Kingmakers, The (Vampire Empire Book 3) (37 page)

A
FIRE ROARED
in the hearth of the great hall in Edinburgh Castle, and lanterns hung down from the hammer-beam roof timbers. Gareth was relaxed, despite the heat, as he sat at the head of the table and listened to Adele discussing details for the immediate future of the people of Edinburgh. She was excellent at details. Two of the Harmattan stood outside the door, the only members of her guard who were not out with Captain Shirazi combing the city for the elusive assassin.

Gareth had begun the difficult process of evacuating Edinburgh. Over the last week, he had announced several times to his people that they should move out of the city. He had to hurriedly explain to their worried faces and shouted questions that it was only temporary, and they would all soon be home again. Ultimately, a majority of the townsfolk had been willing to leave. Already some had packed up and departed, dispersing into the countryside, journeying to relatives' farms or abandoned villages in the Highlands. Still, many remained stubbornly behind. Gareth and Adele had just returned to the castle after hours of meeting with some of the city's elders to entreat them to push for further evacuations.

Morgana entered the great hall carrying a tray of food, followed by a smiling Captain Hariri. They chatted amiably with the pirate
slathering great doses of compliments on the lovely serving woman. She accepted his attention, but maintained a studious distance.

Hariri seized a hunk of warm bread and announced, “We will be taking another journey north with more of the sick and elderly later today. I believe it may be our last before His Highness leaves for London.”

Adele chuckled at the couple. “Morgana, are you taking that flight out of the city?”

Morgana laid the tray on the table and wiped her hands officiously on her apron. “Oh, I won't be leaving. There's no need for me to go.”

“There's as much need as anyone,” Adele replied. “We want everyone out of Edinburgh.”

Hariri leaned on his elbows. “There's plenty of room, Miss Morgana. I'd welcome your delightful company.”

The woman smiled. “My place is here.”

“No,” Adele said. “I want you to go.”

Morgana looked a bit more disturbed. “But why? Nothing will happen, miss. It's just a precaution, but there'll be no problems surely. So why go?”

The empress looked at Gareth for support, then back to Morgana. “We don't believe anything will happen, you're right. But we must prepare for every possibility.”

The servant shook her head vigorously. “No. It will be fine. I'll stay.”

Gareth propped his chin on his hand. “There is no way to know what may happen in London. If Cesare's packs fall on Edinburgh, I don't want anyone in danger. In all likelihood, all will be well, and soon you will be able to return to your duties here.”

The young woman tightened her mouth, as if fighting back tears. “But I don't want to go.”

Gareth said, “Morgana, take the airship today and go. Please.”

She nodded quickly and left the room. Hariri took a deep breath in sympathy and followed.

“It will work out.” Adele pulled the inquisitive Pet off the table for the third time. “We can't get everyone out, no doubt. But most of them have left.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Of course not. I'm not afraid of Cesare and every vampire in Britain. I'll stay here and wait for word from you.” She walked over to Gareth and dumped the disgruntled cat in his lap. “Here, you wrestle with this beast a while. He's like a lion. What have you been feeding him? He's gained ten pounds already!”

“Everyone in town was glad to see him apparently. They all fed him.”

Adele rolled a sore shoulder. “Well, if he's on board we're going to have to dump more ballast just to get the ship into the air at this rate.”

Gareth laughed and stroked the cat's silky fur. “I could tie a note to him pleading for folks not to feed the monster.”

“Don't tempt me.” Her voice dropped to a breathy sigh. “Though if you wrote the note, I'd probably steal it for myself to keep under my pillow.” Her lips brushed his.

“I'd write you a thousand notes if it meant staying near you.”

Her breath caught every time he bared his soul like that to her. She leaned in close and whispered seductively in his ear, “My darling, do you want to come with me to arrange for horses and oxen?”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward. “As enticing as that sounds, I must decline.”

Adele laughed and kissed him gently. Their fingers trailed apart as she reluctantly left to see to her duties.

Gareth walked to his library. Though it was nothing like Alexandria's vast collection, he still felt excitement and pride in his own meager offerings. After all, it was the only one of its kind in Britain. And it had brought Adele and him closer together after being torn asunder.

He pushed through the half-opened door into his private sanctum. It was a dark and quiet place, and one that he had not visited in some time. The sparse windows, tall thin things dotted with color, still allowed for a smidgen of light. A part of him was eager to open his books again and delicately flip through the thin pages, an exercise in
warm memories as well as subtle dexterity. He wished he had been able to teach Baudoin to appreciate the wonderful nature of books, but that his friend carefully cleaned the Greyfriar uniforms and honed his weapons to a sharp edge demonstrated just how far even Baudoin had come in using his hands to accomplish simple tasks. Perhaps there was some shred of hope for his people after all.

Gareth spied the trunk on the floor. The sound of his boots thudded on the stones. There were odd shadows cast about the floor, and he paused to study them a moment, lost in the artistry of the designs.

The door slammed shut behind him. Gareth spun around, but saw no one. The room was empty. Only when his skin suddenly flushed hot, he knew he was not alone. Agony seared his flesh and he staggered forward. The shaded designs under his feet flared to life in a white brilliance. Gareth immediately recognized the runic symbols of geomancy. Every space on the walls and floor was covered with geometric drawings. The closed door completed the pattern, sealing him inside a death trap.

The assassin had found him.

In his ears came a hum like taut steel spinning and he dove to the side. A steel barb attached to a thin wire sliced the air above him. It would have taken his head.

The humming began again. Gareth tried to move, but he wasn't fast enough. He didn't even register the bite of the barb until it wrapped around his arm, slicing into his flesh straight to the bone. The wire snapped taut and jerked him off his feet. A second wire whistled, and something sharp stabbed into the small of his back, striking a nerve. His legs went numb. He struggled to rise to his unsteady feet, grasping the silvery wire to pull himself up.

Now Gareth saw the assassin he was fighting: a tall African woman. She wore numerous talismans on chains and attached to her clothing. He could smell her power surging. Her eyes were dark with determination and hatred. They reminded him of Mamoru's. This was someone whose life had been irrevocably changed by his kind. There would be no reasoning with her. Instead of pulling back, he rushed toward her, closing the gap between them.

Nzingu was prepared for his attack, however, her lithe body moving
in a macabre dance as her razor wire held him fast like a fish on a hook. Her free arm gestured wide and then back, and the second wire wrapped around Gareth's leg, throwing him off-balance.

He swiped his claws at the wire holding his leg. He couldn't cut through it, but it did loosen slightly. He squirmed out of its grasp. The wire around his right forearm was lodged into the bone. It was the same arm Flay had broken months before, and it wouldn't take much force to snap it again, letting the wire sever his arm.

He staggered to his rubbery legs once more and rushed her, claws extended. He ran up along the wall and back down, attempting to circle behind her, making her readjust her aim. Her weapon, though its reach was long, required space and positioning. Gareth intended to deny her both. Her feet shifted as she tracked him, her arm swinging the silvery razor wire above her head, the hum of death filling the room with its reverberating cry.

Gareth darted in. His claws raked her arm with a spurt of blood as she spiraled aside, her whip still spinning. It lashed out again, cutting into his ribs, stabbing deep. She jerked back and the barb ripped free. Red blood splattered the pristine white of his tattered shirt. He cried out, not sure if it was pain or frustration. He came forward again, following her, his blood dripping far too fast onto the ground.

He saw her lips moving. A quick glance down showed that he stood within a circle of crystals on the floor. He tried to leap out, but a tug of her wire pulled him off-balance. The rune circle flared, and again he burned. The heat was concentrated and precise. His howl echoed through the hallowed room. He jerked, palsied in his throes of agony, and pulled Nzingu off-balance, breaking her concentration. The heat ceased. He crawled out of the circle, panting, with warm spittle running over his lips.

The woman made no sound. No cry of victory, no snide comment of derision. Her only focus was his demise. And she was going to succeed.

He rose a third time in a lurching shuffle, willing himself to continue fighting. He wasn't going to leave Adele. His mouth opened and he let loose a high-pitched scream that no human could hear, but hopefully it would carry to Baudoin somewhere in the castle.

The Zulu darted in from behind with the speed of a lioness and looped her long steel thread around his throat. He managed to bring his right arm up to block it, letting his forearm bone stop the wire from cutting off his head. Even so, the wire dug deep into his skin, silencing his cry for help while blood poured forth from his neck and arm. He felt searing heat wherever the woman touched him.

Nzingu easily manhandled him toward another set of runes on the floor. He knew he wouldn't survive another blast, and he twisted in her grip. His free arm stretched behind him and his claws found burning purchase, ripping cloth and soft tissue. She screamed in his ear and wrenched away. He collapsed onto his knees, his hand bearing the remainder of his weight against the wall. His fingertips brushed a carefully drawn rune.

Nzingu's foot smashed into his back, slamming him against the wall. His face pressed against the symbols. Her lips began the incantation. The pattern flared, and the heat rose.

Gareth prepared for death.

The heat abruptly died. His skin stopped burning. It was such a relief that he slumped to the ground. Baudoin must have heard him. He turned weakly on his side.

It was not Baudoin. Adele stood in the open door with a member of her Harmattan behind. Her face held shock, swiftly replaced by fury.

She drew her Fahrenheit blade. Gareth fought to rise, but shadows began to creep over his sight, and the last thing he saw of Adele was her auburn hair flaring in the green glow of her dagger. Then the darkness took him.

To Adele's horror, Gareth was not moving. His injuries looked ghastly. Beneath her feet a ley line coursed. She attempted to quiet her anger so that she could still the undulating energy and bring it under her control. It meant taking her concentration off Nzingu.