins, Octavia walked them to the woods that hedged around the front of the castle, creating a wall between Viro Castle and Viro City.  There was but one single road that led from the city’s main street to the entrance of the castle: Dragon’s Claw Road.  It was a wide path, paved with large cobblestones that had been worn flat and sanded down by the elements over time and endured the passing of thousands of feet daily.  There was a single offshoot from Dragon’s Claw Road as one passed from the city to the castle.  It was yet another wide path, closer to the castle.  It was a road of beaten earth that led to the soldier barracks, a plain, but stalwart structure that was only slightly less menacing than the castle.  Farther down from the barracks was the once infamous Nehari prison.  Now an unused mass of crumbling stone and a sanctuary for furry vermin, the structure once housed the worst of Astalgia’s criminals and prisoners of war.  The stone complex had become obsolete in the wake of General Viro’s rise to power.

The night was hot and humid and stifling.  Octavia could feel the moisture in the air like a wet, wool blanket against her skin and weighing down her hair so that it clung in dark auburn clumps to her neck and forehead.  She waited patiently for Lexia despite the heat, stroking the muzzles of the two horses and humming a soothing tune from her childhood.  Unfortunately, this was in no way a reflection of how she was feeling.  The prospect of entering the Sariya Haven sent pinpricks of apprehension up and down her spine.

Master Leon and his son, Vinx, would not welcome Lexia’s presence.  Vinx.  His name made her shudder and the thought of him made her ill.  Octavia had only made his acquaintance a dozen or so times in the past, but the vampire’s image haunted her.  His leering, covetous eyes seared into her mind and she could not with all her might will them away.  At each of their meetings, Vinx had made obvious and vulgar vies for her affections, becoming less and less tolerant of her disinterest in him.

If Zuriek had returned to the Sariya’s underground lair, Lexia would kill him and Leon and Vinx might retaliate.  The Sariya Haven could very well become a battle ground tonight.  But Octavia had faith in Lexia’s fighting abilities as well as her own.  If it came to drawing arms against the Sariyas, Octavia was confident she and Lexia would emerge victorious though perhaps with a few scrapes to show. Still, a part of her wished Lexia would command a troop to accompany them.

A flash of red moved toward her from the shadows.  In another moment, Lexia emerged fully into her view, carrying with her always a cloud of austerity.  Octavia watched her approach, never failing to be impressed at how soft Lexia’s steps were though she made no effort at stealth.  The General moved like a noblewoman in an innately dignified fashion, but at the same time with the beastly quality that all the vampires seemed to possess.  Octavia admired Lexia’s ability to keep her animalistic instincts in check, even at times when it was clearly difficult to do so.

“General Viro,” Octavia greeted her, handing over the reins.

“Captain,” Lexia responded and mounted Flame. “Are you positive about accompanying me?  There is no shame in not wanting to confront the Sariyas.  They’re an ugly brood.”

“I’m ready when you are, General,” Octavia said, placing one foot in the stirrup and boosting herself into the saddle.

“It could turn into some nasty business down there,” Lexia warned, then added with a knowing tone. “You believe we should have a contingent with us.”

“It’s not my decision. I’m with you, General.”

“Very well,” Lexia said and tapped Flame on the shoulder to get him going.

Octavia nudged Bright with her heel and followed Lexia closely through the trees.  It was times such as this that Octavia envied Lexia’s vampire ability to see effortlessly in the dark and had to remind herself it was a small price to pay to retain her mortality.  Unlike most mortals, Octavia did not crave the extended life of the vampire and she most certainly did not desire to rely on the blood of others to satiate her hunger.  It seemed to her a somewhat vulgar way of life.  She planned to one day join Kristoff in immortality, sacrificing the life she loved for the vampire’s thirst.  She did not intend to grow old and die, leaving her beloved behind, but she was not ready yet.  Not yet.

They arrived at their destination as the moon reached its throne.  The going had been slow through of the dense wood, but steady thanks to Lexia’s keen sense of direction.  The sky boasted no clouds tonight and a nearly full moon, but its gleam of white light could not penetrate the thicket of trees surrounding the Sariya Haven.  The entrance to the lair was entrenched with darkness, a gaping black mouth in the ground.  Octavia imagined it swallowing them up, choking them as they uttered gurgling pleas for mercy.  But Lexia stepped without hesitation into the obscured entranceway and pounded on the door with three hard motions.  Octavia blenched at each fist fall that shattered the warm night’s serenity.

The door remained closed and the air unnaturally still.  There were no animal sounds in this part of the forest, not even the high pitched reep-reep of a cricket’s song.  Even the animals knew to distance themselves from the Sariyas.  The lack of movement made Octavia nervous.

“Maybe they’ve all gone for the night,” she suggested, wiping beads of sweat from her brow.  “Half of them still hunt.”

“No,” Lexia turned to Octavia, her face pinched with determination. “Someone is in there.”

“How can you tell?” Octavia asked.

“I can hear them moving.”

Lexia faced the door and pounded three more times, purposefully and slowly.  Octavia thought she could hear the wood and hinges creak under her righteousness.

“General Lexia Winter of the Viros calls on your Haven!” Lexia raised her voice and identified herself. “Open the door!”

This time the door was promptly answered by a gaunt young woman with a wash of freckles and a mane of orange red hair.  Octavia noted her lack of long, canine teeth.  She was a host.

“Y-yes?” She stammered.

“Tell Master Leon that General Viro is here to speak with him,” Lexia commanded, stepping over the threshold before the freckled host could object.  Octavia followed her lead and closed the door behind them.  It would not make for a hasty exit, but she didn’t fancy anyone sneaking up behind her from outside.

“He’s not here,” the host winced as she spoke.

“And Vinx?” Lexia questioned, standing uncomfortably close to the woman.

“H-he’s here,” she seemed reluctant to divulge the information.

“He’ll do.  Fetch him,” Lexia ordered.

The redhead gave a clumsy half bow and skittered away on her errand.

“He hasn’t been here,” Lexia whispered over her shoulder, affecting no emotion. “Not recently anyway.”

“Zuriek?” Octavia asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you certain?”

In the darkness, Octavia could see the pale outline of Lexia’s finger tap the tip of her nose.

“They all smell the same to me,” Octavia said.

“Sometimes it’s difficult to sort them out,” Lexia confessed. “You’ll see when you turn someday.  The Kyros have a fine sense of smell.”

The heavy click of boots bounced off the walls of the narrow passage and they discontinued their talk.  Vinx appeared before them, dressed in black and holding a small black staff.  A silver crow’s head crowned the piece, the eyes of the bird glinting red with garnets.  He bared his large incisors in a gruesome smile, bowing quickly and fluidly.

“General Viro,” he said with feigned sincerity. “Always a pleasure to have you in our home.  And, Captain Ivora, how long has it been?”

Octavia made no replay save a set jaw and hoped she was succeeding in concealing her discomfort.

“You may spare me your prattle, Vinx,” Lexia said, taking a step to meet him. “You and I both know what brings me to your doorstep.”

“Ah, yes,” his smile wavered. “My son, Zuriek.  I haven’t seen him since you ran him off our territory.  Tell me, General Viro, why it is the Sariya clan must endure the brunt of your malice?”

Octavia waited for the commotion to begin, placing one hand on the hilt of her dagger that was fastened at the small of her back.  A sword would prove to be too cumbersome in the cramped space.  Vinx would tear her throat out in a bloody swipe before she had negotiated her sword into a favorable fighting position.  Octavia was shocked at Lexia’s tolerance for Vinx’s complacent attitude and snide remark.  She had witnessed the General slice off fingers, ears, and once half an arm of those who showed disrespect to the Viro clan.  Insolence was not a crime, but Lexia treated it as such and reserved little patience for it.

“Vinx, I am hard pressed to find even one Sariya that is a contributing member of society.  On the contrary, most Sariyas I’ve met seem to strive at being the rabble of our community.”

“In your opinion,” he countered.

This comment produced the reaction Octavia initially expected.  In a breath, Lexia had stripped Vinx of his own staff and struck him across the face with the crow’s head.  Octavia heard the loud crack of bone against metal and suppressed any facial expression.  Growling, Lexia forced him against the wall, palm against Vinx’s chest and crow’s head thrust against his throat.  A red welt was already forming on his cheek.  In an hour it would become a bruised black and blue and by tomorrow there would be no trace of it ever being there.  Another advantage their species enjoyed.  The injury to his face was of minimal importance.  It was Vinx’s pride that would suffer the true blow.

“My opinion is the one that matters,” Lexia snarled. “Remember that.”

“Of course, General,” Vinx hissed through bared teeth.

“And inform Master Leon that he will enjoy a series of visits from me in his home until Zuriek is brought to the end he deserves.  You’ll do that, won’t you?” Lexia twisted the staff against his throat and he coughed out an inaudible response.

“Of course you will,” Lexia nodded, answering her own question.

She dropped the staff at Vinx’s feet, ending the engagement, and turned to leave.  Octavia wondered how Lexia had the nerve to put her back to Vinx after expressing her blatant aversion for his family, but she did so without any reservation.  She brushed past Octavia and exited the haven.  Vinx looked as if to pounce on her, then thought better of it.  Instead, he turned his attention to Octavia.  Her bones chilled through to the marrow under his savage gaze.

“I certainly hope the sultry Captain Ivora will accompany General Viro on all her calls to my home,” he rasped. “It would make the visits that much more pleasant.”

Her body stiffened and she backed out the doorway, still clutching the weapon under her cloak.  Octavia forced herself to keep her eyes on his.  To look away would show weakness on her part and she refused to let Vinx crack her shell of authority.  Unhinging her grip on the dagger, Octavia closed the door as she exited.  The hot night was no longer oppressive compared to the discomfort Octavia felt in the confining passage.  She filled her lungs with the forest air and felt a fresh trickle of sweat on her neck.

“Are you well?” Lexia asked, already mounted on Flame.

“Yes,” Octavia nodded and joined her.

“Don’t allow Vinx to upend your nerve, Captain,” Lexia said. “He’s nothing but vermin.”

“Vermin with very big teeth,” Octavia pointed out.

Lexia shrugged. “They’re all the same.  Remember, Captain Ivora, the size of their teeth doesn’t matter.  Put your blade though his chest in the correct place and he’ll die as quickly as a roach under your boot. Vinx would be stupid to try to take you. The might of Viro castle accompanies you wherever you go.”

“I know,” Octavia said.

They rode back toward the castle, Octavia rattled by the brief encounter with Vinx.  She knew Kristoff and Lexia would see him dead before allowing him to debase her, but it was not fair to rely on them for her well-being.

Suddenly, her thoughts returned to Vinnette.  Kristoff intended to pass her into the care of the Sariya family wihtin the next few nights.  She shuddered at the thought of sending the unsuspecting young girl into the arms of those who many in the castle considered the enemy.

“What’s wrong?” Lexia asked from ahead of her.

“What do you mean?” Octavia asked, knowing well Lexia’s talent for identifying any ripple of uneasiness in her mood.

“Your breathing has changed.  What’s wrong?”  She inquired again.

“The girl Zuriek attacked, Vinnette, came to us seeking guidance.”

“Yes?” Lexia’s tone urged Octavia to continue.

“Kristoff plans to turn her over to the Sariyas soon,” she said, her voice on the verge of cracking. “It’s going to be a nightmare for her.”

Lexia did not answer.  Octavia hoped that she was considering other alternatives for Vinnette’s future.  Lexia would not hesitate to go against Kristoff if his logic did not conform to her own.  If Vinnette was in luck, this might be the case and she wouldn’t be forced into the den of predators.  Lexia took such an extended pause, Octavia thought the subject had been abandoned.

When the General resumed speaking, Octavia’s hopes for Vinnette went up in flames of disappointment. “Captain Kyro is pursuing the best course of action,” Lexia said.

“But they’ll destroy her spirit,” Octavia protested.

“She can’t stay in the castle forever,”

“No,” the captain grudgingly agreed.

“Do you believe she can survive well enough on her own?” Lexia wanted to know.

Octavia remembered when she had first met Vinnette.  The girl was babbling and seemingly on the brink of incoherent thought over the death of a single deer.  She was alone in the world and fragile.

“No,” Octavia hated to say it.

“Then that’s the end of it,” Lexia said with finality.

Octavia resigned herself to the General’s decision and put it out of her mind.  There was nothing more she could do for Vinnette besides pray for her safety.  Lexia and Kristoff had agreed on her fate, a tiny miracle in itself.  Her husband and this Viro rarely agreed on anything.  Any attempt to sway their stance on the matter would be futile.

Chapter 23

The night ended pleasantly enough by Captain Kyro’s standards.  Patrol had been uneventful and virtually unnecessary as Kristoff made his rounds to the southwest of the castle.  The sky was clear.  Warm wind swept through the moonlit air, rustling the grass and leaves in a hushed harmony.  The southern patrol consisted mostly of tangled forest and a handful of grassy glades that interrupted the clot of trees.  A survey of the swamp was considered frivolous by most since the only living things that emerged from the treacherous mist were a few lost, scavenging bog mice.  But Kristoff preferred to be thorough in his duties since he was only on patrol occasionally. This would be his last before rotating to another assignment.  After combing the designated area, the captain skirted the fen as he rode north toward the castle.  The swirling fog spun and floated, lucent in the moonbeams.  Ominously, it stretched out with ghostly fingertips beyond the border of the swamp.  Though dark and foreboding and stinking pungently, no incident arose from his inspection of the marshland.

Dane, Kristoff’s robust black steed, carried the captain furtively through the canvas as he had the last few nights, fair or foul weather.  The horse had been shipped by sea from the tundra of Gradda in the north. They could not be brought south via land as their northern neighbor, Kirin Tah was a hostile and unpredictable place .  He received a fresh, young stallion every ten years.  It was his one and only extravagant expenditure.  Dane was every bit as hulking and sturdily built as his master, as were his predecessors.  Though the stoutness of the animal made him appear slow and plodding, Graddan horses were famed throughout the world for their speed.  Dane’s coat, mane, and tail were solid, sleek black as were the thick tresses of hair that overshadowed his hooves.

As the castle came into view, Kristoff’s thoughts had turned to Octavia.  At times it was difficult to conjure up memories of his life before her sweet, sunshine smile dazzled his world.  Before Octavia, existence was gray and he peered out of eyes dimmed by an opaque film.  The land was in a downcast fugue set in by the king’s own daughter.  He had trudged through each day, wondering what his endless servitude would lead to.  Each day a new spark of wrath sprung to life inside him as General Viro twisted and defaced the kingdom he loved.  The day Kristoff met his future bride, the cloud of gloom lifted from his eyes.  Octavia was very young and radiant, training to be a soldier under General Viro.  In the midst the clashing of swords and the General’s biting temper, Octavia pressed on through the grueling exercises and managed a feat that none other could accomplish: she befriended General Viro.  Octavia did not fear her scathing commander nor was her respect feigned and Kristoff deeply admired her for that.  He had seen the knees of grown men buckle at the hands of the General during training, but the spirited red head exhibited undefeatable resolve.  She proved to be a master of weaponry and, in time, a capable captain.  Octavia had rescued him with her love and light.  She put him at ease with her silly humor and unabashed candor.  His wife was the first thing he thought of when he woke and the last when he laid to rest.

Back in the privacy of their rooms, his satisfactory night took an unpleasant turn.  He undressed slowly, neatly replacing his cloak and weapons to their rightful places, and put on his bed clothes.

Octavia was already in bed, buried in a mound of soft pillows and blankets.  Her face was visible from only the nose up.  Kristoff pulled the back blankets to see her rosy, pouting lips turned into a frown.  He ran his fingers gingerly along her forehead and stroked her mane of auburn hair.  Asleep, his wife seemed so frail and defenseless, not capable of wielding a sword or barking out commands to a garrison of men.  He wanted to shelter her, protect her.  He bent and laid a tender kiss on Octavia’s lips.  She smelled of dewberries.  Kristoff drew away from her and she stirred, moaning incoherently under her breath.  The frown disappeared and she groggily opened her eyes.

“Hello, love,” Octavia smiled.  Her voice was husky.

“I’m sorry,” Kristoff apologized, sweeping a tendril of hair out of her sleepy eyes. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You may wake me with a kiss as often as you like,” she tittered.

He smiled down at her, moving his hand from her forehead to her cheek, caressing it gently. “I suspect your patrol was dull as usual?”

“Didn’t patrol tonight,” she muttered, still half asleep. “First Commander Lawson rotated into my place a night early.”

He moved his hand farther down, touching the curve of her neck. “What did you do?”

Kristoff suspected she took the night to recover lost time with General Viro or relax in a bath with a glass of wine and a bowl of fruit.  Unlike him, Octavia took advantage of her allotted off time and usually took the opportunity to pamper herself.

“Went with Lexia,” Octavia yawned then finished the thought. “To Sariya Haven.”

His hand dropped away from her. “Just the two of you?” He asked sharply.

“Uh-huh,” she nodded and closed her eyes sleepily. “Couldn’t find Knight…went on just the two of us.  No Zuriek, though.”

Octavia’s mouth stretched into another wide yawn and she wriggled down into the heap of blankets.  Though it was warm outside, the castle remained cool and she tended to chill easily.

He watched as she settled back into sleep, nestled in her fortress of cushion.  Certain she had fallen back to sleep, he exited soundlessly.  Once in the corridor, Kristoff’s callused and battle worn hands balled into steel fists.  The skin stretched white and bloodless over his knuckles. Fire welled up in his chest and coursed through his veins.  He could feel it overtaking him, thumping rhythmically in his temples.  Without thinking, Kristoff’s feet moved forward one in front of the other.  His jaw was square and set, his thick, dark eyebrows furrowed together.  He forgot that he wasn’t dressed properly, his hairy chest and muscles tensely flexed for anyone who happened by to see.  Kristoff paid no heed.  His appearance was the farthest thing from his mind.  He stalked down the corridor, hands clenched and a deep growl reverberating in his throat.  There were two things the captain lived for: his duty to the King and his beloved wife.  General Viro had yet again put Octavia in harm’s way.

Arriving at the General’s chambers in a primordial fury, Kristoff smashed one fist against the stout door and sent a quake through the wood.  The skin split at his knuckles as he pounded a second time, but he felt no pain.  He was only aware of the blazing hate possessing his body.

The door opened to only a sliver of darkness.  Upon seeing Kristoff, General Viro emerged from the darkness still in full uniform.  She stared quizzically at him, most likely confused at his state of undress.  Wordlessly, he seized her with his giant left hand, which not only covered her throat, but his fingers almost met at the nape of her neck.  He hauled her over the threshold and into the corridor.  The panther, Knight, sprung towards the door in a flurry of fangs and claws, but Kristoff slammed it shut and held it so with his free hand in time to hear the animal careen into the wood and voice a bestial roar of indignation.

Kristoff glared at the General, growling and baring his teeth.  She seemed neither angry nor afraid.  His assault had not even slightly perturbed her and for reasons unknown this fueled the fire in his chest.

 “Is something amiss, Captain Kyro?” she inquired almost casually. The dragon diamond sword was unsheathed and its honed tip rested almost gently against the middle of his chest. The General’s green eyes glistened wildly. “Is today the day we finally kill each other?”

He tightened his grip and pushed her against the closed door.  He heard the back of her skull thud heavily against the wood, but he was not rewarded with even a wince.  Her face remained a stone slate except for those mad eyes.  His action against her had derived a further rise out of Knight, however, and he was aware of the cat pawing and growling on the opposite side of the door.  The handle clicked down in his other hand repeatedly as the panther worked at it with one of his paws. A trickle of blood ran from where she applied just enough pressure on his chest to break the skin. She grasped the jeweled hilt of her weapon with both hands, ready to plunge the dragon diamond as far as she could. A chill from the blade worked through him.

“You brought Octavia to Sariya Haven,” he snarled.

“Yes,” she answered, her eyes devoid of feeling.

“Without any guard to speak of?”

“Yes.”

“What gives you the right to jeopardize her life?” he demanded.

“Her life was in no peril,” the General stated flatly.

            A constriction of his grip produced a tiny gasp from her throat and he was mildly satisfied.  General Viro was not as invincible as she would have the masses believe. She growled and reminded him of the blade to his chest with a slight twist. Another runnel of blood flowed.

“The Sariyas would kill you if given the opportunity,” he snarled. “And would take Octavia along with you.  She deserves better than to die at the side of the likes of you.”

“I see,” her eyes narrowed, voice straining under the weight of his hand clamped unrelentingly over her windpipe. “Perhaps you don’t believe Captain Ivora can appropriately defend herself?”

“She does not possess our capabilities,” Kristoff spoke as if to an uncomprehending simpleton.

“Octavia is not a child,” Lexia spoke steadily, but with a rasp. “You have to stop coddling her.”

“No!” he spat vehemently. “She is not a child.  She’s my wife and you will stop treating her like a vampire.  How dare you masquerade as her friend then lead her needlessly into danger?!”

“Your wife is third captain in the Astalgian League.  Her life is duty and danger.  Are the expectations of her position a revelation for you, Captain Kyro?”

He glowered down at her.  The woman had the audacity to mock him even as he trapped her throat under his iron paw.  She stared back at him, unafraid, and twisted the sword again.

“You are a scourge on this kingdom, Lexia Winter of the Viros. And I know my wife’s duties,” he scowled.

“Good,” Lexia responded. “Now release me.”

An order!  Her life in his hands and she had the gall to give him an order.  Lexia had been spoiled as a child and had grown into a smugness he found intensely irritating.  To Kristoff’s chagrin, he realized to continue this course of action would end in the subsequent loss of his marriage, his position as captain, and possibly his life if the General ran him through.  Reluctantly, he relinquished his hold on her.  His hand came away, leaving a dark blotch of red, blemishing the General’s fair skin.

Lexia straightened her collar as Kristoff, unspeaking, retreated a step from the sword. Its frigid tip had punctured him more deeply than he realized. His anger was subsiding and being replaced by an icy, creeping regret.  He wasn’t afraid of the General’s retaliation or even the King’s if he heard about Kristoff’s move against his daughter.  Octavia’s response worried, even frightened him.  She would not look favorably on him being on the brink of strangling her closest friend.  She would be furious.

“Of course, Octavia needn’t know of this incident,” Lexia said, either reading or merely anticipating his thoughts.  It wasn’t out of the question.  General Viro had been fortunate enough to inherit her father’s powerful seeing abilities and had cultivated them at a relatively young age. “There’s no sense in upsetting her.  Don’t you agree, Captain Kyro?” she asked.

“Yes, General,” Kristoff replied through clenched teeth.

She nodded calmly, complacently. “If you ever lay another of your brutish hands on me again, I’ll kill you.”  Each word was concise, spoken in Lexia’s usual supercilious tone.  She continued, “You had best run along, Captain.  I’m going to open this door in a moment and Knight is a very angry cat right about now.  I wouldn’t want to see you eviscerated, you know.  The floor would be stained for weeks.”

Kristoff suppressed another tide of rage.  He rooted his feet in the ground, utilizing every shred of his will to harness the urge to lunge at her.  Instead, the captain voiced what he had felt, what had polluted his mind and soul since the General began her gruesome assault of terror on Astalgia.

“You, General Viro, are an abomination and a disgrace to your family name,” his voice rumbled in the corridor. “I would see you dead if it weren’t for the King’s affection for you.  His faith that some goodness still resides in you is tragically misplaced.”

Oddly, this seemed to elicit emotion in the General more than his physical attack on her.  Her brow furrowed briefly as if she were pondering his words and her lips drew downward.  She sheathed the sword, clasped her hands behind her, and met his gaze.

“We are all entitled to our own opinions,” she said without inflection. The heat had fled from her eyes as well. “Go to bed, Captain.  Get this state of mind under control.  It will only hinder your duties.”

Lexia dismissed him and for the first time in the history of his service under her, Kristoff left her presence without the traditional bow of reverence.  It was the first time and he resolved it would not be the last.  She didn’t deserve respect.  She didn’t deserve to live.

Chapter 24

Lexia watched Captain Kyro as he stalked down the corridor, muscles twitching and a guttural noise escaping his throat.  The captain had caught her off guard, she gave him due credit for that, appearing before her in nothing but a pair of thin pants, then seizing her from the doorway and shutting Knight in.  Her first instinct was to fight back, thrusting her knee into his genitals or smashing a palm into his nose, crushing the bone and sending a gush of scarlet blood over his lips and chin.  But she allowed him to bash her against the door, overcome by curiosity at the normally levelheaded captain’s burst of violence. She only put her sword between them as a safeguard. Kristoff was known for his coolness under pressure and seemingly unimpassioned judgment.  It was his stern temperament and genuine interest in the welfare of Astalgia that made him an exceptional asset to the military and a respected captain. 

The two of them had coexisted this way, each tolerating the presence of the other with an unspoken, mutual dislike.  Kristoff thought her tactics were harsh and motivated by self-satisfaction.  Lexia believed Kristoff’s way of achieving order was slow, ineffective, and came at too great a cost to society.  He would see criminals imprisoned rather than executed.  He believed in reforming the beasts, then sending them back into the streets and wilderness.  In a perfect world, Kristoff’s system would work.  He was an idealist, like her father.  But the world was far from perfect and clemency towards wrongdoers was highly overrated.  The world was stained and marred by the derelicts of society.  Murderers, rapists, thieves.  These criminals had no hope of reform and therefore needed to be dispatched in the most efficient way possible.  In most cases, her own sword and brand of justice was just that.

Even as Kristoff choked the air from her windpipe with his massive hand, she patiently waited for the altercation to run its course.  Lexia was startled by his aggressive response to Octavia accompanying her to Sariya Haven and disturbed by his hateful sentiments.  She had been unaware of the extent of the animosity he harbored for her.  The encounter left her uneasy.  Kristoff was well liked and revered by the men and women under his command.  They would follow him into death if he asked them to.  Worse, they might follow him against Lexia if he commanded it.

She touched the tender redness at her neck and frowned.  What had stayed Kristoff’s rage?  Why hadn’t he crushed her throat?  Octavia, perhaps.  Or maybe the thought of the King’s grief at her death.  She shrugged and decided the reason behind the captain’s relenting was unimportant.  She was alive to see another day and night.

Knight had ceased his assault on the door during the course of her conversation with Kristoff.  She pulled down the brass handle and swung the door open.  Knight burst out with a ferocious snarl.  He halted abruptly at the empty corridor, searching cautiously for an adversary.

“He’s gone,” Lexia spoke the words with her mouth as well as sending the thought to his mind.

Hurt? Knight’s singular thought came to her in a hushed purr.  The voice projected into her mind from his was deep and whispering as if their communication were intensely secret.

“No,” Lexia answered, her throat burning with the word.  She put her fingers carefully to the blotch again, this time in response to the pain as she spoke. “Not permanantly anyhow.”

Kill him? Knight looked at her expectantly.  He sat on his haunches, tail flicking back and forth.

 “No!”

Why?  He questioned.  He hurt you.

“I know,” Lexia said, putting one hand on her hip and brushed the other through her hair that was now free of the clasp she wore earlier. “He is my father’s friend and a good captain.  Besides, it would hurt Octavia.”

I like Octavia. 

Lexia nodded. “So do I.”

A sound, not far off, disrupted their conversation.  It was slow moving, but steady like the pulse of a heart and moving closer.  Footsteps.  Knight turned toward the sound and waited as did Lexia, standing behind him now.  She felt an odd nakedness, having emerged from her room to be assaulted by one of her captains.  Knight relaxed as Lucian approached and Lexia tensed even further.

“Lord Darkane,” she greeted him, her voice giving out to an embarrassing, prepubescent shrillness, mostly due to Captain Kyro’s defacing of her neck.

“I thought I heard something,” Lucian said as he reached her.  He was still in full dress even though most of the castle slumbered.  He gripped the battle mace in his right hand.  It was a brutal instrument with a long, black handle.  Silver rings decorated the shaft, dividing it into three sections and the bottom was wrapped in leather for grip.  Four jagged prongs were at its head, sharpened to lethal points.  His eyes went directly to the signature on Lexia’s neck. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” she lied, then fell silent, unable to fabricate a plausible explanation for the handprint.  She deplored lying, but the altercation with Kristoff was none of his business.

“Your voice is hoarse,” he looked at her skeptically.

“Nightmares,” she said, at least a half truth.  She had been having nightmares recently. “I woke up screaming, but I’m fine now.  No need to trouble yourself, Lord Darkane.  I’m not a cul anymore; you don’t have to worry about every sound you hear within the castle.”

Lexia saw none of his apprehension relieved and he remained dubious.  He studied her and Lexia felt a twinge at the edge of her mind, a pinprick on her brain.  Lucian was trying to get in.  She snapped the channel closed, barring him from extracting any information.

“Don’t do that!” She raised her voice painfully. “Don’t ever do that!”

“My apologies, Princess Lexia Winter,” he said.  Lucian looked as if he just realized he was in the midst of royalty and bowed.

She frowned and shook her head minutely.  It was ridiculous for this man to be bowing to her when she owed him a debt for saving her life several times over.  It dawned on her that in her youth she had never even thanked him for his valiant efforts.  Lexia despised a debt hovering over her conscience.  She didn’t want to feel obligated to Lucian, but she found when she was with him she could not exercise the amount of control over her feelings as she would like to.

“And stop that!” She commanded.

“What?” Lucian’s face was a mask of confusion.

“Bowing,” Lexia elaborated. “Stop bowing to me all the time.  The customary salute is adequate, Lord Darkane.”

Lucian looked as if she had asked him to slice off his hand and feed it to Knight. “But,” he began to protest.

“But nothing,” Lexia strived to regain her commanding tone, but her voice was grating through the agony.  Kristoff might as well shoved a thistle bush down her throat. “You’ve done so much for my family, Lord Darkane.  You need not bow to a soul in this castle – perhaps my father, of course. I insist.”

“I’m honored, Princess,” he made as if to bow, then stopped himself.

“General,” she corrected him, though not with the harshness she had before.

“Of course.”

“All is well, Lord Darkane,” she assured him again. “Why don’t you find rest for the day?”

Lexia’s stomach was fluttering.  She wanted him gone, to walk away to his room and not look back with the mesmerizing blue eyes she was fixated on at this very moment.  Beautiful sky blue and gleaming silver all at once.  A flush was rushing over her skin.

Why does he put me in such a panic?  She thought.

Lexia kept a straight face and wished him away, hoping he didn’t notice the blush in her cheeks.  She was losing the battle with herself to remain impassive towards him and she hated it.

“I thought I heard you talking as I approached,” Lucian wasn’t quite satisfied to leave her without some questions answered.  It was the guardian and protector in him that spoke, always attentive to the details of any unusual circumstance.  “I heard some loud pounding before that.  It’s what caused me to leave my rooms.”

“That’s because I was talking.”  She ignored his reference to the noise.

“To whom?”

Lexia looked lovingly down at Knight. “To him,” she gestured to her feline companion.

“The cat?”

“Yes.”

Amusement lightened the Darkane’s face, which had been somewhat dismal up until this point. “Does he talk back?” He allowed a chuckle to escape him.

“Yes,” she answered, conveying in her tone that she was offended.  Lexia did not like being laughed at.  She found it completely intolerable.

“And what does he say?” Lucian asked.

Lexia peered down at Knight who returned her gaze. She stroked his fur once then spoke to Lucian.  She said, “He says he likes you, but you make him nervous because he can’t smell you very well.  He prefers to keep track of everybody, you know.”

In apparent disbelief, Lucian said, “You can really speak to him.”

“Yes.”

“And understand his thoughts?”

“Yes.” she answered.

“How?”

Lexia explained, “I speak to him in the same manner my father and I communicate through our thoughts.  I believe you were born with this gift as well?”

“Yes,” he said. “But I’ve never heard of any vampire who has the ability to speak with beasts.  This is a rare gift.”

“It is,” Lexia agreed.

“All animals?” Lucian asked.

“Some.”

“Is it difficult?”  He persisted, enthralled by the new concept.

“It gives my head quite an ache,” she said. “It takes a greater deal of concentration than mind talking with another vampire.”

“I see,” he nodded.

“Lord Darkane,”

 “Yes, Princess?”

Lexia decided he would never be broken of the habit of calling her ‘Princess’ and forgoed any correction this time.

“I grow quite tired,” she stated, leaving no room for miscommunication.

“My apologies, Princess Lexia.  I’ve kept you up,” he bowed, despite her order to refrain from it.

She considered it a needless apology.  She felt that she should thank Lucian for leaving his rooms to check on her well-being.  Instead, she said, “I don’t want your apology.  I want you to go rest.  Goodnight, Lord Darkane.”

“Gon muertene, Princess,” he bid her goodnight in the old tongue and nodded this time.

Lexia moved to the door of her chambers and Lucian started away from her.  Knight stood and followed the latter.  Lucian looked apprehensively at the massive cat, then at Lexia.

“Where is he off to?” he asked, a knowing and vexed expression on his face.

“I would guess he’s following you.”

Lucian glanced at Knight and frowned.

“Don’t worry,” Lexia said. “He likes you, remember?”

“I also remember you saying that I make him nervous,” Lucian countered.

Lexia shrugged. “Then I recommend that you don’t make any sudden movements.”  She closed the door behind her, leaving Lucian to deal with his new animal friend.  Lexia would wager her life that Lord Darkane didn’t sleep a wink today, waiting for Knight to sleep before he would close his eyes.  But, like Lexia, Knight could stay awake for days and could possibly outlast Lucian.  A twinge of amusement tiptoed into Lexia’s cold chest and she retired for the day in a contented mood despite her recent bouts of stress.

Chapter 25

An ominous darkness suffocated the night.  The moon was absent from its post in the sky.  Yet again the forest was unnaturally silent, devoid of any sign of wildlife.  No wolf howled.  No crickets played their high pitched and somehow soothing melodies.  No wind rustled the leaves.  There was only darkness and the scathing talons of stark branches, cutting, drawing, and streaking blood in thick smears like red war paint.  The ground was littered with mounds of leaves, jagged twigs and branches, and was thick with bramble.

Lexia forged ahead despite her inability to identify her surroundings.  She grimaced and sucked in a breath as her foot fell on a patch of thorns, but continued without so much as a moment’s hesitation.  This time she was aware of her dream state.  She believed if she kept moving the clearing would eventually present itself as before along with Devthema’s encompassing aura.  Lexia moved hastily, her skin stinging with the bloody lacerations and a fiery ache waging war on the muscles in her legs.  She intended to speak with the goddess of death, call her out of hiding and demand an explanation for the intrusion on her mind.  Her resolve would not be thwarted by the deity’s illusion.  The branches produced little more than irritating scratches compared to some of the injuries Lexia had incurred in past battles and would vanish the moment she woke. Devthema would have to conjure a more fearsome image than a tangled forest to unnerve Lexia this time.

I know you’re here somewhere, Lexia thought.  She paid no heed as a sharpened wooden finger traced a line of blood across her right cheek.  Don’t you wish to see me, Devthema?

As if in response, the ground quaked and opened before her. The silence and darkness persisted. Venom slicked her fangs. The vampire examined the gloom, cocked her head, and fell back on her ancestors’ primordial instincts. Lexia waited.

A dim red glow wafted from the soil. A shriek curled out of the forest.  The trees and overgrowth immediately surrounding her fell away in clouds of dust, placing Lexia once again in the clearing with the small, luminescent pool of water.  The light flickered and twisted with a deep and malign laughter.

Peering down at herself, Lexia saw that the form of her body was her own; no plump belly to speak of.  The white slip from the previous dream remained, lace trim at the bodice and at the bottom, skirting her thighs.  Along with a considerable amount of blood, dirt and grass stains spoiled the fabric though Lexia retained no memory of where she had trekked before reaching the woods.  A glistening film of blood covered her arms and dripped from her fingertips.  The forest’s claws had dealt more damage that she had thought.

It is a dream, Lexia reminded herself.

“So you’ve returned to me,” the hissing voice evinced Devthema’s presence. “Princess Lexia Winter of the Viros.  I have seen you. I bathe in your fear.  I satiate my hunger with your loneliness and desperation.  You are a scourge on your own house.  Ha, ha.” Devthema chortled sardonically. “I have seen the courage flee from you.  Weakness and rage teem from your dark heart.  I see everything.”

“What is it you would have from me?” Lexia demanded.

Ignoring the question, a sinister hiss responded from behind every tree, “Your heart is a brittle cage. Terror runs rampant through you as it does through your pathetic kingdom.”

“You do not rule me, Demen,” Lexia growled and took one purposeful step forward.

“Ha!” the voice cackled. Red aura expanded from the pool in a fog.  A quake much more powerful than the first racked the ground and the forest floor seemed to roll beneath Lexia, sending her flailing onto her back .  A frigid gale followed, sweeping the clearing and whipping Lexia’s hair painfully about her face.

The commotion finally settled and Lexia picked herself up, unimpressed by Devthema’s attempt of intimidation.  She wondered if this was the end of the deity’s appearance for this dream, but hoped not.  There were still questions to be answered, most importantly, why Devthema had set her ill will upon Lexia since before she was born.

She watched as the light slithered and spiraled, weaving together in an incoherent mesh.  In moments, the threads coalesced to construct a substantial form and adopted different hues to suit their mistress.  The manifestation stepped from the glimmering pool to meet Lexia.

Devthema indeed appeared to Lexia more of a demon than a deity.  She towered over the vampire, her frame skeletal.  White skin stretched tautly over the goddess’s bones as if she did not quite fit into the exterior cover she had fashioned for herself.  Where her eyes should have been there were hollow, black sockets, staring with deranged vacancy.  A pair of colorless, cruel lips gave way to a mouthful of razor teeth.  Devthema’s hair was the bloody color the pool had been emanating.  The red mane was matted against the goddess’s gaunt cheeks and bare shoulders.  A black gown, shredded and tattered, clung to her bony figure.  An infection of brown splotches speckled her pallid skin, darker and culminating in larger patches along her shoulders and the left half of her face.  The air about her was acrid with death.

“Ah, are you satisfied, Lexia Winter of the Viros? I am, now that we finally meet,” a forked tongue flicked from her mouth as she spoke.  Putrid breath spewed from behind the rows of pin-like teeth.

Lexia squared her shoulders and made no reply. A snarl escaped her and the deity sniggered.

With bare feet, discolored by the brown infestation in her skin, Devthema backed away from Lexia towards the pool of watery light. She paused and her mouth twisted into a toothy grin, rows of deadly teeth gnashing together.  Insanity poured from the oblivion of the empty eye sockets.

“I know your fear,” Devthema claimed, the demonic tongue slithering with a mind of its own over her lips.  A gnarled finger ending in a serrated black nail pointed at the opening in the ground. “See,” she commanded.

Lexia approached the pool, wary.  She stood with her toes at the edge of it and looked down.  The water glistened and flickered, scouring Lexia’s white complexion with its scarlet aura.  An odiferous mist that was not unlike the scent of the Sariya family rose from the pool then dissipated, revealing a transparent portal in place of the water.  Lexia crouched down, aware of the cadaverous Devthema looming closely over her.  She rested a hand on either side of the portal and focused on the events taking place beyond the window.

Viro City was in a state of utter chaos.  Lexia recognized the scene; it was Venhonour Square, the heart of the city.  The melee ran up and down the streets.  She could hear shouts, bone cracking, and steel clashing as the citizens waged battle against each other and her own military forces.  The cobblestone streets were stained with bloodsplatter.  The faces of the soldiers under Viro command were rife with hopelessness.  They were drastically outnumbered by their assailants.

Despite the carnage, Lexia leaned closer and her lust for battle burgeoned in her chest.  She was eager to join the fight and aid her comrades.  She dug her nails into the dirt, skin blanching over the knuckles, and bared her fangs as her animal instinct pumped through her.  An all too familiar face among the combatants caught and held her attention in a suffocating fist.  Lucian.  He was surrounded by foes and swinging his mace with ferocity and adeptness, knocking away waves of enemies into bloody heaps.  A lump of panic choked Lexia as she realized his skill and tenacity would be to no avail.  The attackers were too many.

From behind him, an insidious face with long sabers emerged.  The eyes were narrow and seething with mindless violence.  The lips were peeled back in a murderous grimace.  Zuriek Sariya.  As Lucian fought back the attackers in front of him, bringing three down consecutively with a wide arc of his mace against their skulls, Zuriek gripped his shoulder from behind.  A steel blade skewered Lucian’s chest, his blood smearing the length of it.  His face went a ghastly pallor and the silver shine drained from his eyes.  A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth as he peered down at the sword being pulled back through him.  Defeat was stamped on his features.  Zuriek sliced through him a second time, hitting his intended mark – the heart.  Lucian fell forward still clutching his mace and laid, unmoving.  Zuriek sneered at the fallen warrior.  He discarded his sword in favor of Lucian’s weapon, claiming it for his own.  The battle carried on, the soldiers of Astalgia growing scant in number.  The city was lost.

Lexia pounded her fist to the ground and uttered an enraged howl.  She glowered up at Devthema, legs tensed to pounce.

Somehow the eyeless sockets blinked and the goddess bore a smile brimming with contempt. “Tis the future,” her cacophonous voice filled the General’s ears. “Tis inevitable.”  She threw her head back and shrieked.  Lexia leapt at her, hands outstretched and fingers curled into deadly talons.

With a final mind shattering cackle, the deity vanished in an explosion of frigid red mist and hatred.  Lexia reeled through empty space.  Flashes of the bloodshed in Viro City ripped through her thoughts.  She saw Lucian, a combination of resolve and exhaustion painted on his face, unaware that his life was about to be cut short.  Lexia desperately reached out to him, screaming a warning of the impending doom.

Chapter 26

Except for the occasional twitch of the tail and even more infrequent blink of the eyes, the panther seemed to be inanimate as it stood as a sentinel in the space between the antechamber and the bedroom.  Knight had entered the chambers after trailing at the vampire’s heels for the entire length of the corridor.  The cat prowled the room like a soldier canvassing an unfamiliar area for possible pitfalls, then took up his position in the doorway.  He did not seem agitated nor uneasy.  On the contrary, if Lucian were to venture a guess at Knight’s mood, he would have identified his demeanor as merely pensive and observant.  Though there was no way to know for certain what intentions his feline visitor harbored, Lucian found himself more at ease with the cat than he expected to be.

Sleep would not come.  Though the Princess seemed to place a great deal of trust in her companion, Lucian’s inherent sense of caution would not allow him to rest in the presence of a wild animal. They watched each other intermittently as the day drew slowly on.

Lucian spent most of the day relaxing in bed as best as he could, pillows propping up his back and fingers laced behind his head.  He would occasionally rise and cross the room, keeping a watchful eye on the unmoving Knight, and add a few logs and some kindling to fuel the dwindling flames in the fireplace.  The flames licked the walls of the hearth and cast shadows over the room, gleaming on the ornate gold frames of the doorways leading to the antechamber and the bathing room.  It was nearing dusk and Lucian was restless despite the inability to sleep.  The seductive fire had almost succeeded several times in lulling him into a dull haze, but each time he had shaken himself out of it.

A small, nondescript box lay on the nightstand beside the bed. Lucian flicked the latch, frowned at the trinket inside, and allowed his thoughts to fall on the Viro heir .  The fresh blotch that engulfed her neck and her refusal to divulge the truth of its origin perplexed him.  She claimed to have nightmares and although that may have been true, it was no explanation for the evidently recent injury.

His most recent meeting with Princess Lexia Winter of the Viros was not as amiable as he had hoped.  She seemed tense and somewhat irritated by his presence.  Lucian had anticipated forging a friendship with the Princess, restoring old bonds, or at the very least a friendly coexistence. Instead he had pushed her farther from himself when attempting to enter the sanctity of her mind.  Despite her unfavorable attitude towards him, he was drawn to her.  A lightning aura surrounded her and radiated with every word, every one of her earnest movements.  That energy had diminished slightly from when she was a vibrant youth, tainted by the grief that dulled the wild green of her eyes. He wished to see her smile once more, illuminating the world around her with the elegant beauty Queen Lelandra had bestowed upon her.  Her mother’s was a smile that could melt the mountainous glaciers of Gradda.  Lucian had witnessed on countless occasions before the Queen’s untimely demise, the mother and daughter charm the stone clad hearts of hardened aristocrats and caused men, young and old, to swoon in their midst by merely curving their lips up in the simplest of gestures.  More than once, the innocent charms of the Queen and Princess had played important roles in trade negotiations that would have otherwise ended unfavorably for the Viros and all of the kingdom, by extension.

Lucian turned his head to Knight who peered back through the flicker of shadow.  The cat’s eyes glowed yellow and orange in the ochre haze of the fire, unblinking.  Lucian inspected the cat from his place on the bed and saw that the carpet sunk considerably under the tremendous weight of his paws.

“You know all about her, don’t you?” he asked, feeling a bit puerile speaking to an animal.  Could Knight understand anything he said?  “I wonder what sort of things she confides in you,” Lucian mused more to himself than to Knight. He inspected the contents of the box for another moment, sighed, and snapped it shut.

A deep growl came from the panther and grew increasingly urgent, his head cocked and eyes alert as if listening intently.  Lucian seized his mace from where he had propped it against his nightstand in the event that Knight became less than amiable.  He, too, stood rigid and listened.  At first, he could only hear the low-pitched timbre of Knight’s growls.  Then, faintly, a shrill and desperate sound reached his honed ears and screams came directly to his mind.  The screams were only one word repeated over and over.  It was his own name.   He was the only individual in the castle, including Enan, to hear the sounds of fright.

Knight was at the door ahead of him, pawing at the latch.  To Lucian’s surprise, the cat succeeded in bringing down the handle and pulling the door inward.  It was an awkward motion, but impressive just the same.  Knight bounded out with stealthy purpose and Lucian followed, sprinting after the panther and barely keeping pace.  The corridor walls flew past in a dark blur until he slowed to a halt at the final door in the hallway which faced the length of the corridor as opposed to the others which faced across at each other like obdurate faces.  To his dismay, it was the Princess’s chambers.  The shrieks were muffled, but audible beyond the door.  He shook the brass handle.  Locked. 

Lucian realized after his third collision with the door, the screams had ceased.  If Lexia was having nightmares, the ruckus had probably awoken her. If the castle’s security had somehow been compromised and there was indeed an attack, he had interrupted it.  Knight groaned knowingly and resigned to a seated position.  His muscles relaxed noticeably under his coat.  He seemed to sense the passing of any possible danger, if there had in fact been any.  Lucian nodded in admiration and understanding.  The panther shared a far more powerful camaraderie with the Princess than he’d imagined.  Lucian stared into the golden flecked eyes and saw a loyalty there than mirrored his own to the Viro family.

There was movement beyond the door, very discreet footsteps.  They were scant wisps of sound, delicate as the rustle of leaves.  Had Lucian’s ears been even the slightest bit less effective, he wouldn’t have heard them at all.  He imagined it was the Princess investigating the commotion at her door.  He waited to face her.  The footsteps paused just beyond the door.  She was most likely waiting and listening, poised to assail any intruders.  He was about to identify himself when the door flung open and a deadly crystalline blade sailed through the air toward his neck.

Chapter 27

At first, Lexia mistook the crashes at her door to be the attempts of an assassin employing a novel and outright brazen approach to his or her occupation.  She had survived dozens upon dozens of attempts on her life, some executed with extraordinary incompetence, some nearly successful.  Breaking in through the stout wooden door with no regard to stealth was a tactic, which had been unused up to this point.  It was also the most pathetic and inept effort to end her life that had ever been conceived.

The initial crash of the door jilted her out of an already restless sleep.  The gruesome and depressing images from the nightmare remained behind her eyes all too vividly even now that she was fully alert, roused by the clamor of a possible assassin who would soon be lying in a bloody pool on the castle floor.

By the intruder’s second collision with the door, Lexia had already thrown off her blankets and had her sword in hand.  It had been perhaps six years since the last assassin paid her a visit and Lexia rather missed the sometimes challenging task of retaining her life.  The previous assassin had been a Sariya host, which came as no surprise.  The host had been a tall brunette and quite homely, if she recalled correctly, and a great deal healthier in appearance than the Sariyas’ other concubines.  The Sariyas usually bled their hosts dry, then discarded them like refuse with little regard to their well-being.  The woman had come to the castle with claims that she wanted to break away from the Sariya clan and become a live in host for the residents of the castle, but the moment Lexia’s back was to her, she made for the General’s throat with a knife that turned out to be ineffective and dull once Lexia stripped her of it.  The incapable assassin was put to death immediately under Lexia’s icy blade and the Sariyas, of course, adamantly denied any involvement.  It would have been prudent to temporarily suspend the brunette’s death in order to interrogate her and gain information to be utilized against the Sariyas, but Lexia’s compulsion to swiftly dispatch infidels triumphed over her good sense that night.

Lexia was creeping through the antechamber connected to her bedroom, carefully maneuvering around the familiar shadows of furniture, when the third impact sounded.  As she approached the door, the clamor ceased.  Had the assassin heard her?  Unlikely.  Perhaps he or she had realized that throwing caution to the wind was an incredibly tenuous tactic in their line of work.  Perhaps the intruder was a mere dilettante, in the assassination business for the thrill and lacked the seriousness that the craft required. It was a wonder how such a person could make such a deep excursion into the castle, but Lexia would make whoever it was regret the hasty and poorly planned course of action.  She remained focused on the door, listening closely for hints of movement.  There were none.

She stood to the right of the door and examined it.  It was splintered inward in several places.  The attacker was strong.  Unless there were more than one assassin in the corridor, she could not see how anyone else could cause such damage.  But murderers for hire almost always worked alone and it was inconceivable that a pair of strangers could infiltrate the castle and slip past the dozens of guards that patrolled the first three levels of the castle.  Soldiers were rarely needed on the fourth floor and therefore avoided it unless specifically summoned there.  Lexia prepared for the worst although she was certain this opponent posed a minimal threat.  On the other hand, it might be Kristoff returning to finish what he had initially intended.  If Kristoff wanted a fight, she would happily give him one.  He might kill her. Lexia did not fear her own death.

Whoever you are, you’re not stronger than this sword.

With this thought, Lexia grasped the handle and swung the door open.  The dragon diamond blade preceded her into the corridor in a shining arc toward the figure just beyond the doorway.

Chapter 28

The blade landed at his throat before Lucian had time to react, but to his relief it stopped just short of piercing his skin.  He shivered involuntarily.  Not only had his life nearly been claimed, but the blade was searing cold.  The Princess stepped over the threshold, her feral gaze absorbing Lucian.  Her eyes were alert with pure cunning.  They seemed a deeper shade of green, truly giving the illusion of two glossy emeralds.  Untamed black hair was tussled about her shoulders.  He held her in his sights for as long as he could without seeming to stare, savoring her beauty.  Even in her current state of disarray, she managed to appear regal.

“Princess,” he said carefully and without movement.  He dared not attempt a bow or even a respectful nod.  He was unfamiliar with the volatile facet of her personality, but had heard enough talk among the castle’s inhabitants to know this was no time for movement that could be perceived aggressive in any way.  So he remained perfectly still.

She regarded him with a raised eyebrow, her eyes devouring him. “What are you doing?”  She demanded through tight, barely moving lips.

“I heard screams, Princess,” he answered and wished she would remove the frigid blade from his neck.  The cold was seemingly infectious, spreading downward from its point at his throat and numbing his shoulder.

“Screams,” Lexia repeated in a stern, gray tone.

Lucian was unsure if she meant the word as a question or was simply considering his reason for trying to bash in the door to her bedchambers.  Her expression was impossible to interpret.

“Yes,” he responded. “Very loud screams.”

Lexia momentarily diverted her attention to Knight who uttered a friendly growl.  At the sight of him, she lowered her weapon and her entire face softened.  The malice was gone and her eyes faded to their natural green.  Lucian suddenly wished his presence could elicit the same effect, wished she would caress him as she once had with those lovely eyes.

He placed his fingers to the place where her sword had almost severed his head from his body.  The flesh had a leathery quality.  Goosebumps rippled over his skin and he shivered again.

“Cold?” Lexia returned her gaze to him.

“Yes,” he said, attempting to rub the icy chill from his skin.  He looked forward to returning to the inviting fire in his chambers.

“Move your hand,” she said.  He did as he was instructed, taking note of her informal speech.  “This will help.”

She turned the sword the opposite way so that the butt of the hilt was facing him.  A large, spherical stone resided at the bottom of the weapon, which he now recognized as the sword that had slain Queen Lelandra.  Giving him no time to raise questions, Lexia pressed the deep red stone against his throat.  It was as if a fire blazed within the stone.  In a matter of moments, its warmth had chased away the insidious cold that had crept over his shoulder and part of his chest.

“Better?” she asked and removed the stone from his skin.

“Yes,” he touched the place that had previously felt frozen.

“Good,” Lexia nodded with satisfaction.  She half turned into the doorway and cocked her head inward, gesturing for Knight to join her.  He did so, seeming quite content to be in her company again and moved ahead of her into the chamber.

“Princess,” Lucian took a step toward her and placed a restraining hand on her shoulder.  “The screams.  I….didn’t just hear them…they were in my mind as well.  What’s happening?” He asked, his voice insistent of an answer.  She had avoided his queries earlier, attributing her straining voice to nightmare screams.  The blotch on her neck, however, red earlier but now taking on a bruised purple hue was not the result of any dream.  He was determined to uncover the truth of her suffering and help dispel its cause in any way he could.

The Princess’s eyes widened at the touch of his hand, then narrowed into angry slits.  She shrugged it off with a growl and faced him.  He felt his determination slip for a moment, but regained it and resolutely maintained his composure.

“Don’t touch me,” she spoke through clenched teeth and slick fangs.  Her sword was up again, the blade resting on his chest.  She was deadly, this vampire of Viro blood.  Lucian hoped he never had the occasion to draw arms against her.

“The screams,” he pressed.

Her eyes flickered and she swallowed with difficulty. “I told you earlier,” she said, her voice grating. “Nightmares.”

“Nightmares did not put that mark to your neck,” Lucian pointed to the plum colored blemish.

“That is not your concern, Lord Darkane,” The blade pressed down and pinched with icy coldness through his shirt. “You would do well to mind your own business,” she paused for a moment, her eyes thoughtful and her face painted with anger. “In fact, it might be best if your interest in any of Astalgia’s affairs be abandoned.  The land resides largely under my command now.  Neither my father nor myself are in need of an advisor or a bodyguard.  I’m afraid you’ve become quite obsolete in your absence, Lord Darkane.  Perhaps you should pursue endeavors more worthy of your effort elsewhere.”

Her words were scathing, cutting as the lethal blade pointed at his heart.  With a sneer unbecoming of her beauty, Lexia turned her back to him and disappeared into her rooms.  The splintered door slammed shut behind her, leaving Lucian with his mouth uncharacteristically agape and his mind spiralling.  Had he become obsolete?  Was she correct?  Perhaps there was no longer a place for a relic such as he in the new order of the kingdom.  The ship that Lucian had sailed in on, the Vestal Queen, was soon due to leave the harbor at Purrean Bay.  Perhaps he would be on it.

Chapter 29

Lexia tossed her sword onto the bed, exasperated. She slumped down beside it, the blankets she had thrown off earlier in a mound beneath her feet.  During this latest exchange with Lucian, a thought had occurred to her.  He could not be killed in Viro City if he was sent away, preferably to a different realm.  So she had mustered every ounce of venom within her and made it undeniably clear to him that he was no longer wanted or necessary to the function of the kingdom.  Of course, every word she spoke had been a prevarication.  Lucian was one of the greatest assets the Viros had ever possessed.  His skills were crucial in times of battle and his diplomatic ties spanned across the world.

What was happening to her normally torpid heart? It pounded fiercely at the very thought of Lucian and felt painfully twisted in her chest at the notion of losing him, especially to Zuriek Sariya.

Knight sat next to her, his hot breath puffing in her ear, and placed a heavy paw in her lap.

What is your pain?  His voice intoned.

“Lord Darkane will be departing soon, I think,” she responded absently.

Why?

“Dark times are to befall Astalgia, Knight.  I’ve seen it in my dreams.”  She stared vacantly into shadow. “If he stays, I may not be able to protect him.”

When?

Lexia shook her head and frowned.  The images she had witnessed could take place at any point in the future.  It could be three days or thirty years from now.  Her instincts, however, told her that the bloodshed would arrive at Viro City’s doorstep sooner rather than later.  Either way, it was best to see Lucian depart as soon as possible.  Lexia feared that events were soon about to spiral out of her control and cause irrevocable harm to the kingdom.

After an extended pause, she answered Knight. “I don’t know.  Soon.”

She patted Knight on the head and stood up, the panther’s paw sliding from her legs.  It was nearly dusk.  Lexia walked to her bureau and took out fresh clothing.  The Sariyas would be arriving tonight to collect the girl, Vinnette, and Lexia expected to exchange some unpleasantness with Leon Sariya pertaining to the whereabouts of his rogue grandson.  He had been conveniently absent during her visit to his lair, but he could not avoid her in her own castle.

Chapter 30

In an excruciatingly frustrating and agonizing twist of fate, the goddess had been bestowed terrible power, yet lacked the ability to act solely on her own.  She was doomed as a parasite, the souls of the dead being her only repast and requiring the aid of the living to carry out her will.  Devthema skulked in her prison of darkness.  When the time came she would put her schemes into motion and see the impudent inhabitants of Astalgia writhe in unadulterated terror and cater to her every whim.  The land would fall into despair and the raw, blissful chaos that ruled before the ascension of the Enan Deor of the Viros to the throne.  Most pertinent now was the death of Princess Lexia Winter of the Viros.  A most troublesome creature.

The night of the Princess’ conception, Devthema’s foresight revealed in frightful clarity the danger she posed to the goddess’ strength.  Devthema acted immediately, assaulting the Queen Mother.  She invaded her dreams, foretelling of her child’s impending death and sending the Queen into convulsions of sheer horror with visions of her baby’s gory destruction.  The deity had hoped the woman would lose the child, the spawn falling lifeless in her womb and working its way out of her painfully and prematurely in a bloody, purple contortion of entrails and deformed limbs.  The visions had not been enough.  The foundation of the Queen’s mind was unexpectedly strong, her will as stalwart as the black walls of Viro castle.

 At the time, Devthema retained a considerable amount of her divine power.  She sent assassins, some merely in need of persuasion to set out on the task she set before them while others she became her possessed servant.  She found the dark, yielding facet of their minds where they stowed away their greatest fears and planted herself there, a malignant seed that grew and rooted itself in their conscience.  From that vantage point, Devthema would bend them to her will to destroy the Viro progeny that grew all too quickly within the sanctuary of the Queen Mother’s ripe belly.

Her first and failed attempts to eliminate the yet unborn Princess were only mildly disconcerting.  Time was Devthema’s ally.  It would be years before the child came of age to cause the goddess any harm.  Devthema considered that killing the child after her birth might be a more effective tactic.  But, following the Queen mother’s tumultuous pregnancy and a labor that had brought her close to death, the infant had been well guarded.  There was one guardian in particular, the one of the Darkane clan, who had foiled her efforts against the fleshling Princess on too many occasions.  The meddler had even braved through a wall of fire that Devthema had orchestrated in the girl’s room while she slept.  On that day, Devthema had been so near her goal.  She had sensed the girl’s soul drifting from her body and into her clutches, extending and waiting to devour the tender morsel.  The energy had been snatched from the goddess’ reach, stolen from her by Darkane.  That night, DevNovia forest had reverberated with wrath.

The Darkane Master paid a price for tampering with her will; Devthema saw to that.  It was his clan, in fact, not the Viros who had been under attack at the castle siege.  Repayment for thwarting her endeavors was made in full, her lackeys striking down the fools who selflessly threw their lives down for their King.  She meant to wipe them all out, driving the Darkanes to extinction, but once again her plans were not carried out to their full extent.  The master of the Darkane clan had survived, barely, but survived just the same.  It was just as well or perhaps even more appropriate a punishment than Devthema had first thought.  He lived everyday with his grief and the memory of his kin falling to her minions.  An equally satisfying outcome for the goddess.

 In the midst of the uprising, the Queen Mother had been slain.  An unexpected addition to the death toll that was initially gratifying until Devthema understood it was the Queen’s death that burgeoned the Lexia Winter of the Viros of her premonitions.  The Princess’ reign of blood and fear was exquisite exaltation for Devthema in the beginning.  Lexia’s scourge had been fifty long years of battle, plunging Astalgia into civil war, the opposing sides being Lexia’s army and those who stood against her.  The time was commonly known to the Astalgian people merely as the Cleansing.  Souls had flowed to Devthema and she soaked them up greedily.  She knew the Viro Princess would not work to her advantage for long so she utilized the new surge of power to launch her own assault of assassins in the form of man, woman, and beast on the Princess.  In the end, all attempts failed.  Princess Lexia of the Viros had become a source of insurmountable might and seemed to be more resilient than any vampire should be. She was favored also by circumstances of such unnatural fortune and the Dark Goddess suspected her counterpart, Niran, of trifling in the ongoing affairs.  After fifty years of strife, the vampire Princess had browbeaten the land into a state of terrified submission.  The number of dying souls slowed to a paltry trickle and Devthema’s power dwindled like the embers of a dying fire.

Devthema would see this draught put to an end.  She felt the stirs of dissent.  They came to her, ripples over a tranquil pond, and she struck out with her mind, searching, until she found a valuable ally.  Leon Noth of the Sariya clan.  His manifested hate for the Viros matched her own, just as his father’s had, and was growing.  The seed of her was planted then.  Day after day she spoke to him in his slumber though it weakened her to exert such energy.  The slight flow of souls regenerated her enough to maintain her hold on him, nonetheless.  Never did she appear to him outright in his dreams.  His mind was not strong enough.  The deity had once appeared to a man whose mind did not possess the capacity to receive her image and inadvertently driven him to madness, gouging out his own eyes and chewing his tongue down to a bloody stump.  She did not dare risk this with Leon.  She would work through him and together they would reach their mutual goal of ridding Astalgia of Viro rule and restoring the chaos of the past.

Chapter 31

Her voice coiled about his mind as he slept.  It was deeper than he would have expected from a woman, husky and suggestive.  She was with him every day now, caressing him with astral fingertips and giving him her divine reassurances that their enemies would soon fall and be buried in the past for eternity.  Then it would be his time.  Master Leon Noth of the Sariya clan.  He would lead the vampires back to their dark origins and rightful way of life, free of law and inhibition.  Blood would flow from his lips in crimson rivers.  He would expand the Sariya family, inspiring respect and fear throughout the kingdom.

The Viro laws will soon meet destruction, Devthema promised with a sadistic titter.

“When?” Leon spoke in his sleep, a concentrated crease lining his forehead and between his eyes.

The time is near, her voice soothed him.  In his dream state, Leon felt her long fingers stroke his hair and trace a cold finger across his worried brow.  Lying on his bed, he reached up to touch the hand and grasped nothing but his own slick locks.

“When?” He urged a more specific reply.

Soon, Leon Noth, soon.  An icy pair of lips wisped across his cheek and her words faded into the dark recesses of his mind.  A different sound had replaced Devthema’s voice, a light tapping.  He opened his eyes and realized it was coming from the door.  It was probably Tressa, Vinx’s gaunt little host.  She was a wretched thing, always whimpering over one thing or another.  Leon wished Vinx would get his fill of her and be done with it.  He had forbidden his son to turn her.  She was no Sariya.  He scowled at the thought and rose from bed.  He padded across the tattered carpet to the drab door.  Leon opened it to see Vinx’s concubine, frazzled strands of red hair masking half her face and lips so chapped and pinched they seemed stitched together.  Her hand was held up in a small fist that was all bones about to try another tentative knock at the door.

 “What is it?” He grumbled.

Tressa winced and lowered her hand. “Captain Kristoff Kyro to see you, Master Leon.”

Leon snarled at the name, but at the same moment felt a measure of relief.  It was not General Viro and that infernal beast she toted around with her.  Though the Kyro captain was barely tolerable with his condescending glare and his seeming contentment to be the King’s muscle-bound dog, he was still more welcome than General Viro.  The woman was purely mad.  She had once blinded the left eye of Leon’s nephew, claiming that he had looked upon a city cul in a way that was unfavorable.  It made little difference.  He fell under her sword four days later on the charge of drinking the blood of the same seven year old girl.

“Did you invite him into our lair?” He asked, leaning towards her.

“Y,yes,” she stammered and shuffled her feet.

“Well?” Leon prodded.  This girl wore thin on his nerves.  “Where is he?”

“He waits for you outside, Master Leon,” Tressa mumbled the answer and began twirling the ends of her hair over nervous fingers.  Her bottom lip trembled pathetically. “He wishes to speak with you there,” she finished with a sob.

“Quit that pitiful weeping, woman!”  He commanded. “Tell him I’ll be out to meet him.”

“Y, yes, Master Leon,” Tressa answered.  She drew in her breath and after another tearful sob bit down on her quivering lip.

“Good,” he snarled and slammed the door in the girl’s freckled face.  Leon heard her utter a whimper and another weak sob from the other side of the door before her footsteps faded as she went to relay his message.

A crumpled pile of shirts laid in a heap at the foot of Leon’s bed.  He sifted through them, trying to find one that was not thoroughly stained with blood and sweat.  His breed was not known for their attentiveness to spills while they fed.  Many of his shirts, perfectly white and untainted when first purchased, were not only speckled with blood, but were stained a dry maroon from the collar to midsection.  He finally found one, badly wrinkled, but with only a small splotch of stale blood just below the right shoulder.  This particular item had been a gift from his son.  Vinx was fond of presenting his father with shirts that he referred to as ‘quality material’ which usually were ruffled either at the sleeves or the collar, sometimes both.  Leon was not pleased by the frippery that seemed to so delight Vinx.  As far as Leon was concerned, a shirt was a shirt, quality or not.

He donned the garment, then his brown jacket over it (another gift from Vinx) which provided ample cover for the bloodstain on his shoulder.  He put on his boots, once a shining black, now scuffed and worn to a charcoal gray over years of almost constant usage.  Greasy tendrils of hair hung over Leon’s brow, out of place from when he grasped for the spectral hand in his dream.  He pushed the strands out of his face, running his fingers through the length of his hair to the tangled curls that fell in an unkempt mass over his shoulders.

The Master of the Sariya house exited the room without so much as a glance in the streaked oval mirror that hung above his bureau.  Impressing Captain Kyro did not interest him.  He stalked down the corridor and wondered what had prompted the second visit in so short a time by such high ranking military officials.  First there was the impromptu appearance of General Viro and the red-headed Captain Ivora with inquiries as to the whereabouts of Zuriek, at which time General Viro had taken the opportunity to strike a blow across Vinx’s face that had subsequently turned into a bruise the size of a small fist.  Despite the assault to his cheekbone, Vinx assured Leon that the conversation had gone rather well.  Apparently, General Viro had as little idea as they did as to Zuriek’s location which meant he could quite possibly be alive, perhaps taking refuge in the bog where the sun’s brutality was diminished.

Vinx had been even further excited by Captain Ivora’s accompaniment of General Viro.  His son suffered a penchant for red headed women.  His first wife, Pesine, had been a lovely creature with auburn hair flecked with amber until she had been killed by Vinx himself after he had discovered her engaged in an illicit affair with a male host.  Captain Ivora was beautiful beyond Pesine by leaps and bounds and Leon imagined she tasted as sweet as a virgin child, but she was Captain Kyro’s mate.  This was perilous ground for Vinx to be crossing and Leon had warned him on countless occasions to tread lightly.

Of course, the tides were changing.  The succulent voice in his dreams assured him of it.  How could a voice so soothing lie and why would it?  When the Sariyas came to power, and they would, Leon told himself, Vinx could have the object of his desire and engage in whatever delights he fancied with Captain Ivora.  Until then, Leon would have to keep his son in check.  He would not allow Vinx’s loins disturb a potentially fortunate turn of events for the Sariya clan.

Tressa was nowhere in sight as Leon approached the half opened door of the lair.  She had most likely scampered back to Vinx, that lower lip of hers quivering uncontrollably.  A bar of fading sunlight shone through the doorway, speckled with floating dust.  Judging by the golden orange hue, the sun had just begun to set.  Captain Kyro had arrived quite early in the evening for any trivial matter.  It couldn’t be Zuriek.  General Viro would have come herself if Zuriek was the matter at hand, he was sure of that.

Chapter 32

“Master Leon Sariya’s presence is requested at the castle,” Kristoff informed Leon’s son, Vinx, who had emerged from the haven moments after the teary-eyed host retreated into the darkness.

“On what business?” Vinx demanded.  His yellow-green eyes shot arrows of loathing at the captain who easily towered over Vinx and outweighed him with sheer muscle mass.

“I did not come to speak to you, Vinx,” Kristoff moved out of the sunlight, forcing the other to squint and recoil from the beams.  He was steadily losing patience with this vampire and his impiety.  Vinx was rank with his family’s stink.  That odor of raw meat gone to waste compiled with the sour smell of an uncleansed body was enough to make Kristoff’s stomach churn.  Here, at the open door of their lair, it seeped out and poisoned the fresh forest air.  Kristoff stood a few paces off from the stairway and was being careful not to breathe in too deeply.

Vinx stood between the stairs and Kristoff, glowering at the Captain.  Apparently, this Sariya did not care to be told what his business was and what wasn’t.  Kristoff suppressed a sneer.  He was here on official business from the castle and a display of personal feelings would be inappropriate.  Vinx’s venomous stare and gaudy fangs did not intimidate Kristoff.  What he always found unsettling, enraging, was this Sariya’s attraction to Octavia.  He had never personally witnessed Vinx making advances on his wife, but General Viro had warned him of it.

Years ago, in the midst of a brutal winter, Lexia and Octavia returned from the outskirts of Viro City where they had subdued a scuffle between Vinx Sariya and one of the Coya family.  Octavia seemed unusually shaken.  She excused herself to take a bath, claiming the weather had chilled her to the bone, was tired, and needed to rest.

Kristoff was about to follow his wife and ask what was truly the matter when General Viro pulled him aside in the corridor.  He remembered her grip being very powerful for someone so small.  He had been irritated at first by her restraint, then curious when he met her eyes.  They had grown softer somehow though her face remained a pale slate.

“Be mindful of Vinx Sariya, Captain Kyro,” her hold on his arm tightened as she spoke.

“For what purpose, General?” Kristoff looked down at her hand, which had become clenched so securely it would most certainly leave a bruise.

She dropped her hand and stared at him solemnly, her eyes unblinking. “I believe that Vinx Sariya has an eye for Octavia.”

“What has he done?” a growl rose in Kristoff’s throat.

“Nothing,” the General paused and glanced in the direction Octavia had gone.  When she looked back at Kristoff, the softness was gone and her eyes had reverted to the desolate green portals he had become accustomed to. “Nothing yet.  Rest assured, Captain, that if he had caused any harm to Octavia I would be handing you his head instead of warning you of his intentions.  I fear for the way he holds her in his eyes and I gave him a warning that he will feel well into tomorrow, but I believe it will do little to deter him.  I advise you to keep a sharp eye on him, Captain Kyro, and I promise to do the same.”

It had been one of the few instances they had spoken of anything other than their common duties to the kingdom and even then the two of them usually kept the conversation brief.  It had also been one of the few times since Queen Lelandra died that Kristoff saw that there was still a soul in the tragic ruin of a woman who had once been, to most, a lovely princess.

Now that he stood face to face with the vermin, General Viro’s warning was clear in his mind.  Keep a sharp eye on him, Captain Kyro, she had spoken those words in the lifeless tone he despised.  Kristoff had heeded her words, scrutinizing Vinx’s every word and movement.  If the day came when Vinx had the audacity to act inappropriately towards Octavia in his presence, Kristoff would crush his throat with one hand and tear his heart out of his chest with the other.

Vinx opened his mouth as if to say something then closed it as the door to the Sariya haven opened and Leon stepped up to meet him.  His clothes were a wrinkled mess and the brown velveteen coat with its drastic diamond clasps was not nearly enough to salvage Leon’s appearance.  He was a disgraceful representation of a vampire as was his entire clan.

“Captain Kyro,” Leon greeted him with his grating voice and joined Vinx.  “To what do we owe your visit upon the Sariya lair? Not enough warring to do these days, I suppose,” he chuckled lightly.

“Our presence is requested at the castle, father,” Vinx replied before Kristoff could speak.

“No,” Kristoff growled the correction, glaring first at Vinx then shifting his iron gaze to Leon. “You, Master Leon, have been summoned to the castle on important business.  So if you will accompany me, the sooner we are on our way, the sooner you can return to your home.  Just you,” he shot Vinx another admonishing look and gestured Leon towards a brown mare that seemed no larger than a colt in comparison to Dane.

Leon nodded for his son to remain behind at which Vinx snarled, turned on his heel, and slammed the door behind him as he re-entered the haven.

“Important business,” Leon said the words as if he enjoyed the way they sounded. “It’s been decades since I’ve been summoned to the castle on important business.  I don’t suppose you could tell me what this is about.  Hopefully, no more allegations against my family by General Viro.”

“If General Viro had business with you, Master Leon, she would be here,” Kristoff mounted his horse and looked down at him. “You are about to receive an addition to your family.  Courtesy of your grandson, Zuriek.” 

Chapter 33

The quarters provided to Vinnette were astounding in size and initially overwhelming.  Although the space only consisted of two rooms, a bedroom and a bath, Vinnette guessed it was at least the size of the entire cottage.  In her life, she had never been or even dreamed to be exposed to such splendor.  Dimly glowing sconces, along with the roaring fire, bathed the room in an amber hue.  A lace embroidered quilt dressed the bed and underneath it was a layer of silken sheets, white to match the quilt and pillows.  The floor was bare stone, but the fire, always burning, lessened the chill.  Placed off to the side of the fireplace was a gray loveseat with a low, wooden back that faced the fiery mouth of the hearth.

She had been placed on what Captain Ivora called the “host level”.  This floor of the castle was almost wholly dedicated to the housing of men and women who were employed as the source of nourishment to the vampires of Viro Castle.  Most of the floor’s inhabitants were women ranging in years from eighteen to mid-thirties and were evidently quite content with their station in life.  The thought of people offering themselves up as food had initially repulsed Vinnette.  The very idea was offensive and the lifestyle could be no less than degrading.  She imagined it was slavery in one way or another, but soon learned that each and every host resided in the castle of their own volition.  Not only were these men and women well taken care of, but were treated with respect among the vampires, some of them finding lovers and sometimes spouses among those who sapped their blood.

Vinnette wore a plain white dress that was secured with pearl buttons up the front, a gift from the amicable Captain Ivora.  She sat on the loveseat and gazed into the flames billowing in the cavernous fireplace.  It was night.  There were no windows in the castle and, as far as Vinnette could tell, no way of telling time.  Regardless of this absence, a new instinct in her mind told her the sun had recently set and the white moon climbed toward its zenith in the star filled sky.

She had become content to remain tucked away in what she was coming to consider her new home, sometimes venturing outside near dawn and sunset to glimpse the vibrant glow of the sun’s omnipotent eye and the cool gaze of the moon.  Soon after her arrival, Vinnette realized that her presence made many of the hosts and some of the vampires uneasy.  She had been branded by that monster, Zuriek.  It was to the severely oversized incisors that their eyes first went, the mark of the Sariya clan.  She was an outcast through no fault of her own.  A swell rose in Vinnette’s chest and leapt to her throat as a knock sounded at her door.

She smiled, hoping it was Cierna.  Cierna was nearly forty years of age, making one of the most experienced and trusted hosts in the castle.  What Vinnette was most thankful for was that she did not seem shaken by Vinnette’s long teeth.  She was a heavyset woman with dark hair and eyes and had a warm, motherly quality about her.  Her skin was soft and her blood sweet.  The taste reminded Vinnette of a ripe peach though with metallic undertones, nurtured by the sun and freshly plucked from the tree.

“Come in!” she called pleasantly, looking over her shoulder.

The door opened inwards, revealing Captain Kyro’s imposing frame.  He entered the room and was followed closely by Captain Ivora and General Viro.  Their faces were grave.  Even Captain Ivora’s kindly expression had been diminished under the weight of a frown.  The two captains stood rigidly at either side of the door as General Viro passed between them.

Vinnette rose from her seat, wringing her hands.

“We meet again, Vinnette Edur,” General Viro greeted her and touched the same two fingers to her collarbone.  The General was without her cape now and Vinnette could clearly see the jewel encrusted hilt at her hip.

“Hello, General,” Vinnette responded uncertainly, aware of her voice wavering.  She bowed and righted herself.

General Viro’s voice came back to her, the words spoken in Vinnette’s cottage before taking her leave.  Don’t disappoint me, Vinnette Edur.

Tears blurred her vision. “What have I done?” she asked fearfully.

“Nothing,” the General shook her head. “You have done nothing wrong.  On the contrary, I’ve heard that you’ve been quite an amiable guest.  Have you adjusted well here, Vinnette?  Do you understand our ways?”

Vinnette paused, considering the inquiries. “Yes,” she answered, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

“Very well,” General Viro nodded, seemingly satisfied with her reply. “Then it is time you are placed in your new home.”

“New home?” Vinnette felt a wave of panic rush over her. “But I thought I could stay…”

“I’m afraid this arrangement was only temporary.  I was under the impression that you were aware of this.”

“But it hasn’t been very long at all,” Vinnette said meekly.  She tried, to no avail, to fight back more ebbing tears.

The General nodded in understanding, but was unsympathetic. “Yes, I know.  But as you have said yourself, you’ve become accustomed to our ways.  Now it is time to move on.”

Vinnette looked at each of them, her eyes pleading.  General Viro held her in an apathetic gaze, offering no comfort.  Captain Kyro did not meet her eyes at all.  Captain Ivora cast her eyes helplessly downward as Vinnette settled on her.  She obviously wanted to help, but was unable to. 

“Where?” The word was choked with tears.

“To the Sariya Haven, Miss Edur.  I realize you were taken against your will, but I gave you a choice to either live on your own or seek out your kind.  You chose to venture here and you now belong with the Sariya family.  You will be joining them.” Her tone grew increasingly impatient with each word.

“Can I please stay a while longer?” Vinnette begged.  Her hands were clasped in a praying gesture.

“No, you cannot.  A Sariya transformed you.  They are responsible for you now.”

“Please,” she squeaked.  By now her panic had turned to desperation. “Please?”

“This is the law,” General Viro said the words as if that statement solved Vinnette’s dilemma completely.  She imagined the General used this reasoning often to justify her actions and absolve herself of any regret. She added coldly, “And Sariyas do not reside in the black castle.”

General Viro moved to the side, closer to Captain Ivora, and nodded towards the door.  Vinnette mistook her gesture as a sign that the General wanted her to exit, but as she stepped reluctantly forward, another vampire entered the room.  This one so closely resembled her attacker, Zuriek, that Vinnette almost cried out.  Instead, she cupped her hands over her mouth and gasped.  He regarded her with sickly yellow eyes and an odious sneer.

“Vinnette Edur,” General Viro said. “Your new caretaker, Master Leon Noth of the Sariyas.”

Chapter 34

Leon studied the young blonde, acutely aware of the domineering General hovering closely behind him.  The girl was thin and comely, trembling like a leaf in the wind.  Her weepy eyes and quivering frame reminded him of Tressa, twinging and whimpering as often as she took a breath.

Another burden, he thought, immediately despising her.

No, another voice spoke in his mind and Leon recognized it as the deep timbre of the dark goddess.  She will be useful.  She will serve our purpose, Leon.

A ghostly finger caressed his cheek then was gone.  General Viro emitted a low growl from behind him, but he ignored her.  His treacherous agenda and the desire to carry out Devthema’s will were foremost in his mind.  Any other concerns he may have had were suddenly unimportant.  All his attention was trained on the trepidus girl with the corn silk hair.

“Don’t be afraid, girl,” Leon said, attempting to sound benign. “We won’t hurt you.”

Slowly, Vinnette lowered her hands and revealed the two sabers that were connotative of the Sariyas.  The right side of her neck was white with jagged scars.  It had been Zuriek.  If there had been any doubt of this in his mind, it was dispatched.

Chapter 35

Following Vinnette’s introduction to Leon Sariya, an ominous chill saturated the space surrounding the long-toothed master.  Lexia instinctively sniffed the air, but only succeeded in taking a deep breath of Leon’s putrid odor.  There was no mistaking the frigid aura.  It was the same icy cold that numbed her body as she hovered over the portal in the ground and watched as Lucian fell at the hands of Zuriek.  Devthema was with Leon somehow, here in Viro Castle.  It was an outright invasion of her clan’s sanctuary.  A low growl rose in her throat and Lexia flexed her hand over the hilt of her sword.  What possible connection Leon could have with the goddess, Lexia didn’t know, but if the vampire was in league with her he would have to be dealt with quickly.

Kill him, Lexia thought to herself. Do it now and suffer the repercussions.  One stroke of the sword and it will be done.

The malignant shadow departed seconds later, partially alleviating the rage thrumming between Lexia’s temples.  The guttural noise in her throat quieted and she released her grip on her weapon.  As Leon spoke to Vinnette, Lexia glanced at Kristoff and saw he was watching her.  Her eyes dropped to his hand, which was on the hilt of his scimitar.  The weapon was drawn halfway from its sheath, its steel blade gleaming in the light of the sconces.

Lexia concentrated on him and spoke in her mind.  The message would reach him as it had in the past.  He did not possess her abilities, but her mind was strong enough to send thoughts to those who did not share the gift.

And what are you planning to do, Captain Kyro?  She asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. Kill me? Or aid me?

Kristoff’s eyes flickered briefly.  He sheathed his weapon and glared at her with dark, baleful eyes.

“Collect your things, girl,” Leon was saying to Vinnette, false kindness in his gruff voice.  The words sounded rehearsed and awkward coming from a mouth so foul. “Then we’ll be out of this place.”

Vinnette collected her cloak and the light blue dress she had worn when she left her family’s cottage in the glen.

“These are all I brought with me,” she said, sounding embarrassed.

“Fine, fine,” Leon said and waved her toward him.

“Captain Kyro, escort Master Leon and Miss Edur to our gates,” Lexia ordered, brushing past him and out of the room.  She would let the matter of Zuriek rest for now.  The task of transferring Vinnette’s care to the Sariyas was complete and Lexia wanted Leon’s stench gone from her home.