Bloodforged (34 page)

Finally, she fitted the mask down over the veil and threw on her heavy cloak, pulling the voluminous hood as far forwards as she could, then tugged on her riding gloves and unfolded the long cuffs so that they overlapped the ends of her sleeves. Her costume was complete. It was constricting, and stiflingly hot, and she was certain she would get her fair share of looks, even in as wild a city as Praag, but she had succeeded in arming herself against the sun – or so she hoped. The proof was in the doing.

She turned to the stairs and squared her shoulders, then marched up and stepped into the daylight.

Ulrika supposed herself fortunate the day was dark and overcast, but nevertheless, after less than a minute under the open sky, she almost turned around and gave it all up as a mistake. Alone, the clothes were hot; under the sun, filtered by clouds though it was, she felt as if she were wearing full plate in the middle of the Nehekharan desert. She was broiling, even when she clung to the shadows, and strength seemed to leech from her with every step, making her dizzy and confused, but there was no option. Finding her way through the sewers and avoiding the things that lived there would take too much time, and she couldn’t risk letting Stefan reach the safe house before her.

Praag seemed as fatigued and disoriented as she was. The manic euphoria Ulrika had noticed since arriving in the city was gone. No one was singing. No one was laughing. The soldiers and merchants and beggars she saw on the street shuffled listlessly by, drab and dispirited, like hung-over revellers trudging home after a party. All the gossip in the markets was of the madness and death at the Opera House, and the cultists who had been burned before it – and the fear that there might be still more lurking in the shadows.

Ulrika wondered if the destruction of the Fieromonte had something to do with their mood. Perhaps the awakened violin had somehow sparked a madness for music in the city, and now that it was gone, and the daemon within it returned to the void, perhaps its melodic mania had died with it.

Or perhaps it was only morning. Ulrika didn’t often see mornings any more.

At last she reached the quiet cul-de-sac where the safe house sat, and went more carefully, circling around the small dry fountain with the statue of Salyak in its centre, and looking for Stefan or signs he had already visited. She saw nothing, and the house looked as undisturbed and unassuming as before. She stepped to the front door and knocked, then leaned against the door wearily.

There was no answer.

She knocked again, and after a long while, at last heard footsteps.

‘Go away,’ came a voice Ulrika recognised as one of Evgena’s men. ‘The mistress is not receiving.’

‘I only want to know she is well,’ said Ulrika. ‘That she has had no… visitors.’

‘I am not at liberty to say. Go away.’

Ulrika growled in her throat, the pain of the sun making her impatient. ‘Fool! You know who I am! I want to know if she’s safe! I want to know if she still lives!’

The footsteps went away.

She pounded on the door. ‘Tell me, curse you!’

‘She lives,’ said a voice behind her. ‘But not for long.’

Ulrika whipped around. Stefan von Kohln stood by the fountain in the middle of the cul-de-sac, a broad hat shading his face, and his rapier drawn.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

DUEL IN THE SUN

Ulrika drew her rapier and dagger, cursing under her breath. This was not how she had wanted this to play out. She had hoped Galiana would let her in. She had hoped to fight him inside. The day had fortunately grown darker still, with lowering clouds, but the light was still cruel. She could not fight Stefan out here. It would kill her.

‘I am pleased to see you alive,’ said Stefan, stepping forwards. ‘I feared what would happen to you at the hands of the authorities.’

Ulrika snorted and stepped away from the door, giving herself some room to move. ‘They were very considerate,’ she said. ‘They removed your wooden sword. I wish I had it with me, so I could return it to you.’

Stefan sighed. ‘I know you won’t believe me, but I acted in self defence. I still have no wish to harm you.’

‘Then why is your sword drawn?’

‘I am here to kill Galiana,’ said Stefan. ‘Step aside and we need not fight.’

Ulrika shook her head, edging closer to him. She had to strike quickly, before all her strength was gone. The daylight was like an anvil sitting on her shoulders. ‘I have already allowed you to kill Raiza and Evgena through my gullibility. You will not trick me into betraying my vow a third time.’

‘It is no trick,’ he said. ‘I admit I used you to reach them. It was only my duty. But I meant what I said before. I have grown to… admire you. I wish us to be together.’

Ulrika snarled and lunged. ‘Only if we share a grave!’

Stefan beat her blade aside and stepped back, angry. ‘I don’t understand you. You said you wanted to be the defender of Praag. That is what I offer you. We can rule it together. We can be the good stewards you spoke of – preying on the predators and defending the weak.’

Ulrika sneered. ‘You don’t care about that.’

‘I have come to,’ he said. ‘Fighting the cult has proven to me the stake we must have in human affairs. If we are to rule, then we must rule well.’

Ulrika hesitated. Was he saying these things only to fool her? He sounded sincere. Perhaps she
had
changed his mind. But did it matter? He might love her, he might share her philosophy, but he had also betrayed her, lied to her, manipulated her into betraying her sworn mistress, stabbed her with a wooden stake and left her to die!

On the other hand, who among her new family had not hurt her in some way? Hermione had named her conspirator, Evgena and Galiana had branded her assassin, Famke had chosen the coward’s path, even Countess Gabriella, who had nurtured her through her infancy, had proved herself a fickle, untrustworthy mother. Only Raiza had remained true, and Raiza was dead – worse than dead.

Ulrika thought back to the morning she had shared blood with Stefan. She had felt no greater pleasure in her life or death. Would she deny herself an eternity of such pleasure for the sake of honour, when it seemed honour had no value in her new life?

She looked at him, standing there strong and proud, and the longing for him and what he could give her was overwhelming. She wanted to drop her rapier and step into his arms. She wanted to beg his forgiveness and have him take her away from the pain of the sun, but a thorn of pride caught her and held her back. Honour might have no value for her sisters, but hadn’t she left their society for precisely that reason? If she went to him, if she allowed pleasure to trump honour, she would be giving up her last vow – the most important one, the one she had made to herself – and would be no better than they. She might as well never have left Nuln.

‘I’m sorry, Stefan,’ she said at last. ‘I do not believe one can be a good ruler while standing on the corpse of one’s predecessor.’

She lunged with her rapier. Again he turned it, but still did not follow through.

‘You are a fool to spurn me,’ he said. ‘You will die here.’

Ulrika shrugged. ‘I am overdue.’

Stefan’s lip curled in disgust. ‘Then I will oblige you.’

And with that he attacked at last – a thrust right at her heart. She tipped it aside with her dagger and came under with her rapier, aiming for his stomach, but he blocked it with something in his left hand – a jagged length of black onyx.

Ulrika stumbled back, wide-eyed and gasping.

‘What’s the matter?’ said Stefan, slashing furiously at her with it. ‘I thought you were ready to die.’

‘That is not death,’ she growled, edging away from the thing. She could not imagine being trapped and conscious forever in such a prison, with nothing to do, no one to talk to, no air, no wind, no movement. If there was a hell on earth, that was it. And it Stefan’s hands, it might be worse, much worse.

‘Do you know what happens to vampires when they die?’ asked Stefan as he pursued her. ‘This is preferable.’

‘That depends on who holds the shard, doesn’t it?’ said Ulrika.

A movement in a window above caught her eye and she glanced up. Someone in the safe house was watching the fight from behind a heavy curtain.

‘True,’ said Stefan. ‘A cruel man could torture you for eternity. That is why my master bid me use them on the Lahmians – so he could have them for his “experiments”. He will be angry I killed the boyarina with mere silver, but I had to hide the shards before revealing myself at her mansion, and had no chance to recover them before the concert.’

‘And so you will make up for it by giving him my essence instead,’ said Ulrika.

Stefan shook his head, grave. ‘I would not do that. If you will not be with me, I will keep your shard next to my heart.’

‘I hope it cuts you,’ said Ulrika, and hacked at the hand that held the onyx blade.

He avoided the stroke and came in again, slashing with both weapons. She blocked the shard, but his rapier tore open her left sleeve just above the glove. The cut barely grazed her, but it didn’t matter, for the rip in the cloth bared her flesh to the day.

Ulrika staggered back, yelping in pain, as the exposed skin boiled and steamed like white stew. Stefan darted in again, and in her panic, she fumbled her parry. His sword found her shoulder, and another line of molten agony seared her.

She stumbled to the other side of the fountain, hissing and cursing. She had been so afraid of the Blood Shard it hadn’t occurred to her that simple steel was just as deadly in a daytime duel. What a fool! The sun wouldn’t just weaken her. It was going to kill her. It would do Stefan’s work for him!

She pulled her cloak forwards, covering the hole on her shoulder, but there was nothing to be done about her left arm. If she held it out to attack or parry, she would show it to the sun and it would burn again, and even out of the sun, the pain of the wounds did not fade. It felt like swords, glowing from the forge, pressing against her flesh.

‘Please, Ulrika,’ said Stefan, coming around the fountain. ‘Give this up. I don’t want to hurt you further.’

‘You couldn’t,’ she snarled, then charged, slashing and thrusting though every move exposed more skin to the sun.

He parried it all easily and forced her back, lunging for her eyes with his sword and slashing for her arms with the shard. She retreated before the onslaught, and tripped over the coping of the fountain. His rapier chopped her thigh as she fell, splitting cloth and flesh.

She screamed and crashed into the dry pool, her vision blurring as the sunlight cooked the wound. He stepped in and slashed down at her. She rolled behind the statue of Salyak, sobbing with rage. It was impossible. She was too weak, and he was too strong. She couldn’t win. She would either have to flee or give in, and in either case, Galiana would die, and Stefan would have his victory. The liar and manipulator would win. The bitterness she felt at that hurt almost worse than the sun.

Stefan stepped around the statue, his face hard and sad. He seemed truly reluctant to kill her. Ulrika almost smiled to see it. In that at least, she was strong and he was weak. As much as she lusted for him, it would not keep her from finishing him. She froze at the thought. That was how she could win!

Stefan stood over her, lowering his point to thrust at her throat.

With a sobbing wail, Ulrika crabbed back, dropping her rapier and dagger. ‘Stop!’ she cried. ‘No more. It hurts too much! I don’t want to die!’

Stefan paused, suspicious. ‘You have changed your mind, then?’

Ulrika held out her arm, showing the boiling wound, then snatched it back as it began to smoulder. ‘Do you wonder at it? Nothing is worth this!’ She cradled her arms against her chest, trying to hide all of herself under her cloak. ‘Please. Take me out of the sun. Share your blood with me. I will be yours if you stop the pain.’

Stefan stood over her, still hesitant, then put the tip of his rapier to her neck. The hand that held the Blood Shard hung at his side.

‘Stand,’ he said. ‘We will go into the house. I will lock you up until I have dealt with Mistress Galiana.’

Ulrika nodded and pushed up to one knee, then lost her balance and grabbed for the statue of Salyak to catch herself, and for a brief second, Stefan’s point left its place at her throat. That was all she needed. With a grunt, she drove forwards, grabbing for the shard and shouldering him back.

Stefan barked in surprise and slashed her across the shoulders with his rapier as they fell against the base of the statue. Burning agony striped her back, but she kept her focus, slamming Stefan’s hand against the statue’s stone feet.

The shard leapt free. Ulrika snatched it up and pressed it against his throat, just under the jaw. ‘Now you know how it feels,’ she rasped, ‘to be betrayed.’

‘Wait!’ he said, his eyes showing white as he tried to look down at the black knife. ‘You don’t want this.’

‘More than anything in the world,’ said Ulrika.

‘You don’t understand,’ Stefan cried. ‘You have nothing without me. There will be nowhere for you to go. Only I can keep you safe!’

Ulrika sneered and pressed the shard harder against his flesh. She was enjoying his squirming. ‘Can you keep yourself safe?’

‘Listen to me!’ he said. ‘The world is changing for our kind. My master sends his agents to every city in the Old World, readying them for his coming. Your mistress may have foiled his Strigoi dupe in Nuln, and you may foil me here, but others will come, and he will win eventually, as he has already won in many other places.’

Ulrika frowned. What was this about Nuln? What was he talking about?

‘There will be no rebels in my master’s empire,’ Stefan continued. ‘No lone wolves. All will be brought to heel or killed. Only I can protect you. Under my wing, no harm will come to you, but if you kill me, there will be nowhere for you to run. Please. Let me save you.’

Ulrika pulled herself up and knelt on his sword arm. The sun burned into her back and shoulder, but the pain was suddenly faraway. ‘The Strigoi in Nuln was a dupe, you say? There will be others? Mistress Gabriella is in danger?’

Stefan nodded. ‘Even now, my master’s agents begin his greatest play there. The decapitating stroke.’

‘Not if I can stop them,’ Ulrika growled. ‘Who is this master of yours?’

‘Don’t be a fool,’ hissed Stefan. ‘Your mistress will be dead before you reach her. You will have no home to return to. Stay here with me as my consort. I will shield you from what is to come.’

Ulrika shook him and raised the Blood Shard threateningly. ‘Enough! Who is your master?’

Stefan wrenched his arm from under her knee and swung his rapier. She ducked as the hilt struck her ear, and stabbed reflexively with the shard, burying it in his throat. Stefan bucked and shrieked, eyes wide, as the black onyx did its work. His face collapsed in on itself and his clutching hands shrivelled to bony claws. His body, under her, shrank inside his clothes.

Ulrika staggered to her feet, horrified, and gripped the statue for support, watching as the light in Stefan’s sunken eyes died and he fell still at last. A wave of pain washed over her that had nothing to do with the sun. She wished… But it was always foolish to wish things had been different.

She reached down and pulled the now-glowing Blood Shard from his withered throat. It throbbed through her gloves as she tucked it into her belt pouch. There was only one more thing to do. She recovered her rapier and cut off Stefan’s skeletal head, just to be sure, then picked it up and stepped wearily from the fountain.

The door to the safe house opened as she approached it, and a man-at-arms bowed her in. Ulrika shuffled past him, then groaned with relief as he closed it behind her and shut out the merciless sun.

Galiana was standing on the bottom step of the stairs to the upper floor, her face and figure once again wizened and doll-like. Ulrika dropped Stefan’s head at her feet, then tore off her mask and veil and threw them on top of it.

‘The assassin is dead,’ she said. ‘The comedy is finished. I…’ She weaved, dizzy with pain, then continued. ‘I apologise for not seeing through him before he killed Sister Raiza and Mistress Evgena. I have failed in my vow.’