“Can’t argue with you there. The man was a complete moron. I don’t know what your father was thinking, keeping him as steward for so long. Never mind. You’ll have this place up to your usual standards in no time. You’ve already done enough, mind you. Nobody’s going to starve this winter.”
The castle registry is filled with records of many deaths from winters’ past. Babes, children, mothers, fathers. The registrars usually put sickness as the cause of death, but when I cross-referenced the granary records from those dates, it was quite obvious that they simply didn’t have enough food.
A knot of anger tightens within me.
I despise incompetence.
Especially incompetence that causes suffering.
I don’t tell Kaithar that father failed to deal with Duke Bengar because he didn’t know what was going on in Tyron. Lukiria is the center of everything, and as far as the nobles are concerned, Tyron is the end of the world; a barren, wintry province that is of no value and no consequence.
At last, we reach the simple wooden door that leads to Kaithar’s quarters.
“Well, thank you for dragging me all the way here, Your Highness.” Kaithar uncurls his arm from my shoulders and tries to execute the worst bow I’ve ever seen. “If you didn’t sneak up on me back there, I probably would have crawled into the nearest stairwell and fallen asleep.”
“And gotten yourself half-frozen to death in the process. At least now your snoring won’t wake half the bloody castle.”
“I don’t snore,” Kaithar says with a deadpan expression as he pushes the door open. A tendril of warm air escapes. One of the servants must’ve lit the fire before they went to bed.
Familiar scents swirl around me. Leather and blade oil. Clean linen and woodsmoke and salted meat.
Ever since I underwent the changes, my senses have been overly sharp. The faintest sound rings loudly in my ears. I can pick up scents I never knew existed. Too many strong scents all at once can make me feel sick in my stomach.
I can see in the dark now.
The direct midday sun is too harsh for my eyes.
For months after I turned, I secluded myself, unable to cope with the cacophony of noises and the melange of scents that assaulted my senses.
But I’m a little more used to it now. I can filter out unnecessary distractions… most of the time.
“Go to bed, Kaith,” I growl, gently pushing him inside.
He hesitates at the entrance, turning around and leaning heavily on the door frame. “Do I have to pry answers out of you, you cryptic idiot? I asked you where you’re going. Twice. Spit it out, Van.”
Kaithar never forgets, even when he’s drunk.
I shrug. “You probably won’t even remember this when you wake up so I’ll tell you. I’m going out to check the lycan traps. They were active last night.”
“How do you know?”
“Heard them.”
“Ah. Of course you did. Sure you don’t want to leave that to the soldiers?”
“It’s Seinmas. I’m not a slave-driver. And I’m faster on my own.”
Much faster.
“True. I’m almost jealous, you know.”
“Don’t be. It isn’t worth it. Believe me. I wouldn’t wish this curse on any friend of mine.” I meet my old friend’s eyes, and for a moment I almost feel human again. Kaithar is one of the very few people around here who treats me normally.
Kaithar pushes off the doorframe, and for a moment, his massive body sways back and forth like a gunship in a squall.
We’re of a similar size, he and I, but Kaithar carries more muscle-bulk, thanks to his Vikurian heritage.
There was a time when he could have taken me down in a grappling match—sometimes.
His thick black brows draw together. His broad forehead creases in concern. “At least pull up your damn hood then, my lord. Don’t want you getting sunburned like last time.”
I chuckle. “You’re worse than my bloody mother.”
“Someone has to be. Who else is going to knock some sense into you, you gloomy bastard? You know what you need? A woman, that’s what. I wish you’d get over yourself and stop being such a fucking prude. Vampire or not.”
“I’ll let that pass on account of the fact that you’re drunk. Just this once. Good night, Kaithar.” My voice is colder than I intended as I gently close the door.
Kaithar lets out a muffled grunt of irritation as he disappears into his lair.
That bastard surely knows how to get under my skin, even when he’s so pissed he can’t walk straight.
What’s he talking about?
A woman?
What woman wouldn’t despise a wretch that wants to devour her?
5
FINLEY
The sky has turned from deep lavender to pale pink by the time I summon the courage to kick against the door, trying to splinter the already damaged wood in the hopes that I can make an opening large enough for me to squeeze myself through.
It helps that I’ve put my boots back on, although I’ve left the ridiculous dress on the opposite bench, where Janvia had neatly folded it.
I’d rather be cold than trapped.
Thud.
I kick again, and this time, the wood cracks.
A hole appears. Through it, I see snow and blood.
Bile rises in my throat. I fight the urge to throw up and kick harder.
Why did they lock me inside? Did they think I would run away?
In this place, in the middle of winter?
My father has to be a little insane.
All I know is that I need to get out of here before nightfall. The wolf-monsters left at the first hint of the rising sun. I have no doubt they’ll be back.
I need to get out of here.
As long as I follow the track through the woods, I should eventually reach some sort of civilization. I shouldn’t be too far from Tyron Castle by now. Surely, there would be a small village or homesteader’s hut along the way.
Thud.
I kick again.
Thud.
Again; harder this time, tapping into the anger I’ve stored inside.
Actually, amidst the shock and fear, I’m really angry.
But then I freeze mid-kick, because a faint sound reaches my ears.
At first, I think I’m imagining it, but it’s growing louder.
Hoofbeats.
The sound of many horses, galloping at speed.
I hear the voices of men; stern, loud, unfamiliar. The horses slow down. They’re almost upon us.
I duck under the covers again.
Friend, or foe?
I don’t know yet. Better to be cautious. They could be outlaws. Brigands. Men who would hold me for ransom and slit my throat if my father didn’t pay.
Please. Be friendly.
“Look at this slaughter.” One of the men laughs. “What a bunch of idiots. Who the fuck travels through Tyron in winter at night with such a small and poorly equipped escort? There’s not even a crossbow or a war-axe between them.”
How callous. My heart sinks. These men aren’t friends at all.
“They look like Midlanders. Some minor noble’s soldiers, from the looks of it. Don’t expect to find much, but there might be a few gold on them. Hefgar, start going through their pockets and purses… what’s left of them, anyway.”
“Why do I always have to do the dirty work?”
“Because you’re new around here, bastard. Get to work.”
I feel sick. They’re talking so casually about the dead… about the people that had been all around me only yesterday. The guards and the maid hadn’t been the nicest to me, but they were just following my father’s orders.