The Vampire & Her Witch

”Impossible,” Rastlan said, staring at the cracked shield of ice before Aspakos and the small constellation affixed to it.

Aspakos had called it Acat’s Snare and several other things. It was a tiny constellation. Just four stars in a wide V-shape. Yet to Rastlan’s eyes, it was an all-devouring maw, filled with a danger that couldn’t possibly exist.

”No one but an Oracle can practice the Sovereign’s Art,” Rastlan said. ”It isn’t meant for lesser men, it...”

”You’re wrong, young cub,” Aspakos said. ”Your words trap you. ’Lesser men’ isn’t how anyone should think of themselves. Less fortunate men, perhaps, but not lesser beings. The Founder’s Art isn’t out of reach. The price is simply unimaginably high.”

”What could be worth paying such a price?” Rastlan asked, more to buy himself time to think of a way out of the snare he’d stepped into than because he truly wanted to know. It didn’t matter why Aspakos engaged in this self-destructive lunacy. Only the fact that he had, and that he held unimaginable power because of it truly mattered.

”The Sorcerers of Sundered Earth protect that which the world is not yet ready to learn,” Aspakos said. ”Many desire the contents of our vaults. Many would slaughter our brethren for a chance to walk within our halls. Some foes are so terrible, only an Oracle could force them to retreat. An Oracle, or one who understood their art.”

”This power was never meant to destroy a man like you,” Aspakos said. ”Stop now, before you doom yourself.”

”A child bearing a mighty warrior’s sword is dangerous,” Rastlan acknowledged. ”But he is still a child, and not a mighty warrior. You can only do so much with borrowed power, old crow,” he said. ”And you can only pay the price for so long. I refuse to be intimidated by a single set of stars and bold claims!”

As he spoke, Rastlan spun the spear in his hands before driving its point into the ice of the platform. Then, he stepped away from the spear, slowly drawing a vertical arc in the air with one hand while the other reached out to grasp at nothing.

”The hunter’s eyes are keen,” Rastlan intoned as a series of stars began to gleam along the path he traced in the air, revealing a Bow of Stars. ”From largest beast to smallest fowl, his gaze beholds them all,” he said as he stretched back his hand, pulling back a glowing bowstring fitted with four arrows.

”The hunter’s aim is true, his arrows sharp,” Rastlan said as the arrows grew brighter and brighter. ”Four arrows will hit their mark.”

There was no twang or snap of a bowstring when Rastlan loosed his arrows of light. They raced through the air, neither whistling nor twisting in the breeze as they flew toward the stars of Aspakos’s snare.

-TOOOO TOOO TOOOOM!-

The clarion sound of a bright, brassy horn filled the air, bringing with it a blinding flash of light that left the entire crowd blinking in confusion.

On the stone platform, Nyrielle hissed, throwing up a wing to shield herself from the light.

In the Imperial Box, Thane appeared at Sybyll’s side in the blink of an eye, throwing his cloak over both of them while Zedya snatched a blanket from the ground and threw it over Lennart.

Then, everything in the box went dark as Marcel made his move, flooding the Imperial Box with a darkness so complete that no one dared to move.

The blinding flash lasted for two long, slow heartbeats, perhaps even a third, before vanishing entirely, leaving everyone momentarily confused.

”Nyri,” Ashlynn said, cupping her lover’s cheek. Smoke rose from Nyrielle’s wing, and in some places, her alabaster skin had taken on an alarmingly reddish hue, as if she’d been a shut-in who spent several hours working beneath the summer sun.

”Nyri, drink,” Ashlynn said, drawing a blade from her hip and slicing her palm in a smooth, practiced motion as she offered her blood to her lover.

”Mmm,” Nyrielle said. Gently, she took Ashlynn’s bleeding hand in both of hers and brought it to her lips. Her tongue, soft and pink, darted out between her fangs, licking the wound clean like it was honey that had spilled across her lover’s hand.

The redness faded from Nyrielle’s skin almost instantly, and the smoke curling from her singed wing drifted away on the cool winter wind as though it had never been there. But even though it had taken so little effort to heal her lover, nothing more than a few drops of a witch’s blood, the fact that she’d been injured at all was enough to shock Ashlynn to her core.

In the Imperial Box, the darkness faded away, pulled back to the young, handsome-looking vampire who placed a scrap of darkness carefully in a pocket, as though the light-devouring blackness had been nothing more than a handkerchief he’d tossed across a spill.

Several people watched nervously as the vampires emerged from whatever hasty cover they’d found, but a few people were already in motion the instant they could see again. Of every vampire present, only Ignatious, clad in the crimson and gold robes of the Inquisition, seemed to have been immune to the flash of light that seared the flesh of vampires.

”Thane, Sybyll,” Ollie said, leaping over not only a pile of cushions but a lounging guest as well in his haste to reach his mentors’ side. ”Are you injured?” Ollie asked as he reached for the blade he carried at the small of his back. ”If you are, drink from me,” he offered, placing the blade against the skin of his wrist while he searched Thane’s face for signs of pain or injury.

”The flash wasn’t bad,” Thane said, looking at the back of his hands, which felt like they’d been held too close to the fire for several heartbeats too long and looked much the same. A similar flush covered the back of his neck and the edges of his cheeks, but other than that, he seemed to have escaped unscathed.

”A drop or two, no more,” Thane told Ollie before glancing at Sybyll.

”Ye worried fer nothin’,” Sybyll said, looking slightly flushed after Thane had come to her rescue. ”I’m tough enough ta’ shelter meself,” she reminded him. ”Still,” she added a moment later. ”If ye offer up a single drop, I won’a refuse.”

A similar conversation took place between Zedya, Lennart and Virve as the Oak Witch readily shared her blood with her oldest friends. While Zedya seemed to have escaped mostly unscathed, the light’s effect on Lennart had been more intense than any of Nyrielle’s progeny and the fur around his ears and along his arms had been singed enough to release a sharp, acrid smell.

In a corner of the room, Loghlan Dunn felt his stomach sink as his eyes swept across the Imperial Box. The only people here were the Empresses’ closest allies and members of their family. All people who Empress Ashlynn and Empress Nyrielle should be able to trust with their tongues and discretion. Or at least, that was true of the guests.

The serving staff was another matter entirely. Some were Eldritch people who had accompanied Empress Nyrielle to Lothian City, but many were household staff from Lothian Manor whose loyalties were uncertain at best.

And in front of their eyes, the bubble of invulnerability and unassailable might that had surrounded Empress Nyrielle’s progeny just popped. If word of this spread to the wrong ears, the consequences could be dire...