Vampire Legacy (Book 4 of the Dragon Heat series) (3 page)

“This is our
water view
façade,” Lady Natalia said, probably sensing his curiosity.

“Do you mean that these balconies are the entrance to the royal chambers?”

“The back entrance,” she explained then turned to the opposite direction. “The front is through the heart of the mountain.”

After a few more minutes tailing Natalia along the labyrinth of soaring chambers, they reached a tall wooden door.

A faint
come in
reached Petran’s ears after Lady Natalia knocked. She opened the door and stepped aside to let him in.

A sudden putrid smell reached his nostrils.

The room was dimly lit by a single candle, but it was enough for him to distinguish his frail neighbor lying under heavy covers on the four post bed. The draco was the source of the foul smell. The smell of death.

Damn the Soartas
, Petran cursed silently. The rumors were true. Somenski was dying.

“Petran,” his neighbor murmured with a straining voice. “How glad am I to see you.”

“Hello, old chap,” Petran replied lightly, stepping inside the room.

Natalia pulled a chair close and motioned for him to take a seat by her father’s bedside. Petran obliged, even though he desired nothing but to lift the covers and investigate what in Hiad had taken down a millennia-old dragon.

“Apologies for not having met you at the gates,” the draco said. “But as you see, the Soartas decided to teach me a lesson.”

“If I didn’t know better,” Petran replied. “I would think you sent your daughter to greet me on purpose, so I would be too smitten to demand the rent you owe me.”

Somenski’s wrinkled face lifted as he cackled without reservation, but the laughter soon turned into an ugly cough. At once, Natalia jumped to his aid, bringing him a glass of something, which smelled like rotting seaweed. As they both struggled to control the attack, Petran noticed in horror that the draco’s skin suddenly shifted from smooth beige to green scales, his eyes turned yellow, his irises thinned into slits, just to pop out again after a moment. It seemed as if Somenski had lost control over his mutation, as if his dragon was trapped inside and was struggling to come out. Merciful Soartas, it was painful even to watch.

Petran had never liked dracos, never trusted them—who could blame him after so much animosity over the centuries? His great-great-grandfather Vlad Dracul, had tried to make amends and even went as far as enduring the trials and became the first vampire member of the Order of the Dragon, but to no avail. He was soon betrayed and assassinated, giving Petran’s great grandfather, Vlad Tepes the perfect excuse to lead one of the bloodiest campaigns in their history. After all that, there was no trust, no peace between Vampires and Dragons. Just between neighbors.

Somenski was different though. His ill-timed sense of humor and love for self-scorn had managed to break through Petran’s prejudices. And when the old lizard had come to Petran asking permission to harvest a section of his territory in exchange for a small fee, he’d had no reason to refuse the request. Over the years, that simple exchange had turned into an unexpected friendship.

After a few moments of struggle, the coughing resided and Somenski managed to take a deep breath.

Still troubled by the disturbing sight, Petran leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. “So the rumors are true. You have been afflicted by the strange Curse that is wiping out your serfs.”

Somenski didn’t reply straight away. He took a few more sips of the strange water Natalia offered then sunk back on the pillows. “I would entertain you with some fairytale as an explanation, but I’m afraid you’d want too many details and I’m not in an inventive mood tonight.”

“Good, because I, on the other hand, am in the investigative mood this eve,” Petran replied trying hard to keep his tone jovial.

His neighbor didn’t find it funny. A heavy aura had descended in the dark chamber.

“Somenski,” Petran said, breaking the silence, “I don’t believe in divine curses. I believe in facts, and the fact is that your country has been stricken by a disease that can bind a millennia-old dragon to a bed.”

The draco opened his mouth to answer but another coughing fit made him change course. Once again, his skin changed into thick scales and his eyes turned yellow, like a wave, which came and went. And just like before, Natalia was right there to help her father, promptly supporting him up as he contorted in agony.

“We don’t know what’s causing this ailment,” she replied cleaning her father’s chin then helping him drink the strange, smelly tea. “Some country folks believe we’re being punished by Apa Dobrý but these are just superstitions driven by ignorance. The only thing we do know is that the illness blocks dracos from shifting, therefore, locking them in human form.”

“How can that be?” Petran had never heard of such thing, and had he not seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it.

She exhaled and shrugged weakly. “We need to shift to gain our strength, since he cannot...”

“He cannot gain enough strength to fight the disease,” Petran added, finishing the sentence for her.

She nodded affirmatively.

“What happens if you don’t shift for a length of time?” Petran asked, but the answer didn’t come from Natalia.

“Then our bodies deteriorate in a matter of months,” a male voice replied from the back of the room. “Like many have in the last year.”

Petran jumped to his feet at the sound of the new comer.

Kalaur, the Dragon Lord of the Eastern Mountains was standing by the balcony door. His imposing figure blocked the entire breadth of the frame.

Just like Somenski, the dragon lord owned a good chunk of East Europe, but unlike his old chap, Kalaur had never managed to gain Petran’s trust. He was cold-blooded and ambitious—never a good combination to have for a neighbor.

“Oh, my lord,” Natalia exclaimed holding her chest in her hands. “You startled us. I thought you had left when we came in and didn’t find you by my father’s side.”

Apparently Kalaur decided her remark was not worthy of his attention because he continued his statement as if he had never been interrupted. “Yes, it is a terrible Curse indeed but not to fear, I have my best physician developing an antidote as we speak.”

“Developing an antidote with what?” Petran asked. “I have never heard of anything like this disease before?”

“No disrespect, your majesty,” Kalaur replied clearly not meaning his words. “But this is a draconian matter.”

“The House of Basarab has been my neighbor for longer than you have, Kalaur,” Somenski uttered gravely. “Remember your place.”

“It’s alright, old friend,” Petran intervened quickly. He wanted to pin Kalaur’s tongue to the wall for his insolence, but held himself in check. Petran needed answers and apparently, the bastard had some. “I understand that in times like these, one’s patience is tested. Would it be too upsetting if you told me when this antidote will be available?”

“Soon,” Kalaur replied. “My physician is conducting the final tests.”

“On whom?” Somenski asked. A deep crease wrinkled his brow. “By Apa Dobrý, Kalaur, don’t tell me you are testing this drug on our own people!”

“How else would you like us to find a cure for your disease? Besides, they are just peasants,” the bloody lizard retorted with a short shrug. “There are plenty left still to work the lands.”

Petran never took kindly to blunt cruelty, but knew well that some lords in these parts of the world still saw their land as their kingdom and the peasants as mere serfs who should be grateful for a roof over their heads. Petran would never rule this way but unfortunately, as Kalaur had put it, it was truly none of his business.

“They are still our people, my lord, our flesh and blood,” Natalia commented. Apparently, she didn’t share Kalaur’s detachment. Despite her soft voice, her spine was as rigid as a rod, her jaw locked, and her pink lips pursed into a thin line. “I have been watching over the villages affected, and I believe there’s a pattern. After the first wave—”

“Nonsense,” the dragon lord barked interrupting her. “You are inexperienced and know nothing of the ways of this land, milady. Leave the serious affairs to those who know what’s best.”

Petran narrowed his eyes and fantasized about his fists connecting with Kalaur’s long nose. However, he came here to find out what was happening to his neighbor, not to start a fight with a powerful dragon lord, even if he were a deserving prick. So, he sat back down again and dared not intervene. He was also secretly hoping Somenski would come to Lady Natalia’s rescue, but the opposite occurred. 

“He is right, my dear,” Somenski said, agreeing with his despot visitor. “You have been gone for a number of years.”

“And in London, the feeblest places of all! Once you are mine,” Kalaur added, “I will teach you how to be a true draconian duchess.”

Petran froze.
Once she was his
? What in Hiad? His eyes darted to Natalia, expecting surprise or revulsion but he found only stillness.

“And do not you worry, my friend,” Kalaur turned his focus to Somenski. “I will ensure your girl is provided for once you’re gone.”

“I’m not dead yet,” his neighbor replied without a hint of his usual lightness.

“So, are congratulations in order then?” Petran asked, testing the waters.

“We haven’t announced it yet, but—”

“Yes, Natalia will soon become the Duchess of Cossack, and my wife,” Kalaur said, confirming the horrible news.

Damn the Soartas. “And when is the happy date?”

“Soon,” Kalaur replied taking a seat at the feet of the bed. “And Natalia should start preparing for it. Running my castle will be a strenuous task and I accept nothing but perfection and precision. You shouldn’t have allowed her to live in London for so long, Somenski. She probably led a life of idleness and superfluity.”

“She was studying at the best boarding school for girls in our world, Kalaur,” Somenski replied. “The Mother Superior ensured me she spent her days either studying or working as a volunteer.”

As the two dragons discussed Natalia’s life as if she wasn’t there, Petran couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. Even though the times were changing and the word of revolution and female emancipation was spreading like fire, Romania was still virtually ruled under the feudal system, where one’s life decisions were not one’s own. Women were betrothed as soon as possible, sometimes even before they could walk, guaranteeing the continuation of wealth within noble families. Of course, Somenski would be thinking of ensuring his only daughter’s future with a good marriage, especially now that a strange disease had afflicted him. But Kalaur was far from being his best option, of that, Petran was certain. The bastard had never taken a wife before, nor had he ever showed any interest in doing so. Why was he so open to the idea of marriage now? The answer was obvious. Natalia was the catch of the century—wealthy, beautiful, young and his neighbor. Joining their wealth and lands would be no trouble. The problem was that Somenski’s lands were the only thing between Petran’s and Kalaur’s—a perfect barrier, which Petran was not ready to lose.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a slight change in Natalia’s posture. While the two dracos discussed what she should or should not do in preparation for her new life, Natalia kept quiet as tradition dictated, but Petran could sense her turmoil inside. Her eyes searched, her fingers twitched. It was clear that she was enjoying the conversation as much as he was.

Slowly, a plan formed in his head.

He had to protect his territory at all costs. If the marriage between the two draconian families brought them as one, Kalaur would have free passage to Petran’s lands, and that was too dangerous even to contemplate. No, he needed to stop the marriage, and there were only two means of doing so—finding another, equally profitable prospect for Kalaur, or making the lovely Natalia unfit for matrimony of high class. The latter seemed a much more attractive option. And why not? Deflowering such a beautiful rose was hardly a sacrifice in Petran’s mind. If any rumors of promiscuity would reach the ton, her future as Duchess of Cossack would be dismissed like a serf begging for money. Kalaur valued his reputation too much to jeopardize it with a disgraced bride. Poor Somenski would suffer the blow, of course, but there was little Petran could do to prevent that misfortune. He was fond of the old dragon, but not enough to risk his country for him. After all, losing a good neighbor was nothing compared to losing a crown.

“So, I’ll see you at the Open Games, Petran.”

Kalaur’s words brought him back from his machinations. “Yes, you certainly will,” he replied promptly. “Your opening ceremony has cost me a small fortune already.”

“How so?”

“My wife, Hillia, believes it is a fair reason to buy the entire dress collection from every single couture master in Paris,” Petran replied not bothering to feign his disgust. Then he turned his attention to his new target. “Are you planning on attending the games, milady?”

“I’d love to but I’m afraid my father won’t be fit enough to travel by then,” she replied softly.

“Nonsense,” her father grunted in disapproval. “I want you to go and enjoy your time there. This may be your last Open Games as a Somenski.”