Chapter 19
Drak
Every weathered walkway on the path to my mother’s room was etched into my memory.
I knew the maze of Mara’s Keep from a childhood spent sneaking through its corridors, and when I first discovered the stairs leading down into the depths beneath, I wasn’t even seven years old.
I found myself drawn to the dungeons below, drawn to Silver.
Not because of who she was, but because I recognized something within her, and it brought a strange comfort, even if the dungeons were cold and damp and Silver was angry and unkind.
Back then, I didn’t blame her for her unhinged behavior.
She was a little girl trapped behind bars. I would have been furious too.
And I grew angrier the older I got, and the more murderous she became.
In front of the heavy door, I drew a steady breath before gathering the strength to enter.
The door let out a yawning groan as I pushed through and stepped into the dusty bedchamber.
I’d abandoned this room when Lux returned to Mara’s Keep, only returning to visit the one who dwelled beneath the creaky hatch.
My bed lay empty, dust settling over the rumpled covers. Large stones filled the fireplace, which had once been a passageway leading outside the castle. Now, I blocked it off to keep the enemy from sneaking through.
I strode to the wooden hatch that I no longer kept concealed by a rug, and crouching, I pressed my hand against the splintered oak.
“Mother?” I said, my voice cracking. After several moments of silence, stirring echoed from the deep. “Mother, it’s Drak.”
The latch on the other side slid with a clunk. That was a good sign of her stability.
I gripped the handle and wrenched the hatch open to see my mother climbing back down into her bedchamber.
Her room was nothing unique, aside from it being hidden. A large bed occupied one end, with a chest at its foot. A wardrobe stood open, revealing her nightgowns, all the same drab beige she wore daily. Down here, she didn’t even know the difference between day and night.
Tall candles sat on the shelf of the open wardrobe above the hanging gowns. Their quivering flames cast a narrow shaft of light across the stone floor, and she crossed through it like a ghost.
“Come in, my boy,” she said. My mother shuffled back to the bed where she let her hip sink into the side.
The bed was too tall next to her slight body.
I made a mental note to have the servants bring her a stool to climb into the comfort of her blankets more easily.
Maybe I should have them bring a whole new bed.
I climbed down into the room, using the curves in the stone to guide my hands and feet.
She stared at me, holding a fragile smile full of sadness. She rarely greeted me with recognition, but when she did, she always came to me, cupping my face in her frail fingers.
Today, she couldn’t even summon that strength. My skin grew colder than usual, and a dull soreness spread through my throat and lungs. I should have been grateful that she was well on the day I came to bid goodbye, but her physical weakness pressed a heavy weight onto my chest.
Her prominent cheekbones, once marking her as one of the most beautiful women in Vylheim, now jutted sharply across her hollow face.
A plate of lamb’s leg and bread crust, soaked in the juice from the meat, lay uneaten on the chest. It was obvious she hadn’t touched the food since the bronze fork was clear of fingerprints and the plate was full.
“Mother,” I said as I marched toward her. “You have to eat.”
She only shook her head and let her chilly eyes fall to her knobby feet.
If the world saw her, they’d assume she was as old as our ancestors based on the twist of her bones and exhaustion in her eyes, but she’d been a young mother when I was born twenty-seven years ago—strong and intense—before King Roderic sentenced her to the life of an executioner.
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “You’re not doing well.”
“I am okay.”
“The madness you’re dealing with—”
“I’m not mad!” she shrieked. Her skeletal hands shot out to either side of her forehead. Thin, twisted fingers resembled branches stripped of their leaves.
She was a dying tree.
I stepped closer and gently wrapped my hands around her wrists. Pulling her hands away from her face encouraged her to meet my eyes, and I spoke softly. “You know that when you acknowledge the truth it helps you.”
“No.” Her chin quivered. “No, don’t say it. I’m Ingrid.”
“Yes,” I brushed my thumb over the back of her hand. They were far too cold, even against the chill of a vampire who hadn’t fed in too long. “You’re Ingrid.”
“Curses. Cursed Ingrid. A cursed weapon.”
My grip tightened on her hand. “No.” This was the same narrative the gods fed Lux, and I wasn’t about to hear it from my mother too. I couldn’t bear it now, not when I needed her to see me off. “You’re my mother.”
“The spawn, living dead, evil.”
“No!” I squeezed her fragile fingers too hard. She shrieked and whipped them back, clutching her hands to her chest as she jumped to her feet. Curling into herself, she retreated step by step until her back met the wall beside her bed. “I’m Drak, your son.” I swallowed hard. “Little Drak.”
“So big. Bloodthirsty.” I breathed a quiet curse when she raised a crooked finger at me. “Have to kill you.”
No matter how many times I heard her say this, it still gutted me. I clenched my eyes shut and let the darkness fill the space beneath my lids before opening them again. “You won’t kill me.”
She shook her head harder, eyes unblinking. “I won’t?”
I sank onto the bed, sitting low so I wouldn’t intimidate her by standing over her. Like a little boy again, I sat at the end of her mattress and stared at her, waiting for her to see me as myself—not as a vampire she had once been chosen to destroy.
Her wide eyes stayed fixed on me for too long, and though she was upright, she looked lifeless as she stared blankly. Neither of us moved. Even the twitch of my mouth could cause her to flinch or attack.
And I hated having to subdue her.
I hated the feel of her skeletal body in my arms as I lifted her struggling frame and laid it in the bed. I’d wrap the blankets tightly around her until she finally gave in from exhaustion and fell asleep, only for the servants to return later with warm broth and help her out of bed.
Finally, she blinked. Her eyelids cleared the tinted glaze from the whites of her eyes, and the hard line of her wrinkled lips softened. Tears welled in the pale pink corners of her eyes as she stumbled toward me, arms outstretched.
“Little Drak,” she sobbed as her fingers curled around my beard and jaw. “My little Drak.”
I leaned into her touch for the minute that she was with me. “I have news, Mother.”
She struggled to climb back into the bed, so I cupped her elbow and let her use my arm for leverage. “I want to know how my little boy is.”
“I’m going to become a god, Mother.”
The lines between her brow deepened. “Evil?”
I nodded. “I know, but I have to because I have to stop them from doing more of what they did to you.”
“You can’t.” Childlike, her voice trembled as she placed her hands in mine. So frail were her fingers that they felt as though they might crumble under my touch. I moved as gently as possible, even as the truth of her words cut deep. “It’s too late.”
“I failed you,” I said. “I know. Becoming a vampire was only the first step. I couldn’t move everything fast enough.
I couldn’t control Vylheim with The Blood Council in my way, but now I have a witch to bring Odin to me.
” She blinked at me. “To become a god, I must kill one. That was what you saw in your visions, a long time ago.”
“That won’t fix anything.”
“As a god, I can do almost anything, Mother.”
“You can’t fix me. The gods’ abilities are very specific, and I’ve never heard of one that could heal the mind. Maybe the body, but not the mind. So no, you can’t do just anything.”
She had spoken more than she had in a long time, and I was grateful, yet the harsh truth she shared still hurt. “Damn.”
“Language, Little Drak. I know you’re an old soul and a grown man, but our father didn’t like angry words. They reminded him of King Roderic.”
I lifted my eyes to meet hers again. Cold and scared, yet fully aware. She was the only other huntress left alive. Even if she never fully embraced the role, the gods had claimed her mind ever since her skills as a seer drew their attention.
What had she seen of me before they took her from me? This wasn’t the first time she’d referred to me as an old soul.
“Mother,” I licked my lips, tentative, but also tempted to ask. “Back when you were a free witch, what did you see of my future?”
“Witches are never free.”
“I know.” I nodded. “But free of this madness the gods left you with. Did you ever see anything different in me?”
Her eyelids fell slowly, not sealing fully shut before they opened again and her lips parted. “What do you mean?”
“Is it possible that I am someone other than Drak?”
Damn if I didn’t want proof before we left Mara’s Keep.
Proof I could show Lux that we were meant to be together, even after godhood. When she no longer needed me.
“Other than Drak?” she echoed. “Someone other than Drak. Little Drak. My Little Drak…”
Shit. Once her repetitions began, her mind spun out of control.
I lifted her hand to my jaw and brought her attention to me again.
“You said King Roderic named me Drakkar.” That bastard.
He wasn’t even my father. Although he had slept with my mother many times, he showed no interest in her until she was pregnant.
Then it didn’t matter who my father was, because she became one of his mistresses, and he forced her to forget the other men and women she loved. “What did you want to name me?”
“Drakkar,” she whispered. “Drakkar is the king. But I’ve never met him…”
No, don’t lose reality. “Mother.”
“I hear of him.” She yanked her hands back and tapped her ear. “Cruel things. Blood drips through the door.” Pointing to the hatch, she referred to my feedings. Panic crawled into her eyes, and she scooted away from me, head shaking. “You.”
“I’m Drakkar, your son.” Frustration clawed at my ragged throat. “Listen to me, Mother. You didn’t choose the name Drakkar because you wanted to name me something else. I remember you saying that once. So what name did you want, and why? Did you see someone else in me?”
This was too much. Her eyes widened until they seemed to bulge, like the body of a fallen soldier on a battlefield, lifeless and bloated.
I’d pushed her too far thanks to my own damn desperation.
I swallowed my questions and turned my palm upward, revealing the scar that traced the natural lines of my hand. She’d once called it my battle wound, even if it came from the little girl imprisoned beneath the castle.
The first time I went to the dungeons was with my mother, when the executioners threw Silver behind bars.
In a burst of unhinged rage, Silver lunged at us, raking a sharp rock across my hand as I raised it to block my face.
The wound gushed blood, and my mother whisked me out of there for a bandage.
My mother cried for hours, mourning that her son had been hurt and also because she had to leave the little witch alone and cold in the dungeons. To ease her worry, I memorized the path and returned to visit Silver, so Mother would know the witch wasn’t truly alone.
“Do you remember this?” I asked, while flexing my fingers over the scar, and then opening my fist again.
She hummed. “That poor witch.” That poor witch was now trying to murder everyone, adding only to our enemies. My mother’s whisper cut through my thoughts. “She was just scared.” She could believe whatever she wanted, but Silver wasn’t just scared. Rage defined her, even at that age.
“What was the name you chose for me?” I asked, now that she was back to reality. “From your visions?”
My mother curled her lower lip inward and then shook her head.
“I don’t know. I—I think your father named you.
Yes, yes!” Recognition and joy lit up her eyes.
I felt the corner of my mouth twitch, almost smiling.
“Erik swore he’d already met you. He said he knew who you were, even before you were born. ”
Hanging on her every word, I didn’t dare move a muscle. I didn’t dare do anything to frighten or distract her. Why would he have said that? Did he think I was another family member reborn, like so many others of his time believed?
If only I’d had more time with him.
“But the name he wanted…” her voice faded, and her brow pinched. “I can’t remember. I’m so sorry, Little Drak.”
I nodded. “It’s okay.”
She turned my hand over and patted the back of it. “It doesn’t matter what your name is; I love you all the same. Whatever you are.”
Rarely did she remember anything new from our conversations. Even minutes later, her mind would wipe away the words, but this time, she had been aware enough to see me as her son and a vampire.
I dragged my eyes back up to her face, but when I opened my mouth to tell her I loved her too, her eyes darkened.
She shot to her feet and backed away from me. “Leave me. Leave now. Leave, please!”
“Mother.” I stood.
Cowering in the corner, she pressed herself into the shadows, hands clutching her head. “Rip these thoughts out of me. Rip them out and take them with you!”
My teeth ached under the pressure of my clenched jaw. The distant echo of the gods—the memory of their voice still plagued her. I could do nothing to help her, so I curled my fingers over the scar in my palm and strode away.
This was the last time I’d see her as a vampire, because when I returned, I’d be a god who killed everyone who’d fucked with her.