Vampire Girl 3: Silver Flame (13 page)

"It’s beautiful," I say, motioning to the nature around us, this private sanctuary, this secret.

He looks up, deep into my eyes. "Not as beautiful as the woman before me."

I can’t help it. I blush. Probably just the wine. "Please… I saw those women ogling you back in the city. I don’t even compare."

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. If I claim that leaf is perfect in its form, who’s to say I am wrong? If I say that rock brings me joy, who is to question me? If I confess, you are the most amazing women I have ever met, who will change my mind?"

"Dean…"

He leans forward. Closer. Closer. Until our lips almost touch.

His scent is sweet and intoxicating. His warmth consuming.

He breathes in deeply.

He moves closer.

And then he pulls away.

"You are under the influence of drink," he says.

I am. So drunk I might have let him kiss me. So drunk it’s hard to think. "And?"

"If there is to be anything between us, you should be of clear mind. I wish no regrets upon you."

This is the last thing I expected the Prince of Lust to say. In many ways, Dean would make a better king than his brother. He wouldn’t focus on fighting and accruing wealth, but on bringing joy and comfort. Isn’t that the sign of great ruler? One who could bring upon a golden age?

"Thank you," I say. "For being a gentleman."

He grins, though I see in his eyes he wishes more could have happened between us. He stands, offering me his hand to help me up. "If you would indulge me, Princess. I have one more surprise left."

I nod and take his arm.

He guides me to the outskirts of the city, to a tunnel built by man. I raise my dress, trying to keep it from dragging in the mud. "I must say. You surprise me once again. What are we doing?"

"The Fae lived here for millennia before we arrived, and who knows—perhaps there was something even older once. I have seen things in my travels, artifacts brought to my museum, that are neither Fae nor vampire, but relics of an ancient age. So, I’ve tried to find more."

We descend deeper into the tunnel, and it grows hotter as torches cast hot yellow lights at us. Dean wipes his brow and removes his shirt. "I’ve had my servants digging for artifacts for years. And a few weeks ago, they uncovered this."

He motions me to stop, then grabs a torch from the wall and dips it into some black liquid. Oil. It lights on fire, streaking across the darkness, illuminating the giant cavern we have reached.

Before us stands a giant stone door, cracked open in the center. It is dark green and covered in ancient glyphs. It reminds me of a Waystone, and for a moment I fear Dean has uncovered Avakiri. But then I look past the door, and see that it doesn’t lead into a Waystone, but a garden. "What is this place?" I ask.

"Not sure yet. I’ve held back on exploring, waiting so we could do it together. I needed something to impress the princess." Dean grins and grabs my hand, pulling me past the door.

And we emerge into a giant ruin, with ceilings as high as the palace, the walls around us withered stone covered in green moss. Tiles cover the floor, and a barren fountain stands before us, long dry. We walk forward, past doors and windows overgrown with vines and trees. Past a dirty pond filled with flowers. And then I see them.

The statues.

Five of them. 

Tall and majestic, carved from emerald green stone. Two are men. Three are woman. Each carries an animal on their shoulder.  "The Druids," I whisper, realization dawning on me. "These are the Four Druids and the Midnight Star."

Dean nods. "This must have been some kind of temple. Someplace to honor the Wild Ones. Look here behind them." I follow Dean up a wide set of stairs to a giant wall completely covered in ancient text. "Can you read it?"

I run my hand over the glyphs and cast the incantation to translate languages. Most of the words change, but not all. "It seems to be written in a form of Fae, but I don’t recognize all the characters. This language must be ancient. More ancient than anything I've seen."

Dean smiles with glee. "Can you make anything out?"

"Yes," I say, studying the markings. "It’s the tale of the Primal One. It’s well known amongst the Fae, but this version is longer. There are details I've never heard." I’d heard children sing the tale of the Primal One back in Avakiri, but it was never this. I focus on the wall and continue reading.

"The Primal One was first of our kind. When he came to this world, he found it ravaged by the elements, in a state of constant chaos. At first he sought to fight them, but even he could not conquer nature. So the Primal One tamed the elements, taking their power within him and brining balance to the world.

"But it was so empty.

"So the Primal One used his power and created others in his image. The Fae.

"He told them how to live, how to be happy. And they listened. So powerful was the Primal One, that his words, his thoughts, became theirs.

"And the world was happy, and yet it was sad. It was full, and yet it was hollow.

"As the years went by, despite all the people around him, the Primal One grew more and more lonely. And in his despair, he drew something else to this world.

"Darkness." I shiver before continuing.

"A being that preyed upon weak worlds. It attacked Avakiri and Inferna, consuming all in its path. The Primal One fought the beast as best he could, using the Fae as an extension of his arm when needed, but he couldn't stop the Darkness.

"Though he was everywhere, a part of everyone, he could not focus on all things at once. It was then that the Primal One realized, by making everything a part of himself, he had created nothing. He had made the world empty.

"And it was then that the Primal One gave up the elements. He did not set them free as before, but instead gave each element to a keeper, creating the four Wild Ones.

"With the powers broken apart, the Primal One felt his connection with the Fae fade away, but what he saw was incredible. They began to develop thoughts and ideas of their own.

"They were given free will.

"Now, they did not fight as one mind, but hundreds of thousands, and together…

"They defeated the Darkness.

"It was then that they realized it could not be destroyed, only beaten, and so the Primal One tamed the Darkness like he did the elements, and bestowed it upon a new Wild One, creating the first High Fae.

"The Druids were linked, so that the power of the elements could keep the Darkness at bay. And the Darkness would keep the elements in control, keep them from consuming the world in chaos.

"Years of peace followed, and happiness, and sorrow. But it was happiness and sorrow created by free will. And after many, many ages past, the Primal One gave up his rule, and left the world, leaving his children to be truly free."

I pull my hand away from the wall, the story finished.

Dean frowns. "How is this different from the original?"

I turn to him.  "In the common tale, the Primal One grows lonely, yes, and he divides up the elements creating free will, yes. However, he retains a connection to them all, and thus manifests Yami, who is all. And thus, the Primal One becomes the first High Fae. Eventually, he leaves, and his children, the next High Fae, continue to rule."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "So if this tale is true, then…"

I look at the dragon on my shoulder, his scales gleaming with stars. "Then there is a darkness within me. A darkness that can consume the world."

Dean notices my grim face and chuckles. "Don’t give yourself too much credit, Princess. I, for one, have already destroyed a world. Well. I helped. There is no way to know if this story is true. If any of them are true."

"You’re right," I say, sighing, letting tension escape me. "These tales were probably just created to explain creation and the beginning of life. In my world, there are many old religions that used stories to explain what can now be explained by science."

"Exactly." He snaps his fingers, and for a moment we don't say anything. Then Dean smiles devilishly. "I have a confession to make. I'm the one who let Lopsi out."

I throw my hands up in shock. "You freed that creature! Why?"

He shrugs. "I needed a way to get you to my realm. It was the only real solution."

I groan, rubbing my temples. "People got hurt. Someone could have been killed."

"But they weren't, were they? Hey, how about we focus on something else? Like that. What's that?" Dean points to something in the wall. A handprint covered in spikes.

I step forward. "I know what that is. I’ve seen its kind before."

"Well, what—"

Before he can finish, I stick my hand onto the spikes, letting my blood flow into the stone. The glyphs begin to glow silver, and then the wall with the story begins to open. Not a wall then. A door.

And behind it there's a smaller courtyard with a pedestal in the center. Upon it sits a shallow bowl of gold filled with clear water.

Dean looks into the vessel, his eyes lighting up. "This can’t be. It can’t."

"What is it?" I ask, walking to his side, and then I see it, my reflection in the water, and I understand.

I see myself in the water, back in Portland, at a graduation. My graduation. From law school. I see Es and Pete congratulating me. I see us go to dinner at a restaurant fancier than I could afford, and there is someone there with me. A man, tall and handsome, whispering in my ear. I laugh at whatever he says, and then we kiss.

I reach to touch the water, grasping at the droplets that run through my fingers, at the images that seem half memory.  I can almost feel—

Dean yanks my hand away. "Do not touch the water. It’s said if you do, you will be swept away into another reality, another existence."

I blink a few times, and the visions begin to fade. I begin to feel more like myself. "What is this?"

Dean looks at the bowl. "My Keeper told of such a thing, though even he thought it myth. The Mirror of Idis. It is said, at the deepest of his despair, the Primal One wept, and his tears created a pool, a mirror, showing how things may have been if he'd chosen differently."

So that could have been my life. If I had never taken the contract. If I had followed the path I was on. I could have been a lawyer.  I could have been safe and happy with my friends. I could even have love.

But I could never have my mother.

She wasn’t in the vision. Because her soul was still trapped. Trapped for all eternity.

That path is gone. I can never go back.

Dean touches my hand, pulling me away from my dark thoughts. He looks at me, his eyes filled with a sorrow I haven’t seen before. "The mirror," he says, "the mirror showed me what would have happened if I had never let you go. If I had taken the first turn as was intended." He smiles, though his eyes fill with tears. "We could have been happy. Happier than I ever imagined. Perhaps we still can." He massages my hands with his own, caressing them with the softest touch. "I know what I want, Arianna. Do you?"

I step back, letting his hands fall away. Because I don’t. I don’t know what I want.

Fen, because he makes me happy.

Asher, because he can bring about peace.

Dean, because he reminds me that life can be thrilling.

All of them. None of them.

But I must choose.

And my choice will change the whole world.

"I can hear Fen mumbling his complaints. I ignore them."

—Arianna Spero

My skills have
grown dull. For weeks I was tortured, barred and caged. Now, I wield a sword once more. I feel the weight in my palm, the leather grip on my skin. The blade is perfectly balanced, thick and sharp for piercing armor and bone. It is of Kayla’s making. I strike at the wooden target before me, slicing through air, splitting the log in half. I move on to a stone pillar. The vampire blood coursing through my veins gives me strength, makes wood and flesh too frail. The stone will dull my blade, but I need something solid to practice on, something that won’t break at the hint of my power. I side step on the soft grass, light on my feet, striking at the column. I cut into the stone over and over, and then I change my technique. I begin to stop my blade short just as it meets my target, practicing control over strength. I imagine a body where the pillar is. Head, torso, legs. Strike. Strike. Strike. I aim for where the major arteries would be. I aim for a guaranteed kill.

The training yard is near empty this time of night, but a few practice in the shadows far off. The smell of roses and peaches carries on the wind, tickling my nose, as I wipe the sweat from my brow. White flowers and green vines spill over the walls around the field, sprinkling the darkness with touches of light. There is no fancier training yard in all Seven Realms, and I wonder why Dean mixes combat and beauty. War is simple, brutal, devoid of art, and yet my brother approaches the two as one and the same. I’ve seen it in the way he fights, twirling through a battlefield, jumping over his foes, more dancing than cleaving. There is elegance to his technique, but foolishness as well. Too often he leaves his back exposed. Too often he strikes with more flair than speed. I see his methods in the others practicing here. The Style of the Rose, I hear them call it. Such a soft name for such a soft form.

Despite myself, I begin to adopt its stance. Upright, blade far from the body. Legs bent slightly and loose. I twirl, spinning my blade like a storm, ravaging the stone pillar. I leap, leaving myself exposed, but covering a far greater distance than usual. My heart rate begins to rise. There is some sense to this method after all. Perhaps I will never use it in battle, but it will be of use if ever I am forced to fight Dean’s soldiers. If ever I am forced to fight my brother.

I whip the blade left and right, up and down, as if it were more string than steel. Clatter and clashing fill the air, but through it all, I still hear him, gliding over the grass.

"What do you want, Varis?"

The Druid’s footsteps stop. He stands behind me. I can smell the fur on his clothes, the scent of places far away on his skin. Of Avakiri. It must be a world far different than my own, a sight to behold one day. If I live long enough to see it.

The Druid speaks softly, the wind stirring at his words. "You are fierce with the blade, Prince of War, but blind to the other forces at play. Blind to the earth and wind. Blind to the heat and water in all things."

"I see enough," I say, lowering my blade to my side.

He steps closer. "Let me train you. Let me do what your mother could not."

"You knew her." The words slip from my tongue. I do not wish to speak to the Druid, do not wish to know of his way, but I crave to learn more of her. More of the woman who haunts my dreams.

"She was my mentor," says Varis. "My friend. She was the oldest of the four Wild Ones. Our guide in peace and war. I would have given my life for hers if I had but the chance.  I would give my life for her son…"

His words hang in the air, thick and heavy between us. This man, he sees me as more than foe, more than vampire. Perhaps even more than common Fae. But… I am a Prince of Hell, and he is but Druid. "We are not friends."

"No," says Varis. "We are not. But it does not mean we cannot co-operate, for prosperity, for peace." He pauses. "Your powers will continue to grow, and one day, you will lose control. Who shall suffer when the time comes? Asher? Arianna?"

"I am as I always was." It is a lie. I know. Something within me has stirred these past few days, something primal and dark. It slithers at the edge of my mind, hides by the side of my heart.

He steps closer once more. "I was once the same, you know. I was but a boy when the Spirit chose me. I had a family, a home. It was your mother who arrived to take me away. I would not leave with her. I would not leave my brothers and sister and mother and father. I did not want the gift bestowed upon me. I did not want the duty. I told your mother as much."

He pauses. "To my surprise, she did not force me, as I had heard was often done. Instead, she stayed at my home, pretended she was little more than honored guest, and allowed me to go about my days. First, I resented her presence, despised her like I didn’t know I could. She was a hero, you understand, a hero of my people, and yet she was my personal enemy. For days, I did not look at her. Though we ate together and she shared words with my mother and father, I would not speak. I would not show her any kindness until she let me be. But, as all things, over time my resistance withered.

"I began to smile at her jokes. Laugh when her wolf Spirit licked at my face. Once, I even shared my meal with her. It was the next day, when it happened. My sister and I were playing by the Old Willow Well. Some boys from the village, older and bigger than we were, came by to play their own way. They smashed my face against the stone well. One held me down, for I was a small lad back then. The other took his hands to my sister. She was young, a little girl, but that did not stop him from running his hands over her. A darkness filled me then. Primal and hungry. I had felt it before, as hate for Lianna, your mother, but now it turned to rage. It poured from me like a river of blood and ice, and the wind bent in its wake. It tore through the air like a wave, knocking the boys back, slamming them against the tree and stone. It tore through my sister. She fell back. Back. Into the well.

"The screams still haunt my dreams. Her bloody face still scars my nightmares. It was Lianna who found us, who pulled out my poor sister. The girl yet lived, but her head had been crushed near the top, like an apple someone stepped on. Her words were slurred and strange. Her memories wrong and frightful. Lianna tried to heal her, but even the power of the Spirits was not enough. And after a few days, it was clear my sister would never be the same. It was then that I left with your mother. It was then that I began my training. I would never lose control again, you see. And I never did."

My heart pounds in my chest at his words. His story flows through my mind, and instead of him, I see myself playing by the well, instead of his sister, I see Kayla. And when she falls. When her head is caved in and scooped out, I see Arianna.

I drop my sword. It is only the exhaustion of my training, I tell my self. Only the fatigue.

Varis turns away. "When you are ready, I will be here for you. Always." He begins to walk, to slip away into the shadows.

For the first time, I face him. "Do you love him?"

He stops, shock in his voice. "Who?"

"Asher. Do you love him? Because he deserves to be loved. Even if it is by a Fae Druid."

Varis meets my gaze. There is certainty to his eye. "I do."

I nod. My blessing in a way.

"How did you know?" he asks. "You were not yet born when Asher and I first met."

"After the Midnight Star fell, it was still years before all Druids turned to slumber. I remember one night, when my mother… my Queen, had taken me to visit Asher’s realm. After a night of feasting, I noticed my brother slip away in the cover of dark. I was a curious boy, and so I followed. It is strange. It is only now, in my memories, that I am a boy. Before, I was as I am now. But now I see the truth. I was a boy. And I wanted to see where my older brother was heading in the middle of night. So I kept to the shadows, tailing him through the castle, out into the forest. There, he met you. You did not speak for long, and though I could not hear what you were saying, I knew it was a form of goodbye."

Varis smiles, a glint in his eyes. "That was the night before I turned to slumber. Asher and I were enemies by then, but I had to see him one last time."

"And what are you now?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I do not know. I fought for the Fae. He fought for the vampires."

"But you turned on Oren. You protected me and Arianna."

"Yes, but is that enough? Asher and I have not spoken since before the battle. His mind and heart are his own. And I do not know if I will ever truly win them back."

I grin. "Perhaps if you wore a suit. Maybe grew some hair."

Varis runs a hand over his bald head and the silver tattoos there. He chuckles. "Perhaps. Times are shifting. Maybe we Druids can have a different look for once. But there are advantages. My hair never blocks my vision in a fight. You should try it some time—"

"I’m not shaving."

"But it’s traditional for a Druid—"

"Never."

"But it symbolizes the eternal Spirits and—"

"Be quiet or my fist will symbolize eternal pain."

We both laugh.

"What’d I miss?" Dean walks out from the shadows, shirtless, a sword hanging from his belt.

I smirk. "Only the jokes we were making at your expense. Your fighters, I’ve seen Fae children with more strength."

Dean studies the men training in his yard. "You have a point."

Varis bows his head slightly. "I will see you two later. That is, if your vampire tendencies don’t take over and you murder each other first." With that, he leaves, returning to the palace.

Dean throws a leather bag at me and I catch it. He grins. "Ready to return to Stonehill?"

I place my fingers to my mouth and whistle. After a moment, Baron rushes from the palace, falling in place at my side. He bares his teeth at Dean, growling.

And I smile. "Ready."

Together, we walk out of the palace, joking and laughing, but something tickles at my mind. I have never called Baron from so far before and had him heed me. Our bond is growing. Something in me is changing. I remember the tale Varis told me, and I tremble for what is to come.

***

I say goodbye to Arianna, and then Dean and I argue over going by boat or horse. My brother prefers the comfort of his barge, but I argue steeds would be quicker. Eventually, he relents, and we pick two horses from the stables and ride out into the night. The sun begins to rise before we slow our pace, allowing our animals to rest. Baron keeps stride with me.

"You’re using illusion again," I say.

Dean nods, adjusting the black hood over his face. "How do you know?"

I just do. Something else I couldn’t do before. My brother and I both wear cloaks, his black, my brown, and light leather beneath. We should look like travelers, likely nobility, judging by our horses and swords, but not very important. Important people would be on a barge after all. Baron would appear a black dog to anyone who would look. An odd companion, but not unheard of in these lands.

After I don’t respond, Dean shrugs. "You scare me sometimes, you know. The things you can do. It’s not like the rest of us."

I grin. "Saying I make you shit your pants?"

"No… but I’m not sure Levi can say the same."

"You’ve been part of the council since Arianna and I escaped. Tell me, how do the others stand on matters?"

Dean tilts his head to the side, grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, you should see the meetings. What marvelous entertainment they make. Niam and Levi bicker over Stonehill like an old couple. Levi controls the castle, without a doubt, and so his income has increased. Our poor greedy brother Niam just can’t stand the thought. He’s trying to split the profits, offer his consulting and manpower in return."

"Let me guess… Levi cares nothing for his help?"

"Levi cares nothing for any of us. Oh, everyone spoke of ruling their own realm in contentment, but what a pile of stinking shit that turned out to be. Everyone wants to be king. And now that Arianna is out of the picture, they’re trying to figure out how to do it with maximum backstabbing and minimal honor."

I raise an eyebrow. "Even Zeb? I always figured him uninterested in politics. More concerned with food and wine."

Dean frowns, his eyes growing dark. "I know you have always liked him, but do not underestimate our dear brother. There is a darkness in him. I saw it during the invasion, when he lead the front lines against the Fae in battle. He tore men apart with his bare hands, did worse to the women."

"None of us are innocent," I say.

He looks away, shame on his face. "No. I suppose none of us are."

A moment. "What of Ace?"

"Unclear," says Dean. "He’s colder than usual. Harsher. As far as I can tell, he’s trying to stay neutral, but it is difficult in such times. I think, when you spoke of killing our father, he took it personally somehow, a betrayal. It hurt him most of all. More than Arianna being Fae. More than you being a Druid."