Vampire Legacy (Book 4 of the Dragon Heat series) (31 page)

Chapter Thirty Five

Talia stomped down the corridor and opened the heavy doors to the ancient library, knowing her father would be inside. This time, he would not evade her questions.

Enough is enough.

It had been almost three months since he had freed her from Kalaur’s claws and war had descended between the two dragon lords. The Senate, however, continued to believe there was a chance of reaching a peaceful resolution, even though her father had given sufficient proof to condemn Kalaur and his horde to Hiad.

And apart from that, he had not told her much.

When she questioned him about how he had found out the Curse had been spread by infested blankets and that the cure was to force scorching heat upon his body, his answers had been very vague to say the least. Deep inside she knew Petran had had something to do with it, but she could hardly ask her father that. And the not-knowing was driving her to the verge of a nervous breakdown.

As well as Petran’s silence.

Rumors had been flying through the grapevine like wildfire. Some of her servants had told her Kalaur had captured and killed Petran, while others swore that after fleeing from the Castle of Kings, he planned to invade the draconian lands with the support of other vampire lords in the West. Talia knew not to believe any of the rumors. But what else did she have? Well, she needed to know for sure what had happened to Petran, and she knew her father had some answers, if not all the answers she sought.

“Father,” she called from the door.

“Yes,” he replied from his desk. A large map of the Eastern Countries lay on top of the table with a number of miniature armies set on specific parts. Talia knew the red ones represented her father’s troops, and the black ones, Kalaur’s. The map was a sea of black.

“We need to talk,” she replied stepping into the room and closing the doors behind her.

“I am busy, Natalia. Now is not a good time.”

“I have heard Petran has fled into exile and is trying to gather allies from the Western World. Is this true?” she asked, coming straight to the point. After all, there was no use in beating around the proverbial bush.

Her father simply lifted his gaze from the map to look at her, but did not utter a word.

“I am no fool, Father,” Talia added. “I know what this map means and I know we are losing the war. Finding Petran may be our last chance of winning it.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, that is so,” she replied, purposely ignoring his condescending tone. “Petran is probably gathering supporters as we speak, which means if we can ally ourselves with the vampires, we can attack as a united front.” Without asking for permission, she stomped to the map and moved some pieces around. Her father yelped in response, as if she had just ruined his favorite game but did not stop her. “Petran’s supporters can attack the Desert Daemons from the West,” she carried on, moving three red miniature troops to stand on top of the Austrian Empire, which shared a frontier with the Daemons. “While we attack Kalaur from the East,” she added, pointing at the red armies on top of the Russian Territory.

A deep frown appeared on her father’s brow. He was actually considering her suggestion.

“You see,” she continued. “Allying ourselves with the vampires is the only way.”

His surprised gaze went from the map to her then back to the map. After a while, he straightened up and folded his arms across his broad chest. “Your infallible plan has one flaw, my daughter. No one knows where Petran is hiding.”

“I can find that out.”

“You?”

“Yes,” she replied, holding her chin up high. “I spent over a year running the rebel operations, Father, I have means no one else does. Believe me.”

“I do...unfortunately.” It was obvious he did not want to revisit that part of their recent past.

“If I find him, I can convince him of your plan. That is, if he’s willing to speak to me again.”

“If he’s a man of his word, he won’t,” her father growled in reply.

So that was it—the reason for Petran’s silence which had driven her to near insanity in the past months. He had given her father his word never to speak to her again. But why?

She leaned forward and slowed down. “Father, what really happened that night you were cured?”

He stared at her with hard eyes, but gave her no answer.

“I know Petran was the one who cured you. And despite the fact that he probably risked his life to save yours, you still haven’t forgiven him. But that is not the point.”

“It is not?”

“No,” she added. “This war is much bigger than my affair with Petran. It has never been about Kalaur’s tainted honor, or my virginity.” Her father flinched at her blunt words, but didn’t interrupt her. “This war is about expanding one’s supremacy in the oldest fashion—by invading and conquering your neighbor. And we cannot let hypocritical honor blind us. If we do, they win.”

Her great father, Somenski the Truthful, Draconian Lord of Moldavia, regarded her with his deep brown eyes. Talia held her breath in the silence, so thick she could slice it with a knife. She didn’t waver her gaze though, her voice hadn’t faltered. She knew he respected honesty and strength of character, he just hadn’t expected it from his little daughter.

“By Apa Dobrý, you do sound just like your mother,” he finally murmured, running a hand through his perfectly combed ginger-colored hair.

Talia exhaled in relief, but her quest wasn’t over. There was one last thing she needed from him. “Father, please, tell me what really happened that night at Mount Vesuvius. Tell me everything.”

Chapter Thirty Six

Petran’s castle sat perched on top of a high mountain. Four towers guarded its thick walls, bordered by a wide moat. Unwanted visitors had a difficult time sneaking their way in, unnoticed anyway. The tower watches were capable of seeing every movement around the medieval fortress.

Talia adjusted the belt on her waist, trying to stop her male trousers from falling down. Martha had done a better job at finding her disguises before, but it was the best for now. The choice of a male outfit had been a great idea at the time, because in theory, it would give her more freedom to climb and run at will—in theory.

So, here she was, the Duchess of Moldavia, dressed in male servant’s clothes, crouched low on the dirt, trying to find a way to invade a fortress filled with vampires.

How very proper of her.

At least her boy’s hat, hiding her red locks out of sight, wasn’t blocking her from spotting the new vampire guard, who had just stepped out of the tower to do his round. She ducked low, trying hard not to make a noise. Even though she was far from the guard, she knew vampires had acute ears and could hear a pin drop from miles away.

A flickering light on the outer wall caught her attention. The guard watching the west wall was smoking some sort of pipe. Talia huffed. She had no idea vampires could smoke. The pipe moved along until it met another flickering light on the farthest east end of the wall. Apparently, the two guards who were supposed to be watching the area had decided to have a break.

Perfect.

Without overthinking her lack of strategy too much, she flapped her wings and made her way to the unguarded part of the wall. She kept low and within the shadows until she crept up and around the edge. As soon as her leather boots touched solid stone, she retrieved her wings and covered her slender body with a thick cape.

First hurdle successfully overcome. Now, she had to find her way around the huge castle without discovery.

Her plan was to pretend she was an errand boy who had gotten lost within the immense size of the fortress. She had even practiced a few lines in case the worse befell her, and she was found out.

“I’m telling ya, I’m getting sick and tired of that blood sucker. One day I’ll snap his neck in two, you’ll see.” The male voices nearby made her jump startled. The watch guards were coming back from their ridiculously short break.

Talia crouched low and ran the opposite way, toward a door at the end of the wall. Their curious conversation was not lost on her ears though. What a funny way vampires had of referring to their counterparts.

She reached the door but before she touched the handle, the door opened nearly hitting her in the face.

Oh, dear.

She glued herself to the wall praying for the Soartas to make her invisible.

A burly man smelling like charcoal walked straight out shouting curses at the other guards. The loud conversation gave her the perfect cover to duck low and sneak through the door before it shut behind her.

“Thank you, Apa Dobrý,” she murmured, but then realized she had celebrated too soon.

Utter darkness met her on the inside.

How in Hiad was she supposed to find clues to Petran’s whereabouts like this? Well, she didn’t know what she was looking for exactly or even if Hillia would talk to her, but she had to try. After the incredibly honest conversation with her father, when he told her about Petran’s promise to never see her, it became obvious to her Petran had planned to return to his castle at some point. She had no other clues, so the obvious place to start was the last location where he had last been.

Rumor had it that even though Kalaur’s troops had the castle surrounded, Hillia still ruled, and nothing took place without her knowledge. If anyone knew where Petran was, Hillia did.

Panic crept into her heart, making her insides churn. The last thing Talia wanted was to face the vampire queen. She was still scarred by their last tête-à-tête at the Open Games, and after her affair with Petran had been unveiled, she doubted the Hillia held her in high regards. But Talia had to find Petran, not only because she missed him terribly but because she truly believed he was her father’s only hope.

She took a few deep breaths and forced her mind to think straight.

If she couldn’t see anything then at least one thing was also certain, no one could see her either. For now, she was safe.

Exhaling measured breaths, she patted the emptiness around her while finding her feet. The walls curved giving way to another chamber and another door. She cracked it open and peeked inside. It was filled with men working around a wide furnace, forging swords and other weapons, and seemingly too busy to notice her.

Talia sneaked in and let the door close behind her. A blast of hot air hit her square in the face, making her wince. How could these vampires work in such heat? She was dragon and could feel it deep into her bones.

A slight frown wrinkled her brow. The vampires in question looked a bit too tanned for people who could not see the sun.

“What are you doing here, boy?” one of the blacksmiths yelled from the other side of the room.

Talia jumped startled. 

“I—I,” she stuttered while her feet froze in place. Out of all excuses she had practiced at home, not even one came to mind.

“This ain’t no place for scrawny lads,” the vamp barked again. His words of warning caught the attention of the other workers in the room.

Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear…

She had to get out of here, immediately. She mumbled a few words even she could not understand while trying to hide her face, and make her way to the exit. Where was that damned exit? In her haste, she didn’t see the table full of swords in front of her and slammed right against it. Blades and impossibly large knifes flew onto the floor, clattering and clashing onto the stone.

“Hey, watch out, you fool,” another man shouted, advancing her way.

Talia’s feet moved of their own accord even before her mind registered what she was doing. She ran as fast as she could and scurried through the first door she found, only to slam into yet another man on the other side.

“Sorry, sire,” she mumbled with her head down, and moved along as if she was just passing through.

“Hold on,” the man said, grabbing Talia by the elbow. He had a strange sounding voice, with a weird vibrato coating it.

Her breath caught in her throat and her face paled as recognition dawned on her. It was Yerik, Petran’s councilor. The same man whom her father said was in collusion with Kalaur.

“Do I know you?” Yerik asked. His hand reached out toward her hat with the clear intention of removing it.

Talia’s brain kick started as panic fueled her muscles. Without giving him any chance to go through with his intentions, she kicked him in the shin and yanked her arm away, turning on her heels to run for her life.

Only she did not move an inch.

“Let go of me,” she shouted struggling against Yerik’s hold, while trying hard to keep her face concealed. “I got lost, sire, the queen ordered me to get some fresh strawberries from the kitchen.”

“The kitchen is on the other side of the castle.”

“Well, I said I got lost, now didn’t I?”

His grip tightened around her elbow. “Who told you to come this way, boy?”

His hand was inches away from her cap. Oh Mighty Soartas, he was going to find her out.

“Lord Yerik.”

Talia let out a weak gasp when another man called her assailant. Yerik’s hand froze mid-air.

“Lord Balaur has arrived and requests your presence.”

“What can that buffoon possibly want with me now?” Yerik rolled his eyes. “Here,” he added, shoving Talia toward the other man. “Make sure this lad gets punished for wandering around without permission.”

Talia kept her head down as Yerik disappeared through the back door at the end of the hall. Her mind reeled to find of a better excuse for wandering around without permission, as he had put it. “Sire, I got lost after the queen asked me to—”

“What in Hiad are you doing here, milady?” the man growled at her.

Her eyes shot up to his face, and widened with surprise. Then, her legs turned to jelly when she saw who was in front of her.

“Arthur! Oh, thank you, Apa Dobrý!” She almost collapsed on the floor as relief washed away the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

“Do you understand the danger you are in? This castle is full of Kalaur’s guards,” Petran’s devoted chamberlain said in hushed tones as he pulled her aside.

“Kalaur’s guards?” She frowned, and then the coin dropped and everything made sense. That’s why those blacksmiths looked much too tanned. “Do you mean that Kalaur has Petran’s castle?”

“Did you not know?”

“No, I did not,” she answered feeling a bit embarrassed, but the reality was her spies had found very little, failing to give her substantial information about what was really happening in this part of Romania. “Arthur, where is Petran? Is he…was he killed?”

“No, milady,” Arthur said quickly. “The Dragon Lord has not succeeded in assassinating the King.”

“Was he captured?” Raw panic rushed through Talia’s body firing up every nerve ending. As if struck by lightning, her mind reeled a hundred miles per second. “We must rescue him. He cannot stay under Kalaur’s claws a moment longer! I can gather a small army. I know my father will complain but he will not dare stop me. You, gather the other vampires, I’ll find Zoricah and—”

“Lady Natalia,” Arthur commanded her attention. “His majesty has not been captured either. He is safe, for the time being at least.”

At those magical words, all the energy, which was pumping through Talia’s body, deserted her in one whoosh. “So, he is alive and well then?”

“Yes, milady.”

“Oh, thank you, merciful Soartas,” she murmured, hugging Arthur.

The chamberlain-turned-warrior stiffened under her surprising display of affection. “We must get you out of here before any of the dracos recognize you. I’ll teleport you back to your castle.”

“No!” Talia urgent command stopped him. “Take me to Petran.”

“Not a chance, I have strict orders.”

“Please, Arthur, I need to see him,” Talia begged.

He closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. “I cannot, milady. The king…he was clear—”

“I have spoken with my father. He was the one who asked me to find Petran so they could join forces to defeat Kalaur,” she said. It wasn’t a lie, not entirely after all. But the real truth was she needed to know Petran was all right, and to see him one last time.

Arthur regarded her with wary eyes.

“Please, Arthur, I must see him.” It had been almost three months since her release. Twelve long weeks had passed—endless days of wondering, of not knowing what had happened, how he was or if he missed her, or perhaps hated her. She had to know.

The chamberlain finally exhaled in resignation. “All right,” he replied, clearly not wanting to say those words. “But if I take you to his majesty, you must promise not to tell anyone of his location. Not even your father.”

“I promise. No one will know.”

**********

A strong wind blew across her face as the feeling of free falling dissipated and she and Arthur materialized on solid ground. The powerful smell of fish and spices invaded her nose and the soothing sound of waves crashing on the shore filled her ears. Talia glanced around taking in the beautiful yet alien surroundings.

They were on the edge of a harbor, with a few ships anchored nearby. Wooden warehouses and other establishments filled the length of the bay. The air was warmer than her home country, and the dark sky above displayed a different combination of stars. The dark blue waves reflected the recently risen moon hanging low in the sky. In the distance, an odd-looking bird flapped its wings. It was as big as a parrot but with cream and brown feathers, and an oddly square-shaped beak. It looked like nothing Talia had ever seen before but its call was what caught her attention the most. It did not resemble a bird’s song, it sounded more like a woman cackling. How bizarre.

“What is this place?”

“I cannot tell you,” Arthur replied somewhat sternly. “Follow me. We do not have much time. I must take you back to Moldavia before Yerik notices I’ve been gone.”

Talia kept quiet and bid to the chamberlain’s orders. As they walked through the small village, she noted that a few stores bore the name,
New South Wales
on their facades.

The village ended at the edge of a jungle, yet they still carried on.

After a good hour walking, they reached the banks of a shallow river with gray rocks, which seemed to sparkle under the moonlight. Talia’s mouth salivated and she rushed to quench her thirst in the crystalline water. When she looked up, after drinking several mouthfuls, she noticed a house on the other side of creek. It was modest with two stories, narrow windows and a wide veranda. Old oil lamps lit the wooden porch, which wrapped around the entire perimeter.

Talia stood up straight, letting the last drops of water seep through her fingers. Somehow, she knew it—they had arrived. Petran was just a few feet away.