Chapter 13 #2
“Yes and no.” Vander followed my gaze. “If Veradorn were a house, the Everless might be its porch. This place is like a doorway. Right now, we’re sitting on the front steps.”
Water splashed into the pool. The steady cascade had stained the front of the statue’s gown, the marble folds darker than her smooth cheeks and molded arms.
“I left Veradorn when I was eighteen,” Vander said.
He braced his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced and his gaze on a spot in the grass.
“Time runs differently in the elven plane. When I returned to Sausberg, a hundred years had passed. My family was dead, the house I was born in demolished and rebuilt two times over. I had nowhere to go. No money. I’m not proud of it, but I took to stealing for a while.
The law caught up with me. When they put me in prison, the constable gave me a choice between the noose and the army.
” Vander looked at me. “I chose the army.”
“And you fought for King Hubert,” I said, my heart breaking for the teenager he’d been.
“I was twenty when they sent my regiment to the front lines of the war. That Hubert was the thickest of them all. Rumor had it his grandmother had been part pixie. He was obsessed with magic, and he had notions of reuniting Ghedda and Nocta.” Vander snorted.
“That went as well as you might expect. We were slaughtered at the Feyline. I was dying on the battlefield when Rasimir found me. Just before he swung his sword to take my head, something stayed his hand. He sensed my changeling blood, and he turned me. I’ve served him ever since. ”
“Why?” I asked, the parade of horrors I’d witnessed making me clench my hands in my skirts. “You can’t enjoy serving Rasimir.” As soon as I said it, I realized my mistake. Because maybe Vander did enjoy it.
“He doesn’t,” Lorcan said, snapping my attention to him.
His color was better, and his eyes were sharp.
“Vander’s service isn’t a matter of choice.
Rasimir sired him. Vander can’t refuse a direct order without enduring intense pain.
The longer he resists, the worse the pain becomes. Eventually it leads to death.”
I knew my shock showed on my face as I turned back to Vander. “I’ve never heard this.”
His faint smile returned. “Know a lot of turned vampires, do you?”
I blinked. “No. I don’t know any.” And Mama had rarely spoken of vampires, turned or otherwise. Secrecy was safety. Even in the privacy of the cottage, we’d acted as if nothing were out of the ordinary. I’d spent my life blending in so I would never be found out.
“There are four types of Noctans,” Vander said.
“The first kind serve Rasimir because they revel in cruelty. The second serve out of fear and a desire to live. The third have decided they can do more good than harm by staying close to him. Perhaps, they reason, they can curb his worst impulses. The fourth don’t serve him at all.
Not everyone agrees with me, but they’re the bravest among us. ”
“Who are they?”
“The Resistance. At least, that’s what they call themselves.”
I sat up straighter, the promise of answers making my blood pump faster. “And this is the war Rasimir is fighting?”
Vander nodded. “They’ve never named a formal leader, which is a smart move on their part. Rasimir would immediately target anyone who challenged him. But informally, two groups pose the biggest challenge to Rasimir’s rule.”
“Witches and werewolves,” Lorcan said, repeating the words he’d rasped in my ear as he warned me not to attempt another escape. When I looked at him, he offered a tired smile. “And if you’re wondering if I revel in cruelty, the answer is yes.”
Vander scowled at him. “Only because you’ve been a fool. You should have let me handle the wolf.”
“Excellent plan, Captain.” Lorcan leaned forward. “Next time, I’ll be sure to let the werewolf rip my throat out while you return from chasing the other werewolf. Did he get away?”
Vander was quiet for a moment. “I’ll track him later.”
“Fuck,” Lorcan muttered, shoving a hand through his hair.
“You could have held the first one off,” Vander said, his tone growing hotter. “But you wanted his strength. And look where it got you, losing control—”
“My control is fine,” Lorcan snapped.
Vander’s eyes widened. “Is that a jest?”
“No more so than the one sitting in front of me.”
The bench shook as Vander jumped up. He stabbed a finger at Lorcan. “You always do this. You know you’re wrong, so you resort to insults rather than simply admitting you were too greedy to pass up a chance at more power.”
Lorcan was on his feet in a blink. “What would you have me do?” He flung a hand toward me. “Let them kill her? You know that’s what they want.”
“What?” I gasped, standing.
Both men jerked their heads toward me. The splash of water cut through the silence.
“Who wants me dead?” I demanded. Vander’s shoulders lifted as he sighed. The movement broke the tension, draining the masculine aggression from the air.
“Sit,” Vander said, motioning me to the bench. “Please,” he added more softly.
I eased back down, but my wariness remained as he settled beside me once more.
Lorcan stayed standing, his arms folded over his chest and his black cloak trailing to the grass. His posture was intimidating, but his eyes were somber as he looked at me.
“You are Rasimir’s heir,” he said. “He’s spent centuries stealing power from other immortals. But one race is more versatile than the others, their abilities limited only by their ambition and distaste for battle. They speak magic as a language, wielding a variety of powers with words alone.”
The strange words he and Vander had used echoed in my mind. Rasimir had used them, too. “Which race?” I demanded, but I had an idea. The woman from the dungeon flashed in my mind, her snarled Blood traitor ringing in my ears.
“The witches,” Lorcan said, confirming my suspicion.
“Unlike us, they don’t have to steal magic.
They possess a variety of magical gifts, and they can accumulate more by ripping power words from other witches.
The strongest witches possess dozens of these words.
The ancients among them have hundreds. Rasimir has hunted the witches to the brink of extinction, draining them so he can borrow their abilities.
Of course they want to kill any potential successor. ”
My body flashed hot and then cold. I’d been brought into Nocta against my will, and now an entire magical race wished me dead. “You steal magic, too,” I told Lorcan. “Do the witches want to kill you?”
“Everyone wants to kill me.”
Vander tossed Lorcan a look of annoyance before turning to me. “Rasimir isn’t the fastest or strongest vampire. He’s not even the cleverest. But he possesses something unique. Something that has allowed him to rule Nocta for five hundred years.”
“He retains the gifts he steals,” Lorcan said with a grimace.
“Not permanently, but longer than any other vampire I’ve met.
I’ve seen him wield a gift for decades before the magic fades.
When he began to rise to power, he targeted witches with rare magic.
” Lorcan huffed. “He was strategic about it, I’ll give him that.
He knew which gifts he needed to defeat whatever enemy he faced at any given time.
One by one, every group that challenged him fell. ”
Vander looked at me. “But there’s a price for stealing magic.”
“Madness,” I said, suppressing a shiver at the memory of the gills flexing in my neck.
Lorcan offered a grim nod. “It doesn’t happen the first time.
Or the second, or even the tenth. But every time a vampire drains a creature to claim their magic, they risk insanity.
We drink at our peril, and the deeper we drink, the greater the danger.
It’s exceedingly difficult to fight the spiral.
Doing so rips away our sense of right and wrong.
It muddles our minds, filling our heads with memories from lives we haven’t led.
Accumulating power makes us want more of it.
Eventually, we become insatiable, our thirst never satisfied.
Our ancestors knew this, but Rasimir dismissed their ancient wisdom.
He believed his ability to hold on to magic meant that he was born to rule, so he set about collecting gifts.
The more powerful the witch, the more he coveted their magic. ”
“That’s why he drank your mother,” Vander said.
I startled. “My mother doesn’t have any magic.”
Lorcan gave a short, humorless laugh. “Your mother is one of the most powerful witches to walk this plane.”
For a moment, I could only stare, denials mounting in my head. Finally, they forced their way out of my mouth. “My mother is human. She’s a healer.”
Lorcan’s stare didn’t waver. “Lilawen is an exceptionally skilled liar. It’s one of her gifts.”
Anger was a sudden brush fire in my chest. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Easy,” Vander said, putting a hand on mine. “Lorcan speaks the truth.” An edge entered Vander’s voice as he shot Lorcan a disgruntled look. “He could be more diplomatic about it, but it’s true.”
Lorcan glanced at Vander’s hand on mine. “Diplomacy is generally best suited for preventing wars, Captain. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of one.”
Vander ignored him. “Lilawen wasn’t honest with you about her past, Corinthe.
Your mother isn’t human. She’s a witch. And not just any witch.
She apprenticed with the Crau Setra as a child.
They’re a secretive order. Always female and always exceptionally gifted.
Their Devout Mother is the most powerful witch in Nocta. ”
Mother.
In my head, Mama crossed a shadowy temple and knelt at the foot of a throne. A veiled woman looked down at her before turning to me.
Are you a tool or a blade?
A flash of black pulled me from the memory of my dream. Lorcan moved closer, the dragonstone pommel flaring red under the fold of his cloak.