Blood Legacy: Heir to the Throne (26 page)

“I will kill you when I get the chance,” Ryan added.

The bite was painful this time, and Ryan muffled a groan. She decided to stop testing theories. Madelyn, although she could not read Ryan’s thoughts, seemed to know precisely what Ryan’s intentions were at any given time.

“Do you wish me to cause you pain, little one?” Madelyn asked sardonically.

Ryan held her gaze. “It doesn’t matter what I wish, does it? You will do as you want.”

Madelyn smiled her cold smile. “Then you do understand me. Good,” she said, as she bit sharply into the other side of Ryan’s neck and began drinking deeply.

The pain was again intense, and Ryan thought for sure she would slip into unconsciousness. But again the darkness was elusive, and as Madelyn fed from her, she had the sudden prescience that it was Madelyn herself keeping Ryan from passing into that welcome oblivion.

“As I said,” Madelyn whispered into her ear, “you do understand me.”

Harrian entered Madelyn’s outer chamber with great trepidation. He glanced over at the girl lying on the couch, pale and unconscious. At least the brat had paid for some of her misdeeds. Harrian could see the bruises on both sides of Ryan’s neck, and revised his opinion. She had paid for all of them.

Madelyn came out of the double doors leading to her inner chamber, her gown flowing about her as she walked down the steps toward him. He went to one knee before her.

“Your Highness,” he began.

Madelyn interrupted him, her tone deliberately casual. “At one point in time were my orders regarding weapons disobeyed?”

Harrian stood upright. “I gave the order to pull weapons from the armory once the girl–”

Madelyn whirled toward him, seething. “I mean before that, idiot.”

Harrian readjusted his thinking. “Titus apparently entered her cell wearing a sword.” Harrian did not particularly care for Titus, but felt the need to defend his men. “I don’t think he meant any harm to the prisoner—”

Madelyn was furious. “Those rules were not for the protection of the girl, you fool.” She glanced down at the prone figure, then turned back to Harrian. “Those rules were for your protection. I forbid weapons around her to keep her from taking them and doing exactly what she did.”

Madelyn turned her back on him, but he could clearly hear her. “You have underestimated her twice now.” She whirled back toward him, “Do so again, and you will lose your life.”

Harrian went to one knee. “I understand, your Highness.” He stood, but his head was still bowed. “Do you wish me to return her to her cell now?”

“No,” Madelyn said, casting a glance at Ryan, “she will stay here.”

Harrian’s head jerked upward in surprise. Madelyn gazed at him malevolently, and he knew better than to say a word.

“It seems,” Madelyn said, “that I am the only one capable of restraining her.”

Harrian bowed his head, and quickly exited before he angered her further.

CHAPTER 27

RYAN JERKED AWAKE AT THE SLIGHT NOISE. She attempted to raise herself upright, but the pain from the movement was too great and she collapsed backward. She closed her eyes for a moment. At least now what she was lying on was somewhat comfortable.

She reopened her eyes to find Harrian hovering about her. He did not treat her as contemptuously as the other guards, but it was apparent he was not pleased with her presence. He gave her a quick, clinical examination, assessing the bruises on her neck. He pressed her fingernails, assessing the perfusion of blood in her extremities. He seemed satisfied and somewhat surprised at her rate of recovery. Ryan was not satisfied; her pain was still considerable. She wondered if it was associated with the paralysis.

While Harrian finished his exam, bending her legs one at a time, Ryan glanced about the room. Surprisingly, she was still in Madelyn’s chambers, a fact that was unsettling. Madelyn was not present, however, so Ryan inspected the room. It was laid out in a semi-circular pattern, and in what would have been the center the circle was a set of steps leading to two large doors. The doors were elaborately decorated with geometric patterns, reminding Ryan somewhat of Egyptian hieroglyphics.

Harrian followed Ryan’s gaze, disapproval on his features.

“What is behind those doors?” Ryan asked.

She did not really expect a response, but apparently she struck some sort of nerve with Harrian.

“Entrance into the inner chambers is forbidden,” Harrian said harshly. He then muttered under his breath, “You should not even be here.”

Ryan examined him thoughtfully. “Are you in the habit of second-guessing your master?”

This comment struck an even more sensitive nerve, and Ryan could see the flash of fear in Harrian’s eyes. He stood upright, as if reluctant to even touch her at the moment.

“No,” he replied, his voice quiet but his tone still harsh, “I do not question Madelyn’s judgment.” He took a step backward. “But if it were up to me,” he continued, “you would already be dead.”

“Well,” Ryan said, “it’s not up to you, now is it?”

At that moment, the doors from the lift whispered open and Madelyn entered. She assessed the scene, noting Harrian’s angry expression and the girl’s mocking one. She inwardly smiled. Harrian would not get the best of this one.

“You may leave,” Madelyn said, addressing Harrian, and he quickly did so. Madelyn gave Ryan a brief glance, noting the way in which Ryan held herself. The girl might pretend to be fine, but she was still in pain. Madelyn smiled a cold smile, then started up the steps to the inner chambers.

Ryan watched Madelyn depart through the double doors, relieved to see her go. That did not stop her, however, from leaning slightly, trying to get a glimpse at what might be through the doors. She could see nothing and the movement caused her pain, so she fell back onto her makeshift bed.

Although the fact that Madelyn was so near was greatly disturbing, Ryan quickly slid back into blackness, returning to her exhausted sleep and fitful dreams.

Ryan relaxed in the saddle, enjoying the rhythmic motion of her horse. She and Victor had been traveling for weeks, some by sea, but mostly by land. Their progress at sea was limited by the speed of the ship and the weather, whereas their progress on land was limited by the stamina of their horses. They could have traveled much faster on foot, but would not have been able to bring the supplies the pack horses carried.

She glanced back at the pack horses. They carried no food other than what the horses required, because she and Victor did not need to eat. The horses did, however, carry two full sets of armor, a fact Ryan found curious. She herself disdained the heavy plated protection, but Victor had insisted. Since the advent of gunpowder there were many new weapons that could not kill them, but the projectiles definitely hurt.

This thought brought a deeper sense of scorn to Ryan. The projectiles, although faster than an arrow, still moved slowly enough for her to avoid. And a man could get off one shot, maybe, before he was cut down. The reloading process was ridiculous. She could fire fifty arrows in the time it took to reload a gun. Still, Ryan was thoughtful. Victor was certain the craft would only improve, because mankind was ever-diligent in finding new ways to kill themselves. The projectiles would get faster, the reloading quicker, and then new, more exotic ways of destruction would be invented.

Ryan smiled. She was becoming as cynical as her mentor. She gently kneed her horse to catch up with the dark-haired man in front of her.

Victor glanced down at his young protégé as she came alongside him. Dressed as usual as a young man, she possessed a startling androgyny that allowed her to easily pass as a male, albeit one who could only be described as beautiful. He mentally calculated her age, arriving at a figure somewhere in the realm of a century and a quarter. Although capable of greater precision in his calculation, it was meaningless and therefore he did not attempt it. It was also irrelevant as her power greatly exceeded her young age.

“So where exactly are we going?”

Victor smiled at the question. They had traveled a thousand miles and it was the first time she had bothered to ask.

“Constantinople,” Victor replied.

This intrigued Ryan. It was a part of the world she had yet to see, but one Victor was greatly familiar with. She had spent many hours sitting before the fire listening to him tell stories of this mysterious land, and he spoke with a great admiration of its people and culture. He did not, however, like to speak of his original reasons for going there.

“Off to fight another crusade, are we?”

This brought a frown to his handsome face. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I certainly hope not.”

Ryan settled into silence. Victor loved battle, but there were few reasons he deemed worthy to take up arms. Self-protection, defense of the homeland, injustice, and even the latter was an ideal so vague it was rarely worth the fight. This was something Ryan increasingly understood the longer she lived. When one lived only a few decades, all foes seemed new, all struggles seemed epic, and history provided only a dead and dry context for limited understanding.

When one began to live over centuries, however, the never-ending strife took on a very alive context. Barbarians invaded, conquered, then settled and became the status quo. They in turn would be invaded, sometimes conquered by force, sometimes by culture, sometimes by disease or even apathy. Rival nations would fight endless wars over boundaries, only to become great allies, protecting one another’s interests. Some lessons were learned, but most were forgotten and had to be learned anew by each generation.

After awhile, an eternal observer such as Victor simply had to take a step back, engaging only when necessary. Ryan had once asked him why he did not involve himself more in the affairs of man, why he did not become a King or even an Emperor. His reply had been as succinct as it had been stunning.

“Now why would I want to do that?”

And Ryan intuitively understood. The suffering, the constant conflict would never end. And although she herself still had a shred of idealism, a desire to right wrongs, she was beginning to understand that “wrong” was a very complicated issue. Victor had a fine collection of Eastern scrolls, and she had pored over them with great interest. The concept of karma had deeply reverberated with her because it was something she could actually observe over life spans.

Ryan glanced back over at Victor, who was lost in his own thoughts. They received few visitors in their hidden and heavily guarded lands, so she was very aware that the papal messenger had come. Victor had no love of the church, but occasionally responded to requests he considered of great consequence.

“Are there any of our Kind in the land we are going to?”

“No,” Victor said, “not that I know of.”

This was something of a relief to Ryan. It had been several decades since she had first met the Others, and the experience had been overwhelming. It had been quite a revelation to her that there was anyone else like her and Victor. Having never met them, she assumed that she and Victor were the only ones.

How wrong she had been, Ryan thought, inwardly frowning. The one called Marilyn seemed to have some sort of love/hate relationship with her, apparently wanting to kill her out of jealousy over Victor. And Abigail, that One she could not figure out at all.

Victor was aware of his protégé’s thoughts and smiled. As intelligent and intuitive as the girl was, there were certain things she was completely oblivious to, which was probably a very good thing. It was also part of the reason why he chose to keep her away from the Others as much as possible. There was only so much he could do to protect her from that group of predators.

He glanced down at her again. Although at times he wondered if she needed protecting, or if in fact it was the Others who were benefiting from her absence. He somehow had the feeling she could handle herself.

Ryan was increasingly able to sense Victor’s thoughts, and she glanced over at him.

“What?” she asked.

He smiled. “Nothing.”

Ryan settled into silence once more, musing on their destination. One thing was bothering her, however, and it was perhaps her greater access to Victor’s mind that was causing it. She had sensed hesitation in him when she asked if there were any of their Kind ahead of them, and she had a vague sense that he was not being entirely truthful.

Ryan opened her eyes, awakening from the dream disoriented. Susan’s eyes seemed a deeper shade of green since her Change, and her hair a more luminous shade of red. Ryan did not remember, however, such a great look of concern on her face before.