Burning Up (13 page)

“Oh, aye,” Amaris sneered. “I wager they will—as crows pick their bones for what scraps the Varil leave behind.”

His fingers tightened around the Orb as his free hand lifted, trembling with his fury. Power heated the air around it into a hot red blaze.

Amaris fed more magic into her shields and readied herself to fight, clutching her sister close.

Then the glow faded from Korban’s fingers, and the rage in his eyes drained into calculation. He rolled his shoulders back and lifted his chin. “You will not goad me so easily. You
will
lie with Raniero, and you will persuade him to cooperate. Or your sister will pay the price.”

“I fear you overestimate my skills. Lord Raniero is famous for his incorruptibility.”

“True. It’s said he’s refused some very impressive bribes.” The Orb’s light flooded Korban’s face in crimson, like a mask of gore. “But none of those bribes included the attentions of a Blood Rose.”

“I am not your whore, Korban.”

“You are whatever we tell you to be, Amaris!” her father snarled.

“Ama’is!” Marin whimpered.

“We frighten the child,” Korban said, his voice gently cruel. “But there is no need. All you must do is spend a little time with Lord Raniero. Look at him.” He turned with a sweeping gesture, directing her attention toward the vampire. Raniero’s profile looked as pure as a deity’s in the light of the torches, his black hair spilling around bare, muscled shoulders. “Such a handsome man. What’s a few nights in his arms? And then I’ll free you, let you take Marin and go. I swear it by the Red God’s blade.”

“Ama’is,” Marin whispered, staring at Korban like a bird gazing at a snake. “He’s gonna feed me to his ball if you don’t.”

She was right. Korban was projecting the image of it into their minds, sharp and vivid as reality:

A knife flashed in the red light of the Orb, and the fantasy Marin screamed. The smell of blood filled the air, and the Orb brightened into a blinding crimson blaze.

The real child quivered against her and began to cry.

“Stop it, curse you!” Amaris spat. “I’ll seduce your vampire for you. Just leave my sister out of your sickening plots.”

Korban smiled, faint and satisfied. “I knew you’d see reason.”

P
leased with his victory, Korban allowed Amaris to put her sister to bed. Usually, he permitted her only brief visits with the child, at the end of which Amaris had to surrender Marin to the nursemaid warden he’d assigned.

Even so, a pair of grim and wary guards followed her up the tower stairs to the small chamber where Marin was kept a hostage. Amaris’s thoughts churned in anguished circles as she climbed, her sister sniffling fitfully in her arms. Though sweaty and tearstained, Marin smelled clean and sweet in the way of little girls. At least that wretched nurse was taking proper care of her.

For the moment.

Korban’s promise to release them was, of course, a blatant lie. No matter what he mouthed, his plans for Marin were obvious. It would take a blood sacrifice of her innocence and magical potential to give the Blood Orb enough power to blow a hole in the kingdom’s mystical barrier.

And Korban was determined to see the Varil invade, the Red God alone knew why.

I should have known Korban would break his promise to free us
, Amaris thought as she carried the child up the narrow, winding staircase.
But I thought there was a faint possibility he’d keep his word. Now I will have to find some other way to escape.

Fortunately, generations of wizards had spent centuries building and strengthening the Great Barrier, and a spell to unravel it was no easy thing to cast. Korban had yet to puzzle out how to do it, though ’twould seem he was close to his goal. Enough so that he thought he needed to allay Ferran’s suspicions for but a few weeks more.

They reached the top of the stairway, and Amaris paused to let her guards unlock Marin’s door. She carried the child inside.

The nurse looked up from her sewing. At first glance, one might mistake Hetram for a motherly woman in her cheery blue gown, given her ample lap and round, rosy cheeks. But her watery gray eyes were as chilly as a frozen lake, and the line of her mouth was thin and humorless. She had power, too, a sullen snake of magic Amaris could see in her heart, enough that Korban trusted her to control Marin’s burgeoning talent.

It was probably no real challenge. In happier days, Marin had tested their mother’s patience with her mischievous magic. She’d had particular talent with an invisibility spell; she’d loved nothing better than popping out and startling her unsuspecting mother and sister. Now the child’s misery made it hard for her to concentrate enough to work even the simplest magic.

“I’ll take her.” Hetram stood and reached for Marin.

“Nay, I’ll do it.” Amaris shouldered past her toward the little girl’s narrow cot. She undressed her sister, taking pleasure in the homey task of pulling off Marin’s wool kirtle and chemise and slipping a clean white smock over her head. Exhausted by fear and tears, Marin was asleep almost before she finished. Amaris tucked her limp little body into bed, then covered her with the thin blanket she’d been allowed.

Finished, Amaris sat still a moment, brooding as she studied Marin’s pale, delicate features in the candlelight.
She looks so much like Mother.
Tears welled at the thought, and she quickly swiped her hand across her eyes, lest the nurse see her crying.

I will get her out of here, Mama. Somehow. I will not let that monster use her soul to feed that cursed Orb.

Which meant doing what she’d been doing all along: pretend to cooperate with their captors and watch for an opportunity to take her sister and escape. Pray gods the chance presented itself soon. She was running out of time.

And now she had to romance a vampire.

Something popped, and Amaris looked up, alert. But it was only the fire. Her eyes met the suspicious gaze of Marin’s warden, who sat with a half-darned sock in her wide lap. Amaris pointedly turned her gaze toward the fire and made no move to leave, despite the woman’s evident desire to see the back of her.

Gazing into the leaping flames, Amaris began to plan. She had to buy time, and there was only one way to do it.

She was going to have to make love to the vampire.

THREE

A
maris’s stomach coiled into a sick ball at the thought of taking Raniero into her bed. She glowered at the fire, impatient with herself.
I’m a Blood Rose, curse it. Making love to them is what we were created to do.

When it became obvious the Varil were a threat to the kingdom, the first great wizard king had transformed human champions into a race of vampire knights. To ensure the knights did not likewise become a threat, the king had then transformed his most talented female sorcerers into Blood Roses with the magical power to seduce and tame them.

Though vampires could sire vampire sons with mortal women, Blood Roses were born only to Blood Rose mothers. By law, the king alone could grant a Blood Rose’s hand in marriage, and he granted that boon only to those he considered most deserving. Since drinking a Rose’s blood made a vampire stronger, his allies had the advantage over any would-be vampire rebels.

Like other Roses, Amaris was well-versed in the Arts of the Rose. Her mother had sent her to one of the best Gardens in the kingdom to learn the traditional skills: how to charm, how to flirt, how to use her mouth and hands to bring her vampire lover pleasure.

Unfortunately, vampires could not be trusted. Her father was proof of that.

And Orel, of course.

For a while she’d actually believed all the silly songs the troubadours sang in the Garden. Songs of gallant vampire warriors romancing their lady Roses, sweeping them away to lives of love and passion.

She should have known it was all utter rot.

As a child, Amaris had watched her father torment her mother until Sava finally had enough and petitioned the king for a divorce. Ferran had been so scandalized that any vampire would beat a Blood Rose, he’d granted it on the spot. The king had even issued a royal order that Tannaz keep his distance on pain of death. The vampire hadn’t dared break it.

At least until he’d fallen in with Korban and grown bold. Bold enough to murder both his former wife and her lover, Marin’s father.

And then there was Orel, handsome, seductive—and insanely jealous. Amaris had met him while she was still at the Garden, and had promptly believed herself in love.

Until the day he’d seen her smile at another vampire.

Once back at the house they’d shared, Orel had ranted at Amaris like a madman before knocking her senseless. She’d awakened with him on top of her, beginning a rape. Terrified, enraged, she’d fired a blast of magic into his face. He’d fled, burned and screaming.

That experience had left her determined to never be so vulnerable again. She’d begun combat training with Basir, who was both her mother’s lover and a skilled swordsman and sorcerer. After two years of hard work, Basir had pronounced her capable of defending herself.

But Orel’s attack had taught her something else as well: vampires could not be trusted. No matter how loving they might act, they were predators, no different from the Varil. Any Rose who let down her guard with one would rue it.

Now Amaris had to lull her captors into believing her cowed and cooperative. She felt confident that given enough time, she’d spot an opportunity to rescue her sister and escape.

But to buy that time, she was going to have to seduce Raniero. So she’d give the vampire her body—but never her trust.

D
awn was breaking when Amaris returned to the cramped chamber she’d been given in one of the castle’s towers.

Moving quickly, she swung the door closed and hurried across the room to fling open the wooden shutters. The edge of the sun was just peeking over the horizon, painting streamers of rose and violet across the sky. Beneath them, the Korban Mountains lay in thick black shadow.

There wasn’t much time.

Amaris took a deep breath and drew a long, thin dagger from the sheath that hung from her embroidered belt. Concentrating fiercely, she angled the knife point up, so that the rays of the sun poured over it. Gathering her will, she began to chant as the rising sun warmed her face. Magic swirled around her, flowing into the dagger, making the thin blade blaze.

R
aniero woke half naked in a bed far more comfortable than the ground he so often slept on as the king’s investigator. Blinking, disoriented, he tried to roll off the bed, only to discover two things: he was weak as a babe, and his wrists were chained to the posts of the bed.

Rage lengthening his teeth into fangs, he jerked his head around to stare at his wrists. The manacles that encircled them were covered with magical runes he read with a wizard’s ease.

A draining spell. ’Twould sap his strength and magic, keeping him from breaking the chains.

Peering down the length of his body, he saw he wore naught but his breeches. His ankles, too, were chained.

With a growl, he dropped his head back on the feather pillow.

Who the six hells gave a prisoner a feather pillow?

The thought made him scan his cell in narrow-eyed suspicion.

It looked more guest’s chamber than prison. The room was clean, with fresh rushes on the floor, and a fire burned in the fireplace, reducing the autumn chill. Two chairs sat before the fire, and there was a small bedside table on which an unlit candle stood beside a golden goblet. No window, but vampire that he was, he was rather glad of that. At least his captors couldn’t cook him with the sunrise while he was helplessly chained to the bed.

What the six hells happened?

The last he remembered, he’d been about to take that vampire’s head in an effort to keep the bastard from attacking the Blood Rose who had appeared in the middle of the fight.

The Blood Rose.

Raniero ground his teeth in rage as the truth burst upon him.
She’d been working with the vampire.
They’d gulled him with their playacting, and he’d swallowed the bait whole.

Fool, fool, fool!
And by now his men were likely all dead, bodies devoured by the thrice-damned Varil.

He closed his eyes, sickened. Poor Gvido had so feared those monsters after seeing the aftermath of one of their raids. Raniero had often been woken by the boy’s nightmare cries. How he must have suffered, dying at their hands.

And Olrick. He’d planned to retire and spend his last years surrounded by grandchildren while playing slap and tickle with his wife. Raniero would have to tell Gavina he’d gotten her man killed.

And then there were the others: Kellar, Favdo, Jacil, Magar, Brothan, Lor, and Shaco. Good men, brave men, all loyal king’s warriors. He would have to tell their wives, children, and parents. And the king, who would be deeply grieved.

At least his majesty would see the families were paid a death pension. They would not be left impoverished.

Just grieving.

Raniero’s eyes narrowed. His captors would rue this day. Which raised the question: why had they left him alive to seek vengeance?

He considered his prison again. It appeared someone was entertaining fantasies that he could be bought.

The idea was infuriating. But galling as it was, perhaps he should pretend to play along, that he might gain an opportunity to escape.

And make the bastards pay.

A
maris paused outside Raniero’s cell, ignoring the hot gazes of the four guards. She had dressed as carefully as ever she’d been taught in the Garden. Her gown was white silk, belted with a girdle embroidered with tiny roses, and she’d perfumed her skin with ambergris. A hint of kohl darkened her lids, and she’d rubbed a lemon on her lips to redden them. Her hair had been brushed into a gleaming fall of curls that tumbled to her hips. She carried a silver pitcher filled with honey mead.

Squaring her shoulders and drawing a deep breath, she nodded at the guards. “Unbolt the door.”