I resist the urge to shake my head. No, Kastel. He’s always been this way with me. You were just too young to see it. “You shouldn’t have come here,” I say instead, my anger rising. “What were you thinking? For the three of you to come to Tyron alone? You could have been killed!”
“You would have been killed, Fin,” Kastel shoots back, his expression darkening. “Or worse. Look what happened to our people back there. Your escorts. Men that have served under father for years and years. All dead. If he knew you were coming, that fucking archduke should have sent an escort to meet you at the border. We just don’t have those kinds of resources.”
Guilt and sorrow hit me like a crossbow bolt through the chest.
They’re all dead.
I should be amongst them.
Behind us, a man clears his throat.
My gaze snaps toward the other side of the room, where the heavy wooden doors are open.
A figure stands in the doorway, hands folded behind his back, a cryptic almost-smile on his lips. He’s tall and slender, with golden hair and blue eyes and elegant features that stop just short of being effeminate.
What is with these Tyronese men and their long hair?
“Pardon my intrusion,” the man says calmly. “My name is Vinciel Sacrosan. I am Edinvar’s head physician. The fucking archduke has ordered me to update you on your brother’s condition. He has been treated for his injuries and is currently stable. The hepatic trauma was severe and certainly life-threatening. Fortunately, I was able to initiate a treatment that induces rapid healing.”
“In plain language, please, Sir.” My brother’s forehead furrows with worry.
“He’ll live.”
Kastel’s expression is ridiculous; caught somewhere between astonishment and relief.
He’ll live.
I close my eyes and let out a deep, shuddering sigh. All the anger and tension flow out of me.
Aderick will live. My foolhardy, reckless kid brother, who is yet to learn how the world truly works…
He’ll live.
A pang of guilt creeps into my heart. “Will there be any permanent damage?”
“Unlikely. He’s young. He’ll heal well. As long as he spends the next several weeks recuperating—with proper bedrest—he should make a full recovery. But he is not to exert himself in any way until I give the all-clear.”
“I understand. I’ll make sure he follows your instructions to the letter.”
“I’m sure you will.” Vinciel Sacrosan gives me a strange look. I can’t decipher his expression in the slightest.
I blink.
Did I hear correctly before?
Just before… did he say… fucking archduke?
I must be dreaming, because the physician looks like butter wouldn’t even melt in his mouth. His gaze is cool and analytical. He’s urbane and polished. “My lady, I am informed that there may have been a certain incident during your travels. His Highness has asked that I check you over.”
I stiffen. Incident? Does the physician know about the blood-drinking? “I-I’m fine.”
Vinciel won’t be swayed. “Nevertheless, I have my orders, and it’s never a good idea to disregard Archduke Duthriss’s will. It will not take long. I can examine you here, or in a private room. Whichever is your preference.”
I share a look with Kastel. “Here is fine.”
“As you wish.” He crosses the room, his movements graceful and elegant, reminding me of a cat. His clothing is simple but well tailored; the dark blue coat and white shirt look like they’ve been cut from the highest quality cloth.
The fit and styling are impeccable, effortlessly so.
The castle might look deceptively simple and unadorned, but everything here reeks of wealth.
Suddenly, Kastel and Garan are giving off a hostile aura, like big guard-dogs, ready to pounce at the slightest hint of anything inappropriate. But Vinciel pays them no mind as he reaches my side. It’s as if they don’t even exist. “You can remain seated.” He takes my hand and turns it over, placing his fingers over my pulse. “You have no pain?”
“No, I’m completely fine.”
He places his thumb beneath my left eye and pulls, briefly checking the inside of my lower eyelid. For the briefest of moments, his gaze flicks toward the point on my neck where the demon sank his fangs into me.
My heart is hammering. I want to ask a hundred questions, but I don’t dare.
Does he know the man that did this to me?
Does he know?
I’m feeling warm again. Restless. Like I have an itch that can’t be scratched.
What is wrong with me?
“Mildly anaemic and a little dehydrated,” he says at last. “Nothing that can’t be fixed. Lunch will be served shortly. Then you will be shown to your quarters and given time to rest.” He gives me a strange look. “I would recommend that you drink a lot of water and eat to your heart’s content. The servants will provide everything you ask for. And I’m certain His Highness will make arrangements to replace your damaged garments with something more suitable.”
A flush rises into my cheeks. I’m acutely reminded of the fact that I’m wearing nothing but my woolen underclothes beneath the warm winter cloak that was hastily offered to me by one of the Archduke’s men.
I have it wrapped around me right now, the well-woven deep blue cloth smelling of pine and fresh soap.
This isn’t at all the arrival I’d planned, but for some reason, I feel more comfortable sitting here in my underclothes and a borrowed cloak than I would in that cursed dress.
Vinciel steps back and tips his head. “I’ve seen all that I need to see. Please, make yourselves at ease. You are our honored guests, and you’ve been through quite the ordeal. Besides, it’s Seinmas.”
“When will I meet the Archduke?” I blurt. I feel a sudden need to regain some semblance of control, even though I’ve never been in control. “I must have an audience with him as soon as possible.”
I need to make a deal with him. I need to negotiate for Garan and Kastel’s safe passage back to Ruen. I need to see Aderick with my own eyes, so I can be assured of his wellbeing, especially after that strange man took him away.
I need to know that Aderick will be cared for, and allowed to recuperate in this place for as long as he needs.
And I need to see for myself… what kind of man this Corvan Duthriss really is.
The rumors are too much. I don’t know what’s hearsay and what’s real.
The mad prince. The ruthless commander. The bitter recluse. Afflicted with an unmentionable condition. Cursed by arcane magic.
Which is the truth?
The physician raises a finger; a stern and not-so-subtle warning. “He will summon you when he is ready. In the meantime, please. Make yourselves at ease.”
12
CORVAN
“Come in, Kyron,” I say absently as I scan the dense paragraphs of The Known Vulnerabilities of Arcane Beasts. I’ve reached the chapter entitled: The Rare and Deadly Vampyr.
Deadly? Well, I beg to differ. I haven’t killed anyone since I was turned—well, not anyone innocent, anyway.
Rare? This isn’t news to me.