The Greyfriar (Vampire Empire, Book 1) by Clay & Susan Griffith;Clay Griffith;Susan Griffith (19 page)

"Princess?" A voice came from behind her.

Adele spun to see Prince Gareth standing in the doorway with raised
eyebrows.

"Is someone out there?" The vampire moved quickly toward the
window.

Adele met Gareth halfway and blocked his path. "No. I talk to
myself because there is no one here I deign to speak to."

The vampire slipped around her and leaned out the window. Adele froze.

Gareth drew back inside and asked, "Was Cesare or Flay here?"

Adele paused. Had Prince Gareth not seen Selkirk? Was that possible? Her head shook slowly in response to Gareth's question.

"You can tell me without fear of retribution. I will deal with my
brother. He has no claim on you now that I'm here."

Adele thought he sounded almost sincere, but that was impossible.
Vampires had no emotions except hunger. Still, this one had mastered
the mimicry of sympathy. He knew how to incline his head just so and
peer at her out of crystal blue eyes, but he was merely hiding cruelty, and she saw the razor edges of his teeth when he spoke. She shook her head
again and, to pull his attention from the window, she crossed the room
with pantomime frailty.

Adele cleared her throat loudly. "I want to thank you. For your kindness. These rooms. The food." She feigned a near swoon and held herself
up on the door frame. "Cesare was so brutal."

Gareth merely watched her curiously.

Adele swallowed the bitterness she tasted in her throat. She toed the
stone floor with a dirty boot. The life of an imperial heir had given her
very little practice being coquettish.

Gareth seemed unmoved by the tattered young waif. "If you're
weak, you should eat more. Don't worry about the meat. It is cow. And
some horse. That is acceptable to humans, yes?"

"Horse? No! Civilized people don't eat horses. We ride them. Oh
God, have you fed me horse?"

"Cow is fine, then?"

"Yes. Cow. No horse. No dog. No cat. Just cow. Or sheep. Or goat.
Do you know the difference between animals?"

"Yes. I know the difference. What about clothes? Do you want new
clothes?"

"No. I won't wear rags torn from some cadaver."

Gareth seemed insulted. "As you will."

"Do you intend to release me or keep me as some trophy?" Adele surprised herself by dredging up that hopeless question. But she might as
well call this charming monster's bluff now and get back to her sullen self.

"I don't know. Senator Clark's attack on Bordeaux has given Cesare
an excuse to raise a furor, as if he needed one. It will be hard for me to
free you now." The vampire seemed to be talking more to himself than
to her. Then he leaned back against the window embrasure; his elbow
couldn't have been more than inches from Selkirk's unseen head.

Adele suddenly threw her hands against her face and began wailing.
She fell to her knees and even called up tears from somewhere. After a
few moments, she peered through parted fingers to see Gareth still
leaning and staring at her like a man watching a play. And not a particularly well performed one.

There was a small sound from outside the window. As Gareth
started to turn, Adele sprang forward.

"Listen to me!" the princess shouted desperately. "I can't take it anymore! I will tell you about the spies in Britain!"

Gareth flattened against the wall and held up calming hands. "I
don't want to know anything about spies in Britain."

"What?" Adele abandoned her swooning burlesque and glared.
"What's wrong with you?"

"Was that Cesare's interest? Spies? Well, my only interest is seeing
you safely home. I have no wish to involve myself in Cesare's affairs."

Adele said angrily, "So you're afraid of Cesare too? Is everyone afraid
of that little creature?"

"Yes," Gareth replied. "It would be ignorant not to fear him. He's
capable of anything. And his packs are numerous compared to mine.
Which number exactly one." He laid a hand on his chest and smiled.

"Aren't you the elder brother?"

"Yes. But politics are complicated, as you well know."

"If you release me, it will earn you goodwill in Equatoria."

"That's nice, but to what end? There are no politics between vampires and humans. To us, you are food. To you, we are parasites. There is
no ground where we can meet. You want your territory back. We won't
give it back. It's life or death between us."

"It doesn't have to be. You will be a ... king and I'll be empress.
Together we can take your brother down...."

Gareth's face fell. "Please stop. If only you truly believed that. But
don't worry. I intend to free you, Princess, while Cesare does not. There
is no need to sway me. And it won't serve you to catch me in some
treacherous utterance, thinking you can gain your freedom by selling me
out to Cesare. There are no secrets between me and my brother. When
our father the king dies, I will kill Cesare. We both know it; it only has
to play out someday."

Adele felt a wave of weariness and misery crowd out her desperate
scheming. It all seemed so pointless to argue with a vampire. This was
why she had refused to speak to Cesare in the first place. If it weren't for
wanting to protect Selkirk, she would never have let herself be drawn into conversation with this one. She thought about going for her stone
knife. At least one of the things would die. But that was foolish. It could
bring every vampire in the vicinity and doom Selkirk.

Gareth continued quietly, "All you need do is wait. Don't do anything
foolish like trying to escape. And pray your countrymen don't attempt to
rescue you by force." He extended his arm out the window, causing Adele
to start. But he was only pointing to the vulturelike sentries perched across
the yard. "They are waiting for a signal to kill you. They won't ask questions. They won't wonder about the reason. They'll just kill."

"They can try." Adele gave a sarcastic grin, wondering why those
assassins, if they were truly so fearsome, couldn't even see a man hanging
right under their noses.

"Indeed. I'm sure you might take a few with you. You're quite
extraordinary."

Adele was taken aback by Gareth's praise, faint though it was. He
must've heard that she had killed vampires in France. The young
princess actually felt pride that Gareth, one of the creatures himself,
would recognize her skills. Cesare, on the other hand, had done nothing
but harangue and berate her, always reinforcing her role as part of an
inferior species.

Wait, Adele thought abruptly. This was just a sham. Gareth was
only toying with her. Winning her confidence with gestures of goodwill.
She wouldn't be so easily swayed, though.

"Would you go now?" she said as forcefully as she could muster.

Gareth gave a half bow. "I beg you to believe what I say. I am your
only chance to get home alive." The tall prince pinned her eyes with a
fierce stare.

She dropped her gaze to the floor as Gareth's faint tread passed her
and faded from the room.

Adele let out her breath in a rush and hurried to the window. Selkirk
was gone. She frantically scanned the grounds and decaying structures.
She thought she saw a figure slipping behind a pile of rubble, but
couldn't be sure. Adele gripped the damp stone and wondered if he had
been there at all. Perhaps she had conjured him out of desperation for
freedom.

The princess thought with manic irony how peculiar it was that so
many people seemed intent on securing her release from captivity. Cesare
claimed it. Now Gareth too. Her Intended was busy slaughtering every
vampire in Europe to effect it. Yet the actions of each made it impossible
for the others to act. Such was diplomacy. It would've been hilarious
except for the fact that she was pondering the joke while standing in a
chilled vampire prison wearing filthy clothes and eating horse.

"My only chance to get out alive," Adele muttered scornfully,
repeating Gareth's words as she turned away from the window. Maybe
Mamoru's uncanny reach, through Selkirk, could pluck her from her
prison. And somewhere, she believed, Greyfriar was slipping through
shadows in pursuit of her freedom. A brief bubble of hope rose in her.
"We'll see."

OUR IMPERIAL MAJESTY, may I present the ambassador from Dmitri, king of Britain."

Lord Kelvin's unbelievable words rang in the great vault of the Suez
Hall of Victoria Palace. His manner was bland and formal to diminish
the inconceivable nature of his announcement. The members of the
Privy Council, despite the pomp of their dress, looked as hostile as a
lynch mob. Lord Aden stood quietly to one side, observing this bit of
history with an air of curiosity.

At the far end of the hall was Emperor Constantine II, the Empire
in person. His robes of state were adapted from the British pattern with
the addition of a tiger skin shoulder throw as a nod to India. His crown
was forged from Egyptian gold and weighted with sapphires and rubies
from India. The scepter in his grasp was topped with a fist-sized diamond from the Cape. His massive throne was carved with symbols of the
Empire, including Indian elephants and lions of Africa. Two golden
Egyptian sphinxes crouched malevolently at his feet.

Senator Clark stood like an angry bearded statue at the foot of the
throne, arms clasped behind his back. Lord Kelvin had argued vehemently against the American being near the dais during an official state
reception. It simply wasn't done. But since Clark's return from Marseilles bearing young Prince Simon on his broad American shoulders, followed
closely by his blood-soaked triumph in Bordeaux, the emperor was compelled to show deference to him as he would his own son.

Emperor Constantine motioned for the newly arrived "ambassador"
to proceed up the long aisle between row after row of empty seats. This
"damnable" reception was advertised and attended by only his closest
advisors.

Gas lamps flicked dramatic shadows on walls covered with bold
murals, painted figures of war, gigantic and vital, with faces fixed in red
concentration. Horses reared. Cannons vomited fire and smoke, and forests
of lances flashed. All the painted soldiers and weapons seemed to issue forth
from the living figure of the emperor poised on his throne. The ceiling
hosted a magnificent sweep of the Imperial Navy airships streaming out
triumphantly over the heads of all who came into the Presence.

The mousy ambassador appeared suitably awed by the vast chamber.
He stopped ten feet from the dais and gave a curt bow. His clothes were
mismatched and poorly patched. Lord Kelvin had tried to provide him a
proper suit of clothes, but the ambassador refused. The ragged outfit only
made the imperial councilors more scornful of this diplomatic mockery.
The grandees hated to see their emperor brought so low as to meet with
a representative of vampires. It was ridiculous. It was unthinkable. It
seemed to many of these political oaks that whenever the honor of Equatoria was damaged, Adele was at the root of it. Fortunately, Senator Clark
would make the monsters pay for this terrible indignity.

"Your Majesty," the human ambassador croaked, "I bear a message of
greeting and goodwill from King Dmitri, sovereign of Great Britain."

Lord Kelvin squirmed with annoyance from his shadowy place near
the great doors. He had expressly forbidden the word sovereign. If these
vampires and their lackeys couldn't follow a few pages of simple rules,
they shouldn't pretend to be members of the world community.

The emperor's frown deepened into a scowl of hatred. Constantine
was a large man, once a stunning physical specimen with a life full of
military exploits. But that was years past. A relatively easy reign in the
last ten years had softened and enlarged him. He had been handsome
when young, but his face had grown jowly, which his bushy mutton chops and his relatively weak chin only exaggerated. His thinning hair
was hidden from view by the jeweled crown. His left eye drooped, the
souvenir from a Zulu assegai, and the last few weeks living in fear for his
children's lives and his Empire's future had left him sallow and with
dark, sleepless eyes.