“Viktor,” she
repeated,
her voice softer this time. “What is wrong?”
The huntsman swallowed hard, but didn’t answer her. Instead, he turned and offered a weak smile before proceeding along their usual route.
“I spoke to a
leshii
the other day,” he spoke up finally. “It seems you’ve won over several of their people.” He fiddled with the leather bag by his side. “They are talking of breaking their treaty with Serafina.”
Irina perked up.
“Really?
That’s wonderful.” She stared ahead, the wheels spinning in her mind. “If the
leshii
break their treaty, others will follow. Serafina’s hold over the territory will be weakened.”
“She has the right to rule this territory, a right granted by the royal family themselves.”
“No one has the right to rule,” Irina insisted, scorn giving her voice a harsh edge. “Not over every person and every creature. Ruler is just another word for tyrant, and
Dacia
doesn’t need any more of those.” She narrowed her eyes, thinking of Serafina’s smug face. “It has plenty already.”
“Irina, you are playing with fire. Serafina has overlooked your treasonous behavior so far, but if she believes you are truly a threat to her power, she will kill you.”
His voice broke on the last word and Irina stopped and put a hand on his arm. She tilted her head to look into his eyes. “Viktor, are you afraid for me?” she asked gently. “I’ve made no secret of the fact that I don’t believe any one person should rule the fate of an entire kingdom. It isn’t just Serafina’s grip on this area that I want to break. Eventually, I want the entire kingdom to be free.”
The blood drained from Viktor’s face. “You speak of unseating the royal family.”
Irina nodded slowly, not wanting to upset her friend further, but unwilling to lie. “It isn’t right for one person to rule the lives of an entire people,” she said firmly. “Even the high king himself shouldn’t have that right.”
Viktor collapsed to his knees then fell forward onto all fours. The bag at his side hit his leg and spilled its contents into the snow.
“Viktor!”
Irina dropped to her knees beside him and put her arms around his shoulders, covering him partially with her cloak. “My friend, do not worry so. Serafina hasn’t killed me yet, and she’s had plenty of opportunities.” Irina bit her lip, silently debating with herself over how much to reveal to Viktor. Despite their years of friendship, he was still Serafina’s servant. She had no idea how much control, magical or emotional, the sorceress had over him. Finally, she made her decision.
“Serafina consulted her magic mirror about me,” she confessed, her voice low despite their distance from the castle. “I overheard part of it. The mirror told her that I’m the key to a new kingdom. It said—”
“It said your heart was the key to a new kingdom,” Viktor whispered.
A frown pulled down the corners of Irina’s mouth. “I think those were the words. But how did you…?”
The huntsman let his head fall as if he could no longer hold it up. He groped beside him and Irina finally turned her attention to the objects that had fallen from his bag. The first was a chest of some sort, ornately decorated with gold and gems. The other was a large hunting knife. Unlike Viktor’s other knives, which Irina had seen on numerous occasions, this one was intricate and as bejeweled as the chest. It had an almost ceremonial look to it. Viktor held the chest up and Irina noticed the engraving of a heart with a knife through it.
“I don’t understand. What are those for?”
The objects fell from his hands and cold fear doused Irina as Viktor began to sob. His shoulders trembled with the force of his despair and Irina couldn’t help but pull away, suddenly needing to put some distance between
herself
and the blade.
“Viktor, you are scaring me.” Her voice came out hoarse, almost lost to a sudden gust of icy wind.
“Irina, I can’t do it. You have been like my own daughter these past twelve
years,
I cannot do what my queen has commanded of me.”
The misery was so thick in his voice that Irina hardly recognized it. She took another step back. She didn’t want to ask her next question, didn’t want to know the answer. Still the words flowed from her lips in a breathless whisper. “What did she command you to do?”
“I was to bring back your heart in this box.”
Irina pressed her lips together, smothering the cry of dismay that tried to escape. She stared at her friend, all the while backing away. “Viktor,” she choked.
The huntsman raised his head, torment pulling the lines in his face into ever deepening creases and his eyes shining with his pain. “Irina, you must run. Run far from here, far from Serafina’s reach.”
“There is nowhere I can run,” Irina protested, her chest growing tighter with every word. “She can find me anywhere. Her mirror…”
“Irina, you are loved by so many creatures, so many smaller factions within this territory. Any one of them would take you in, the fey, the
leshii
, the
vila
, even the
rusalki
would likely welcome you. Surely one of them could give you sanctuary?”
Irina shook her head, her entire body trembling as the full weight of the huntsman’s words fell on her. “Viktor, I could not ask that of any of them. To stand up to Serafina politically is one thing. But if she wants my…” she swallowed hard, “my heart, then she will kill if necessary to get it. How could I ask that of my friends?”
“She would not go against the high king,” Viktor whispered.
The sheer ridiculousness of the suggestion would have made Irina laugh if she wasn’t so terrified. “The high king would be even more likely to kill me than Serafina if news of my…political views
have
reached as far as you say.” She closed her eyes, fighting not to sway on her feet. “There is nowhere for me to run.”
Viktor’s hands closed like twin vices on her arms and Irina screamed as she opened her eyes. The huntsman’s green eyes bored into hers, fierce determination written across his face. “You will run and you will hide,” he ground out, emotion taking some of the edge off his voice. “I will not see you dead, Irina.” He pushed her away and stooped to pick up the box and blade. “I will slaughter a pig and offer its heart in your place.” He grabbed her hand and Irina whimpered as he squeezed her thumb, forcing the wound to reopen again. Her blood trickled into the box he held open underneath it. “This will not fool Serafina for long. You must go now!”
A sob broke from Irina as she stumbled back and fell into the snow. Viktor gave her one last look before plunging into the forest, searching for the pig that would buy her precious little time. Irina stared back into the distance at where she knew the castle sat, and within, Serafina in her glass coffin.
“I will return one day, Serafina,” she whispered, not even caring when fear made her voice waver. “You will pay for all you’ve taken from me.”
Without another look, she turned and darted into the forest, praying that she would find safety…somewhere.
“Such a shame what happened to your treaties with the goblins and the trolls.”
Kirill gritted his teeth against the grating sound of his father’s voice. It was never a pleasant sound, but it was made infinitely worse when he imbued it with that tone of condescension and false sympathy. The older vampire slouched in a plush armchair in front of the fire. He was wearing enough gold to bribe a dragon and the purple velvet of his robe was so thick it could probably sit up without him. Not wanting to give his father the satisfaction of a reaction, Kirill fought to keep his face impassive as he continued to stroll into the sitting room.
His mother offered him a small smile as he bent to kiss her cheek. She sat with excellent posture on a matching chair beside the king, wearing matching gold, though not in the same quantity. Unlike his father’s stiff velvet, his mother preferred to dress in silk. The cool material clung to her lean frame, complimenting her and adding to her regal bearing.
“Good morning, Mother,” he said softly.
“Good morning, dear. Your father and I just had a visit from the troll lord that lives in the mountain a few miles from here.”
“He was nicer to me than he’s been in ages,” Kirill’s father, the king, interrupted gleefully. “Apparently, you interfered with the troll king’s plans for new territory in Sanguenay a while back?” He made a
tsking
sound and shook his head. “Not a very smart move for someone who seems so very intent on stealing my throne.”
Denying his father’s comment would do him little good. The king was well aware that his son had aspirations of being king. Considering the immortal lifespan of vampires, the king was also well aware that the only way for Kirill to achieve his goal of a monarchy was to either kill his father, or force him to step down.
Every day Kirill considered both options very carefully.
Thoughts of Etienne popped into his head and he smothered a snarl. He’d interfered on the werewolf prince’s behalf, stopping the trolls and the goblins from attempting to take advantage of the prince while he fought off a witch’s blessing that would have rendered him human. In the long run, it had been a smart move. Etienne’s blood was necessary for the prophecy unfolding at the World Tree and Kirill had no way of knowing if the prince’s blood would still have worked if he’d become human. However, there was no denying that in the short run, angering the goblins and trolls presented…issues.
Kirill fixed his father with a look that had sent lesser men running screaming into the night. “Father, you of all people should know that sometimes a setback is necessary in order to take a substantial step forward.”
A sharp bark of laughter burst from his father. “Indeed. After all, if that insipid coup of peasants hadn’t killed us all while we
slept,
we never would have risen as vampires.” His eyes sparkled with a red glow as he smirked at Kirill. “And I would not have the prospect of ruling
Dacia
for centuries to come.”
Not if I can help it.
Kirill gave him a cold smile.
“How very optimistic of you.”
“Now, now please don’t fight, you two,” Kirill’s mother interrupted. “I’m interviewing new handmaidens today and I need to be in a pleasant state of mind for the tasting. The last girl had far too much iron in her blood and I blame the two of you for distracting me too much to notice that when I took her on.”
“My apologies, Mother,” Kirill said with a slight bow. “I’ll leave you alone to collect yourself. Have a pleasant evening.” Kirill turned to leave.
“Not going to wish me a pleasant evening too, Kirill? Not very respectful…”
Kirill shot his father a smile dripping with insincerity. “Oh, I do hope you have a pleasant evening, Father. After all, one never knows how many evenings one has left.”
The threat brought a chuckle from his father and Kirill swept out of the room before he could be further tempted to try and wipe the mirth from the king’s face. He burst into the hallway and thundered through the various passageways of the palace, weaving in and out of secret rooms. The design of the castle was nearly as complicated as the layout of their kingdom itself, filled with twists and turns and dead ends. Only those intimately familiar with the castle could navigate it without hardship.
Kirill finally reached his own private sanctuary. He pulled a key from a hidden pocket in his clothing and unlocked the door. The heavy wood swung open silently on greased hinges and Kirill sighed when he finally had it closed and locked behind him.
The smell of ancient texts filled his nostrils and he drew the perfume deep into his lungs. He let his gaze rove around the room, the sight of all his parchments, scrolls, and ancient books like a balm to his soul. This was the true treasure of the kingdom. His father believed battles and blood paved the way to glory, but Kirill knew better. Knowledge was power, and if one could garner enough knowledge it would put him at a distinct advantage over his enemies. Only with knowledge could one properly plan for the future.
“The future,” Kirill murmured. He stepped forward, gliding to the giant table that held an organized chaos of information. One scroll in particular drew his attention. It was so tattered that he feared even looking upon it was to risk its integrity. Touching it seemed an invitation for the parchment to turn to dust. Yet the words remained clear, flowing across the surface in smooth black lines. The magic of the words seemed to infuse the ink itself, making it just as vibrant as the day it had been penned.
Kirill was still struggling to translate it all. Thus far, all he’d been able to make out were bits about the World Tree and the need for blood to make it appear. The scroll hinted at some sort of prophecy. There was a “Great New Kingdom” to be had by
whomever
could offer the land the blood it needed.
Glancing around, Kirill took note of various other texts. History books penned by people from all over the five kingdoms, gathered over the years by Kirill himself, spoke of other monarchs who had sought to unlock the mystery. There was King Laurimar of Sanguenay who had tried sacrificing numerous members of his own kingdom to try and coax the land into giving up its power.
Then there was
his own
father, who had tried drinking blood, long before their family’s transformation. Kirill’s father had believed that since he, as king, was tied to the land, drinking blood would in effect be giving blood to the kingdom. He’d forced his wife and son to drink it as well. Though his attempts had not led to any Great New Kingdom, it had saved his family. When the peasants had revolted and killed Kirill and his parents, it had been their sanguine activities that had resurrected them as vampires. Kirill sighed. He supposed he owed his father for that.
That wasn’t even the end of it. Ancient kings from the other three kingdoms had tried too. The king of Nysa had tried ordering that all virgin brides be taken by their husbands for the first time while lying out in the fields, blessing the land with the blood of their lost maidenhood. The king of Meropis had tried blessing wine and using the symbolic “blood” to christen the land. Even the king of Mu had made his own attempts, spilling his own blood once a month in the hopes that his sacrifice would bring him a new world.
All had failed.
But Kirill knew something the other men hadn’t. It was the World Tree that needed the blood, not just the land. And the tree didn’t seem to want just any blood either. No, it had summoned the princes of the five kingdoms. It was their blood that would unlock the prophecy and open up the Great New World. As best as Kirill could determine, the true World Tree couldn’t even be found unless the tree itself willed it.
Kirill sat down on a stool in front of the table. Despite their kingdoms’ history, none of the other princes seemed to know anything about the prophecy. Even the god seemed to act on instinct as opposed to any real knowledge. If Kirill could just get a few more pieces to the puzzle, it would put him ahead of them all. He had so much information at his fingertips, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more. If only Serafina didn’t insist on being so difficult.
His thoughts turned to the bloodthirsty sorceress that ruled the territory to the east. He’d been courting her for ages, coaxing out information in painstakingly small bits and pieces. Serafina was one of the oldest creatures in the kingdom. If anyone could help him decipher the scroll, it was her.
Unfortunately, he didn’t trust her. It wasn’t anything personal to Serafina, per se, Kirill didn’t trust anyone. He especially didn’t trust anyone enough to let them see the scroll. Kirill frowned. Serafina knew something about the prophecy. Just last night, she’d mentioned the prince of Sanguenay and commented that she was pleased his blood would remain potent. The way she’d stared into Kirill’s eyes had convinced him that she knew something, but every time he’d tried to pry more information from her she’d just smiled and changed the subject.
Frustration sizzled through his veins and Kirill shot to his feet. The stool toppled over with the sudden force of his movement, but he ignored it. He stormed over to the wall where a map of the five kingdoms hung. The paper tickled the pad of his finger as he ran it over
Dacia
, searching within the kingdom’s border for Serafina’s territory.
“Her castle must be there somewhere,” he murmured. If he was right, and Serafina did know more about the prophecy than she was sharing, then finding her castle would provide him with the greatest chance of getting that information. As the prince of the kingdom, he had the right to demand entrance to any building in
Dacia
, including Serafina’s castle. All he had to do was find it.
The sorceress had been irritatingly secretive about the location of her home. No matter how Kirill flattered her or seduced her, the woman refused to invite him to her home. Without the invitation, Kirill had thus far found it impossible to locate her.
Growling, he turned away from the map and strode to the door. He would leave now and search until he found Serafina’s castle. He would find her tonight if he had to ask every creature in the kingdom for clues.
Kirill shut the door behind him, forcing himself to do it quietly. He stormed through the twisted passageways, his mind spinning over his kingdom, trying to parse out where to start his search.
“Kirill!”
The queen clutched at her chest as Kirill jerked to a halt just in time to keep from running her down. Her brown eyes narrowed.
“Kirill, really, must you blunder around like that? You nearly scared my heart to beating again.”
“My apologies, Mother,” Kirill said, infusing his voice with sincerity as he smoothly drew his mother’s attention away from the passage he’d just come down. Her gaze followed him as he turned, taking her hand in his as he did so. “I did not mean to frighten you.” He laid a kiss on the back of her hand.
“Why don’t you turn that charm on a young lady from a nice noble family?” his mother demanded, pulling her hand back. “You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
“I’m not getting any older either.”
The queen rolled her eyes. “You jest, but I am not kidding. Find a wife, settle down, and stop stalking around like a lion with a thorn in its paw.”
Kirill fixed a polite smile on his face as he fought the urge to grind his fangs. “Yes, thank you for the advice, Mother. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really must be going.”
“Off to do some more scheming, no doubt.”
“I—”
“No, no, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know,” his mother interrupted. “You and your father can parcel it out amongst
yourselves,
I want no part of it.”
Kirill’s shoulders dipped slightly as he watched his mother sweep down the hallway, headed in the direction of her chambers. It had taken him nearly a decade after rising from the grave to fully realize what rising from the undead meant for his chance at the throne. Almost ten years to realize that not only would his father never die, or grow too old to rule, he would also never step down and let Kirill succeed him. Kirill didn’t blame his father for that, after all, it was from his sire that Kirill had inherited his thirst for power. The fact that his mother had never pressured the king, never even tried to insist that her son, who had been training to take the throne all of his human life, be given a chance to rule…that had hurt.
“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. He turned and flowed down the hallway, not slowing down even after he’d burst through the front gates. The guards saluted him, standing so hard at attention that they nearly vibrated with the effort. Kirill flashed his fangs, making his mood clear just in case there was any doubt. The cool caress of the winter air on his fangs reminded him that he had not yet fed, and he made a mental note to keep an eye out for an appropriate meal. With any luck, he would encounter a traveler and be able to slake his thirst, hypnotize them, and send them on their way.