Chapter 8 Arctos
Arctos
The vampire is even weaker than I anticipated.
Arctos yanked her along to the court, shame hot under his armored chest plate. His take had been meager, his incursion too easy. And just seven kills to show for it.
Seven.
Would he hover at the brink of immortality over one kill?
He wished he could wring this leech’s neck and live forever, but she was no challenging foe.
Arctos would never dishonor Wóden by offering such a tribute in his name.
Besides, Queen Yrsa had ordered him to deliver this parasite, and so he would.
As he dragged the vampire along, Arctos tried to see the court through her eyes.
No banners or statues filled it, only cold rock and guards coiled tight with violence, every one of them riding the razor’s edge of a Berserker shift.
Rage shimmered just beneath their skin, pupils blown wide, breaths too loud in the vaulted space.
Other factions in the Skein dismissed Berserkers as lowly animals, but that misconception was a strength.
Animals survived.
Those guards narrowed their eyes at the pale female in her nearly transparent gown. Arctos scowled to read interest in their gazes—reluctant, yes, but interest all the same. For a leech whose frail appearance screamed decadence?
As Ink had said, I’d rather fuck a basilisk.
Why would Bloodreach wish to breed this creature? If she was the best of her kind, then the Berserkers needed to attack them now and be done with it.
As Arctos forced her farther underground, even he—with his limited mortal senses—could hear her erratic heartbeat. Her wan skin sheened with sweat, and the incense clinging to her seemed to thicken. Her gaze darted.
She should be afraid. The queen might make her a lesson or a pet. Who knew with Yrsa? He was certain of only one thing: Never cross the first channeler.
She was his gods-mother, and still he’d never quite figured her out.
Behind his helmet, he cast the vampire a cruel smile, wondering how she would react once he revealed the rest of his face.
She stumbled, and Arctos all but lifted her into the air. Her arm felt like a dried twig in his grip. She cast him a teary look with clear eyes. No red? Must not have killed as she drank yet. Give her time.
She finally found her tremulous voice. “Where are you taking me?”
“To meet your fate, which I hope is at the end of my sword.”
Her gaze fell on the weapon sheathed at his side, bloodied, but not enough.
Unsporting. The word kept repeating. Inkletter’s castle contact—some traitorous servant who fancied herself in love—had even undermined the protection wards guarding Emilia. Be careful who you trust, leech.
Torben barked a laugh as they passed. “However did you manage to capture that one?”
Arctos only grunted and kept walking. A warrior of his caliber—one who’d shown such promise—reduced to this humiliating spectacle.
Voices quieted when they entered the court.
“Ah, our new prisoner,” Yrsa called. “A vaunted vampire princess.” Everyone turned to stare.
Emilia’s gaze skittered past faces and snagged on the Channeler Stone. Her mouth parted as if with awe. Understandable. A shaft of sunlight caressed its lines, illuminating each inch of detail, every lick of lightning that had formed it.
“Well done, Arctos.” Yrsa scrutinized him. “But you still haven’t attained ohalla?”
“One kill short, my queen. Few valiant warriors challenged me.”
“One! You might’ve visited a barrack.”
Yes! I could have. But… “I followed your orders explicitly.”
“Hmm.” She gestured impatiently toward the vampire. “Come closer. Just her, Arctos.”
He reluctantly released the princess, and she limped forth, trailing blood from her bare feet. She must have cut them on the rocks leading here. Her cowardly shaking made the hem of her gown flutter around her bony knees.
Yrsa studied her, expression wavering between disgust and rampant disgust. “Princess Emilia, how disappointing your reflection must be, always reminding you of your inadequacy. You possess no strength. No fire. No cunning. I wonder if execution might not be a mercy.”
Let me do it!
“Speak, leech,” the queen commanded.
The vampire didn’t. Instead she pivoted and clumsily ran through the cavern, leaving little blood prints. Laughter chased her. Where was she going to go? Sunlight flooded the cave entrance, and she would know of no other way out.
Exhaling, he jogged after the princess. Yet then she bolted diagonally, heading away from the entrance toward the sunlit stone.
Suicide.
The queen yelled for her capture.
But the leech reached the stone before he could snare her.
The sun didn’t burn her skin! She pressed her palm against that sacred stone—the vilest blasphemy.
In a warbling voice, she called out in Old Norse, “I claim refuge in this queendom as an honorary Berserker with all the rights of this clan!”
He skidded to a stop a foot from her as three thoughts hit him:
With those words, she’s now a member of the clan.
I can no longer kill her.
This was all planned.
A seasoned spy like Ink had been played, just as Arctos had been. This puny leech had gotten captured on purpose. The castle contact who’d fed Ink information must have circumvented those spell defenses to enable just this scenario.
Had this princess been behind such a plot? Grudging admiration for her plan warred with suspicion. Perhaps the plot was only beginning. Perhaps her family had put her up to this for intelligence or sabotage.
Recovering from the moment’s shock, the queen resumed her seat and slowly clapped. “Well played. And it seems we’ve discovered your secret gift. The sun spares you?”
The leech nodded, black hair bouncing over her shoulders in the light.
Arctos’s impulse to yank her away from the stone was nearly uncontrollable. Others snarled with tensed muscles.
“How did you know what words to use and what they would mean to us?”
The vampire jutted her trembling chin. “Reading.”
“Indeed.” Queen Yrsa said, “So your father and king was going to use you to forge a sunlight army?” When the captive hesitated, Yrsa said softly, “You’ve demanded to be a member of this clan.
You spoke of the rights, but with them come responsibilities.
Sharing information about Bloodreach will only help us—your new people. ”
The vampire swallowed again. “I was to be sealed in the crypt to birth one hundred babes in as many years.”
Wóden’s beard! The vampires were insane.
“How were you going to test if a babe could withstand the sun? There’s no light down there, or so we’ve heard.”
“The witches once had a potion they used in a hex pouch.” Emilia hesitated, then admitted, “It contained…powdered sunlight. We stored some in the royal armory in case of an insurrection.”
“Powdered sunlight? We must investigate such a measure.”
Arctos clenched his jaw. Witchly tricks won no valiant immortality.
Yrsa said, “Bearing so many offspring would be a huge toll on one like you. And you’re not even fully immortal yet, are you?”
Emilia shook her head.
“Show deference,” Arctos snapped. “You are Queen Yrsa’s subject now.”
Emilia glared at him, then told Yrsa, “No, my queen. I can’t regenerate yet. I’m just twenty-two.” She finally lowered her hand and stepped away from the stone, knowing the damage was already done.
“How did you learn the sun was not your enemy?” Yrsa asked.
The vampire glanced at Arctos and back to the queen before saying, “A storm damaged a shutter, and a beam of light struck me. Instead of agony, I felt as if I’d been…called home.”
“Fascinating. And your family kept this secret for years. Which makes me wonder if there are more like you.”
“Not that I know of. Nor have I read of any in the past.”
Yrsa canted her head to determine the truth of her words. Natural-born vampires couldn’t lie, but what if this one hid a second talent? “Why us? Why not another faction? Wolves, witches, and the demonarchies have less call than we do to hate vampires.”
“I read of no other faction that had a binding covenant that might protect me.”
“Risky,” Yrsa mused. “When you were skillfully manipulating my finest warrior and his most trusted spy, why did you assume we’d capture you? We might have simply assassinated you.”
“I analyzed the situation and found the risk worth it. I would rather die than meet the fate my father planned for me.”
“A logical vampire? It’s been ages since I’ve seen that attribute in your kind, though you used to be hailed for it.” Yrsa would know; she’d been born before the Exile. “Will the vampires come for you?”
“No. They feared your incursion, and this male beside me appears to have wiped out most of the kingdom’s swordsmen.”
Arctos said, “You can’t convince me you have so few.”
“No one trains. It’s mocked. But…”
“But what?” he grated.
“My brother has some skill with a sword, and he might try to come after me with the few guards left or with mercenaries.”
“Attack the bears in their den? Is he crazed?”
“Yes. He is. My father does evil acts because he believes only royal vampires have worth. Prince Co?tin does evil acts because hurting people brings him happiness. He is a fiend who enjoys torture.”
The queen gazed on with narrowed eyes. “And your mother? Will she not burn down the Skein to get her daughter back?”
“I’m no beloved child to her. Her devotion is to blood, not to me.”
Yrsa said, “Still, even mistreated offspring cling to their family. Yet you have no loyalty to yours? Any thoughts for the guards my shieldchief felled?”
“They weren’t guarding me. They were trapping me. Like a bear, I wanted no cage.”
Yrsa leaned forward on her throne, the torches lighting new interest in her eyes. “Perhaps training will make a Berserker of you yet.”
Had Yrsa lost her own mind? Unmated immortals did risk madness as they aged. What else could explain the strange bent this conversation had taken? Discarding a hundred reasonable objections, he settled on common sense: “How are we meant to feed a vampire, my queen?”
Yrsa asked her, “Do you drink from others? Your eyes are clear, which means you haven’t drunk a victim to death, but perhaps your bloodlust is still developing.”
“I eat solely food. I’ve never had a sip of blood, have never had the urge to bite, nor felt fangache, the throbbing in the canines that accompanies thirst. Maybe it’s another power of mine.”
“Food, is it? Well, clearly not enough. Or of training. You must adopt a Berserker regimen quickly before you freeze weak and frail forever.”
The vampire glanced down at her own frame as if seeing it for the first time. She gave a small frown.
Yes, leech, you are objectionable in every way.
The queen continued, “I predict you only have a few months before you become fully immortal.”
“I believe so as well. My queen,” Emilia added with another look his way.
“You might not know this, but I have the right to choose spouses for Berserkers. And you are now a marriageable clan member. I’d like to see you wed.”
Audible swallow from the vampire. Her shaking intensified.
Who would Yrsa burden with such a millstone? Someone disfavored. Someone she wanted to shame eternally—
“Arctos will wed you,” Yrsa decreed.
Gasps.
Rage flared at the blistering insult; the vampire looked like she might faint. How clever is your plan now, leech?
He struggled to curb his tongue. The queen must expect a backlash from him. Her phalanx of queen’s guards certainly did. Around her throne, their bodies tightened like bowstrings.
Arctos’s own hand itched to draw his weapon, but he forced himself to say in a measured tone, “What offense earns me this, my queen? Beyond a life of absolute service.”
She flippantly waved away his words, spurring his rage even more. “You’ve wanted a wife and family. Here’s your chance.”
Family? Vampire children begotten on a leech? He had to choke back bile. His line—his parents’ line—to continue with this creature? If you live on, we live on.
“I hereby decree you wed. It is done.”
Murmurs rose from the crowd. More than a few would want him to use his notable talent—instant Berserkerage—to challenge the queen. If he could defeat the first channeler, he could take the throne and earn immortality, dispatching others to do the same.
No.
He forced a breath through his teeth, recalling the care Yrsa had given him and Torben as boys. This queen had earned his fealty. He couldn’t spend his fury on her, so he would spend it elsewhere. I will make this vampire’s life a living hell.
Yrsa turned to Emilia. “No one is more Berserker among us than Arctos of the Wintry Eye. You schemed to be here, so obviously you wanted a life of training and sacrifice. Your new husband will ensure you get it. Let’s see how a pampered leechling likes a bear’s life.”
And let’s see how she enjoys her new husband’s visage. He pulled off his helmet, revealing his face.
The vampire slowly turned to him with a look of dread. Whatever she saw was obviously worse than her imaginings. With a strangled cry, she fainted, hitting the ground like a bat shot out of the air.