Kingmakers, The (Vampire Empire Book 3) (31 page)

The two vampires slipped from a window in the Tuileries and lifted over the city, silently agreeing on the direction. They floated over the Seine, looking down on the jumbled structures and tight lanes of the Rive Gauche, still like the killing grounds of old. Gareth felt a disturbing sense of comfort. Life had been simpler in those days; well, perhaps not simpler but more direct. Feeding and staying hidden were never easy tasks, but they were at least clear.

He followed Lothaire to the very familiar terrain of old Montparnasse. They settled by an old stone wall with a gate now rusted and fallen aside. They padded down stone steps into murky passageways where they were surrounded by bones. Every wall was stacked with skeletons. One wall boasted long leg bones and another skulls. Many of the macabre collections were still in artful displays with skeletal faces peering out over crossed long bones. The floors were littered with more recent skeletons left from vampire feedings. Even so, there were humans inhabiting the catacombs. Gareth heard them moving about, and not far away. They seemed to have little fear.

“Remember this place?” Lothaire asked as Gareth looked around in confusion.

“Of course. We lived here centuries ago.” Gareth waved at the macabre walls. “But it wasn’t full of bones back then.”

“No. Not too long before the Great Killing, humans decided to use this place for their dead,” Lothaire replied. “And they organized their refuse in clever designs. For some reason. Humans are strange. Or used to be. They’re fairly predictable now.”

“Paris seems quite active with humans. Quite different than London.”

The king shrugged. “In general, I leave them be as long as they don’t cause trouble. Day-to-day things have to be done, and they work better if some of them aren’t fearful for their lives at every turn. Herds can sustain themselves nicely so long as you don’t cull them to the breaking point. And I try to impress on the clan lords outside Paris to keep slaughter to a minimum.”

“Have you had much success impressing that on them?”

“Not much, I fear. But things change slowly with us.” Lothaire sighed, and then said with a sarcastic tone, “I hear rumors that you treat your Scottish herds like they’re your family.”

“Oh, I treat them much better than that.” Gareth laughed and hummed thoughtfully as he ran his hands over the knobby ends of countless femurs. He stuck his fingers into the eyeholes of a skull and pulled it from the wall, tossing it toward his friend. Lothaire reacted quickly, but fumbled the white object that clattered to the stones at his feet.

He looked up quizzically. “Why are you throwing garbage at me?”

“Just to see if you could catch it.”

“Why?”

“No reason. I assume you haven’t lived in these catacombs for a while.”

“No. I live at the Tuileries Palace. Although I do come here frequently. I like it here. Gareth, I hope you’ll stay in Paris for a little while. Or are you hurrying away?”

“No. Where would I go?”

“London?” Lothaire looked surprised. “Hasn’t Cesare summoned you for your coven?”

“Oh yes. I believe I heard something about that. I’ll find my way there at some point.”

The French king’s laugh echoed through the macabre chambers. “I can just imagine Cesare’s face when he hears you are lingering here in Paris.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“No, but I won’t have to. Your Lady Hallow has spies all around me.” Lothaire growled. “Your brother wants my packs for his war, so he’s virtually colonized my court.”

“So you’ve committed to him already?”

Lothaire kicked a rib cage, sending it skittering across the floor. “Gareth, I believe your brother has stirred up this war just to force a clan alliance that he will control.”

Gareth tilted his head in mute agreement.

The French king pursed his lips in concern. “But what if I’m wrong? Cesare claims that humans have weapons much more powerful than during the Great Killing. And they don’t fear us as they once did.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I don’t know. Many do. My cousin, the king of Orleans, wants to join Cesare because he’s afraid of the humans. I hear they smashed Grenoble. And if Lyon falls, the Equatorians will pour out into central France, which is full of weak, bickering clans. Bordeaux was obliterated just last year by a handful of airships.” Lothaire prodded the skull with the dusty toe of his shoe. “If only Cesare wasn’t going to become the
king of kings. I don’t trust him. But, frankly, I don’t see an option but to join him.”

“I can give you an option.”

The king raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“What if I were king of Britain?”

Lothaire stood against a wall of bones, looking at his old friend. “When I told Lady Hallow that I would only ally myself with a king, not a prince, she assured me that you had abdicated your claim to the throne, and that Cesare was the unquestioned heir. Is Lady Hallow a liar?”

“She is, and a prodigious one. Though she was correct at that time.”

“And now?”

“Things change, Lothaire. At my advancing age, my brow grows chilly and needs a crown to warm it.”

“Damn.” The French king breathed in conspiratorial delight. “What will Cesare do?”

“I’m afraid he will die.”

Lothaire looked askance. “What of your brother’s terrible claws? What of the lovely Flay?”

Gareth smiled with evil relish. “Flay is no concern.”

The king laughed and blinked with wide eyes. “Truly? You’re going to do it, aren’t you? Finally. You’re going to kill your brother. Are you prepared to be king?”

Gareth’s smile vanished. He suddenly noticed the smell of the chill air unfiltered by Greyfriar’s scarf. He felt the absence of a heavy gun belt or dangling sword on his hips. He looked deep into the warm eyes of his friend as if seeking some comfort. “There is nothing else I can do now.”

“You were born to be king and you have my support, Your Majesty. I’ll fight the Equatorians at the side of King Gareth with gusto.” Lothaire picked up the skull and lofted it across the chamber.

Gareth reached out and snatched the dead thing from the air with great and unusual facility, much to the surprise of his friend.

I
T WAS A
balmy evening heralding spring would soon be on them. Gareth stepped between two smashed French windows onto a veranda outside the Tuileries. The week spent among Lothaire's family had been hectic. Cesare would be foaming at the mouth to have the coronation done, and if Lothaire was right about spies in the court, surely his brother knew Gareth was delaying here. He was about to lift into the air when a voice behind him softly called out his name. He turned. Lothaire's wife approached, tall and regal, in a simple but elegant dress that swept the floor behind her.

“Katerina,” he replied, coming toward her.

“I finally have a quiet moment with most of the brood asleep, and I thought we might chat without the din.” Her smile was genuine. “Lothaire has been regaling me of your exploits as the lonely prince.”

Gareth stifled a groan, wishing he had left a minute earlier. He was in no mood to be nagged by married friends about being the consummate bachelor. Katerina didn't let him escape.

“You must quite love Scotland,” she continued.

“Scotland is quiet.”

Katerina took his hands and guided him to a chaise. “Well, Baudoin is known for his profound silence, but surely you don't spend all your time in that damp castle.”

“No, I get out of the city from time to time. The countryside is good for one's health, I hear. Sometimes I sleep in tombs and caves for old time's sake.”

Katerina's laugh was sweet. “I have missed your wit. And you must be missing the peace and quiet of your beloved Scotland right about now.”

Gareth shrugged politely. “It is good to see you both. It's been too long.” He noted the diminutive bite marks on her neck. Most were healed, but there were fresh ones as well. Even with the help of bloodnurses, she still had allowed her nearly innumerable children to feed from her. “I've never seen you look so happy, even teetering on exhaustion.”

“The lure of motherhood is strong.” Katerina's smile broadened, and a dangerous twinkle filled her eye. “So Gareth, Lothaire tells me you haven't found anyone to share your damp castle. But I think you look different.”

Gareth leaned back slightly, cautious, then remarked, “I merely found my backbone. That changes the stature of a man.”

She scrutinized him through blue eyes. “I fear you're lying to me. You have found someone.”

He hesitated, taken aback by her intuition. Then he conceded to her open persuasive face, smiling at the admission, “Yes, you are frighteningly perceptive. It's true.”

“Won't you tell me about her?”

“It's…complicated.”

She leaned forward and laid a kind hand on his knee. “It always is. You need not say anything if you don't wish it. I won't pry, although I'd like to.”

“Thank you. That means a great deal to me. Katerina, you and Lothaire have been together for as long as I've known you. Your love has crossed centuries. I've watched you the past few days. You're so comfortable with each other. No matter the noise or the chaos of your children or matters of state, you two treat each other with kindness. I ache to have what you two have.”

“If she's the right one for you, you will have centuries together still.”

Gareth almost shook his head. Adele's life could be counted in decades. “All I know is that I have something better than anything I have ever known.”

Katerina embraced him warmly. “Gareth, I'm so happy for you. Whoever she is, she has brought you back to the joy of living. I long to meet her and thank her for such a gift. Cherish it. Embrace it with all your heart.”

“I will.”

Katerina rose. “I am off to get some sleep. I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Quickly then, before one of them wakes,” Gareth jested.

She brushed the back of her hand across his cheek affectionately. “I'm glad you're here. Lothaire hasn't been this animated in a century. Please make your stay an extended one, for his sake. And for mine. You're welcome here as long as you can stand to be away from the one you love.” She glided to the door.

Gareth called after her, “Katerina, how could tell that I was different?”

She stared over her shoulder with a sly grin. “You seem content at last.”

Gareth relished the solitude in the near silence of the city air above the Parisian suburb of Montmartre. He smiled as he touched the cobblestones at the top of a long flight of cascading steps, feeling hopeful. Lights glimmered in the buildings along both sides of the stairway. He leaned against the iron rail and scanned the area. He smelled humans everywhere, and only a few vampires.

He had been to this spot on the two nights previous, and had noticed Prince Honore in the distance both times. The lad likely thought himself hidden, but his skills were no match for the vampire who was the Greyfriar. Gareth had talked in court about hunting in the Montmartre district to cover these excursions. He lied about how he loved stalking the area around the hilltop because it reminded him of the closes of Edinburgh. There was no sense alarming anyone with reports of his wandering the northern city for no apparent reason. And he hoped Prince Honore would tire of following if there were a mundane motive behind his sojourns. Apparently that was the case, because tonight there was no sign of prying eyes.

Warm breezes ruffled Gareth's shirt and reminded him of comfortable evenings atop the palace roof in Alexandria. He wondered what Adele was doing at this moment.

“Gareth.”

He turned quickly to see a shadow move in the darkness. Flay. Extraordinary, and frightening. He hadn't detected her at all.

He said, “I think we're alone tonight.”

“We are. Your little shade isn't about.” She stepped into the starlight wearing a long swallowtail coat of navy blue, with riding pants, high leather boots, and nothing else. Her expression showed she was satisfied that she had remained hidden from him.

“Lothaire tells me his court is full of Cesare's spies.”

Flay huffed. “No doubt. Cesare has spies everywhere.”

“Even in Equatoria?”

“Of course. You knew one, Lord Kelvin.”

Gareth nodded and started down the steps with Flay at his side. He tried to sound only vaguely interested in what she was saying. “Kelvin is dead now, thanks to you. And so is Lord Aden. Thanks to me.”

“He is?” Flay glanced at him with surprise. “Why would you kill him? He could have been useful to you.”

“I don't like traitors who are loyal to Cesare. How could I have ever trusted him?”

“C'est la vie.
The only excuse for betrayal is to be on the winning side.” She risked a hard glance at Gareth. “Isn't that why you've given up your mask, Greyfriar?”

Gareth froze and slid his eyes slowly to her. She flinched, fearful she had overplayed her hand. Then he laughed and nodded at her brutal sagacity. “Speaking of my alter ego, have you told anyone other than Lord Aden about the Greyfriar?”

Flay smiled seductively with renewed confidence. “No, my lord. I told you in the crypt underneath Alexandria that I would use that particular piece of delicious intelligence for my own gain. I shouldn't have told that human, but I was angry. And I was only going to tell Cesare when I was ready to destroy you.”

“How fortunate you didn't, Flay. Now we both have a brighter future.”

Flay leaned toward the prince, as if expecting him to touch her. However, he kept his attention straight ahead and continued a slow stroll down the broad steps. The war chief snarled, “This place stinks like humans.”

Gareth shrugged and waved his arm. People moved around them, even though it was well past dusk.

Flay sneered. “Perhaps if Lothaire wasn't so consumed with making little French vampires, he could clean out this rat hole.”

“His Majesty is in agreement with our plot. He will support Cesare's demise, and my coronation.”

The war chief didn't seem overjoyed.

“Don't fret.” Gareth allowed his voice to drip entitlement. “I'm Dmitri's eldest son.”

“You have been away a long time. Whom can you count on? You were once popular with Lord Ghast, but he's dead. Princess Adele killed him.”

“Yes, I remember.” Gareth pretended to eye Flay, angry at her doubt and complications as he tapped his finger on his chin. “What about Lord Raglan? He still has York, doesn't he?”

“Fine, there's one.”

“Well, how about…no, he's dead. Perhaps Lady—mm, no. Not her.”

Flay worked her jaw side to side with impatience. “Perhaps we should name lords who hate Cesare rather than those who like you.”

“A longer list, I'd guess.”

“Much.”

“Even so, should we reach out to them now? We can't afford for Cesare to suspect we're polling the clan before the coven.”

“You're right.” She stopped and turned toward him. “This won't be a simple matter.”

“You're here to make it simple, Flay,” Gareth replied sharply. “Politics is a matter of killing the right people at the right time.”

She eyed him hungrily. “Yes, but we must tread carefully. There is always the threat of civil war. The clan could shatter. Remember, King Dmitri had brothers, and they have children. Newcastle. Cambridge. Even the lord of Bruges is married to a cousin of yours. Any of these opportunists could proclaim you a usurper.”

“Unlikely.”

Flay shrugged. “Yes, but not impossible. I will sound out the clan and find several allies who will support you. And there are a few die-hard Cesare loyalists whom I can target for elimination. With proper preparation, we should be able to make you king with only the desired amount of bloodshed. You must prepare for everything. You must think on a wider scale than ever before.”

Gareth stifled a laugh, remembering the similar advice he'd given Adele during their fencing match. It gave him a chill to think he and Flay had mirror worldviews.

He saw a glint to his left and began to spin as a knife slid into his upper rib cage. He grasped the wrist of his attacker. There was no fear in the human's eyes, only determination. Another flash forced him to duck, and an axe swept past his head. He heard pops from above and something punched him in the shoulder, chest, and back. Gunfire came from the roofs above on both sides of the stairs.

Flay leapt into the air and rose toward the flashes from the rooftops. Bullets struck her too, and her weightless form went spinning.

Gareth reached for his rapier, but grasped empty space as the axe slammed deep into his shoulder, missing his neck by a few inches. He pulled the man with the dagger along with him as he backed against the wall to seek cover. Bullets ticked off the wall.

He gouged the face of the knife wielder and sent him airborne screaming down the stairs. Then he yanked the axe free of his collarbone and stepped out, swinging the weapon into another determined man nearby. The point of a sword immediately protruded from Gareth's stomach. With an angry snarl, he lashed back with the axe, and the heavy blade caromed off a man's skull.

Instantly, he dropped the axe and began to climb, weaving up the stones as shells tore through newly leafed branches, clicked off bricks, and shattered windows. He heard screams from above and assumed Flay had found her quarry. When he reached the roof, he caught a brief glimpse of her slaughtering a man before pushing off and vaulting over the stairs toward the opposite rooftop.

He sailed across the space as rifle muzzles flashed, and he felt several tugs on his clothes and limbs. Then he was on the roof, in the center of four men with rifles. They tried awkwardly to spin and aim at him. He growled and slashed faces and throats, ripped weapons from hands, and smashed heads with a heavy rifle.

Soon he was the only one standing. He had been slow. So much time in the relative warmth of Equatoria, and infrequent feedings left him less than his best. He needed to sharpen himself before going to London.

Flay appeared over the edge of the roof, her face red and raven hair glistening wet. She crouched with claws out, her head pivoting in search of prey. Satisfied they were alone, she turned her attention to Gareth.

She laughed. “You didn't kill them all below, but I finished it for you.”

“I was distracted,” Gareth replied.

Flay took the rifle from his hand and tossed it aside. Then she gently removed a dagger from his ribs and pulled the sword out of his back. Her earlier looks of dismay were replaced by fierce admiration as she took in the carnage. “Please restrain yourself from using weapons where you might be seen.”