Part 2 (2/2)
But Vlad willingly paid the price and became my lover. He wooed me, sought me, led me gently over the precipice of death into a life more brilliant than I could ever have imagined.
I am immortal now; because of him, there is no fear of death, no aging, no suffering (except the hunger), no crippled limbs. There is only beauty, the sensual thrill of the seduction and the kill, the reality that I am admired, adored, l.u.s.ted after, loved.
And when I learnt that, during my first Changed year, there was a chance I could become with child, I took as many human lovers as I could. But I fear I am already barren. . . . Even so, I shall take men as often as I wish. I will be denied no pleasure; not the caress of a lover, and someday, too, I shall find a way to have my child.
It is Vlad who ended the anguish that was my human life and gave me this new and s.h.i.+ning sensual existence. I cannot deny him my love or my grat.i.tude -even if he were to turn on me one day in hatred. I shall always owe him that.
And he denies me nothing. He delights in buying me finery, in spoiling me, delights daily in my beauty. Only one conflict lies between us: my brother Arkady, known to me as Kasha.
Because of what he has done for me, I love Vlad; because of what he has done to my brother and father, I hate him. For Vlad's survival depends upon the d.a.m.nation of my brother's soul-as it depended on the d.a.m.nation of my father, my grandfather, and all firstborn Tsepesh males before him. Each generation's corruption purchases him an extension of life and power.
But the covenant forbade him to make vampires of those of his family. Just as he paid a price to make me as I am, so he has paid a heavier toll for making Kasha an immortal: Vlad is trapped now on his ancestral land and cannot leave it for the span of roughly twenty-five years.
At the same time, he says he now has only that same amount of time: one generation in which to dispatch poor Kasha, thus delivering his corrupted soul- or we will both lose our immortality, our power, our beauty . . . and perish. Since Vlad cannot leave Transylvania, he must rely on me and others to achieve his goal.
Only a generation . . . But my brother was my dearest friend; how shall I allow harm to come to him?
The recourse is to indulge myself for that time and hope that, when that generation is past, I can gracefully surrender this sparkling life along with him who gave it to me. Of course, the danger is that Arkady will grow too strong before then and destroy Vlad, my saviour and first lover-a love that, unlike Kasha's, was never darkened by pity.
And if I do permit Vlad's destruction (after all, I have given my brother the means to become a worthy adversary)-what shall become of me? Vlad is my creator; will the death of my G.o.d bring my own? Or does he lie when he says his demise means mine?
The only solution is to protect them both for as long as I can.
Even so, I fear Vlad will have me destroyed if he discovers the truth of what happened in Vienna. He cannot harm me himself, but he can always instruct a hired mortal. Of course, he has failed to find anyone of suitable mental strength and skill willing to risk life and afterlife to destroy a vampire; but someday he will find such a one, if my brother does not discover that strong soul first.
But I shall never tell him how much I revealed to my brother; and Kasha surely will not, and Dunya knows nothing, poor thing.
I wept upon my return to Transylvania. Vienna was paradise: such beauty and riches and opulence as I had never seen in my brief sheltered existence. As a mortal woman I was always too sickly to travel, had never been beyond the walls of the family estate. Vienna was only a dream, a fairy tale recounted by my father and brother.
But now I have seen for myself the bustling streets, the fine apparel, the pastries as decorative as tiny jewels, the grand opera houses. And the people that attended them-ah, the people! Warm and clean and fragrant, attired in satins and silks and diamonds like royalty, prettier than the pastries and far more toothsome. To sit in the opera as one of them, to inhale their scent- the scent of young strong blood flavoured with rich cuisine, the finest wines-and feel the presence of all those warm beating hearts was pure intoxication for me.
And the men-the men! Every male eye in every crowd looked on me with longing. I had my pick of them, thinking all the while, Surely this is life!
And if I could experience it only as one dead and d.a.m.ned-well then, dead and d.a.m.ned let me remain.
But this castle is so dull and dark and silent by contrast, especially now that the servants have all gone. The entire village surrounding us lies deserted, empty because Vlad dared break the covenant by transforming me into an immortal. In their foolishness, the peasants feared he would break his agreement with them and begin to prey on them.
So they all fled, and we are alone, forced to rely on our own wits to survive. And the castle grows more desolate and in need of repair each day. I find myself staring out its windows towards the Borgo Pa.s.s, praying to catch sight of a carriage filled with warm blood and beating hearts. . . . But soon the snow will render it impa.s.sable. There will be only one more visitor until the spring.
One more visitor. In the meantime, the underground cellar lies empty. Had my brother fulfilled his role in the family's covenant with Vlad, the cellar's prison would now be filled with visitors, ensuring an adequate supply over the coldest, bleakest months.
As it is, it seems we will starve . . . and grow weak-and hideous.
Writing this makes me want to take the horses and flee back to the city, makes me wish (guiltily) that I had never warned poor Kasha, for my generosity towards him may be my undoing. How shall I bear losing my beauty now?
I understand all too well Vlad's desire to go to London. Transylvania seems less hospitable every day; travellers grow fewer, despite continuing good weather. To be back in a large city again, with streets full of warm, unwitting people . . .
We should have gone to England long ago-yet Kasha's very existence makes it impossible for us to leave. Vlad will remain trapped in Transylvania until his agents manage to destroy my brother-or until he perishes at the end of twenty years' time.
Perhaps I could have freed Vlad by doing as he wished in Vienna, by sending in the mercenary mortals to kill Kasha. But they, too, were badly trained, of small minds that could focus on nothing but the gold that awaited them once the task was complete.
Shall I be the tool that destroys my own brother?
No. Not yet, at least . . . not yet. At the same time, I am not ready to give up this exquisite new existence; so I am bound to protect Vlad as well. I will harm none of my kin.
I arrived at the castle to-night full of sadness and exhilaration-and hunger. It had been an arduous journey home, much of it by wagon. Our driver refused to take us farther than the Borgo Pa.s.s and from there departed for Bucovina, whilst Dunya and Jean and I were left with a wagon and horses (provided for us by Vlad) to fend for ourselves.
Dunya is st.u.r.dy but small and haggard after the long trip; and Jean was spent after all our arduous nights together and my surrept.i.tious sips from his strong, sweet throat. So when night fell, I rose to take the reins while the two mortals slept heavily. The horses' fright of me served to make our pace swifter, and soon we were home. I roused Dunya, then carried sleeping Jean to the guest quarters.I should have kept him near me; leaving him unguarded was a grievous mistake. But I was drowsy after my journey, for I had taken every opportunity to drink my fill of blood. I had done so that evening as well, upon the Bistritz coach, from an elderly Hungarian man (though the poor driver certainly never realised, I am sure, until after he arrived in Bucovina, that his one remaining pa.s.senger was stone dead!) So replete and eager for rest was I that I took my latest mortal paramour not to the upstairs chambers but to one rarely used on the ground floor. (And in truth, I hoped that this would serve to delay Vlad's discovery of him until I had risen.) I, rather than go to the innermost chamber to sleep in my coffin alongside Vlad's, staggered to the nearest casket- down in the cellar.
There I slept until the following night; then I rose -late, some time after sunset-and found, to my dismay, Jean missing from his room. I knew at once I had failed to protect him from Vlad's predilection for torture; nevertheless, I roused Dunya and insisted she accompany me to the throne room. She was reluctant, fearful to do so, but I knew Vlad would insist upon it.
He was in his inner chamber, as I knew he would be, seated upon his throne.
When Arkady left us, Vlad had been as young and beautiful as Kasha. Now he is still strikingly handsome, still possessed of a haunting resemblance to my brother with his pale hawkish features, his coal-black brows, his large upward-slanting eyes. But there the resemblance ends, for the past months have seen him ill-nourished and aging: his once jet- coloured hair is heavily streaked now with iron, and the lines are returning to his face. (I fear so: How soon shall the same happen to me over the long, barren winter?) There are more differences than mere age between my ancestor and brother. Vlad's lips are thinner, crueller, and more sensual, and his eyes are unlike any others I have seen: the deep evergreen of the forest, heavy-lidded and thickly lashed.
To-night they were full of that peculiar, predatory light I have so come to despise.
As I swung open the great door that separates his chambers from the rest of the castle, with Dunya clutching my skirts like a frightened child, he called out.
”Ah, Zsuzsanna! You are in time to enjoy the entertainment our guest has provided-thanks to your thoughtfulness!”
He was quite right in understanding that I had brought him a gift from Vienna-how could I not, after his generosity to me? But I had hoped to indulge myself with poor Jean once more before Vlad had his way. . . .
I entered swiftly, holding Dunya on my right to s.h.i.+eld her from the distressing sight to the left: the black velvet curtains were parted, to reveal the occupied theatre of death with its black iron manacles, its chains, strappado, rack, stakes.
We crossed to where he sat, in full view of that grisly theatre, upon a platform of dark, polished wood, inlaid in gold with the words JUSTUS ET PIUS, just and faithful. Above, upon the wall, hung a centuries-old s.h.i.+eld, crumbling with age, adorned with a barely discernible winged dragon: the symbol of the Impaler.
I ascended the three steps leading up to the throne and presented my cheek for his cold kiss.
”My darling!” he murmured, taking my hand to study me with honest appreciation from arm's length- the appreciation of both a doting patriarch and a pa.s.sionate lover-and for an instant I remembered why I loved him. ”Look how ravis.h.i.+ng you are!”I smiled, knowing that his compliment was sincere; I had fed so well in Vienna that without the aid of mirrors I could sense my own beauty, my magnetism, increase. For the first time in many months, I saw an appet.i.te for me, and me alone, in his eyes.
But our pa.s.sion for each other has faded since my Change. We have made cold love, yes, when the thrill of the hunt and the kill has enflamed us and our human prey has crossed the great abyss. (I am a vampire, but not a fetis.h.i.+st; I take no pleasure in loving the dead.) But his need is to dominate, to rule, to enslave, to strike fear, not to pleasure. And my desire is sparked by the presence of warmth and the scent of blood, my greatest excitement found in the link among hunger and l.u.s.t and death. And when I have taken from my lover his very essence, all his warmth, all his life-then my love cools as rapidly as his flesh.
Still I smiled at Vlad, twirling to better show off my new dress of silvery silk and satin, the handicraft of a Viennese dressmaker. He admired it but an instant, then gazed beyond me at the poor mortal suspended, naked, from the manacles. ”Monsieur Belmonde,” he cried aloud in French, ”I believe you are already quite familiar with my niece-and consort- Zsuzsanna. Is she not lovely?”
Reluctantly I turned and faced the piteous, terrified visage of our guest. My poor Jean, hung spread-eagled and trembling against the bloodstained stone! He had been such a dandy, a gigolo, an aspiring man looking for his fortune, hoping it would come easily once he wed the wealthy princess I claimed to be-and in fact am. Under pretense of an impending marriage, I lured him here to meet the family-but in a way quite different from that he envisioned.
And in Vienna on carriages, across eastern Europe upon trains, in wagons-lits and rocking compartments and even upon the diligence from Bistritz, I partook without shame of his lean well-muscled body and his blood: now they were revealed for the others to admire as well.
Chained to the grey stone wall, he hung from his wrists, head lolling, ribcage protruding like a crucified Christ: such a handsome young man, fair-haired, fair-skinned, with pale eyes wild with horror and that beautiful body that never failed to spark my hunger and desire.
But his ribs were striped red; he had been lashed. The game had already begun; ominously, his ankles, too, had been manacled so that his legs were spread wide apart.
”Beloved!” he cried, straining against his fetters to reveal even more muscle, to reveal white, even teeth inside the full, sh.e.l.l-pink lips I longed to kiss again. The manacles clattered against the stone. ”My Zsuzsanna! For the love of G.o.d, help me! Help me!”
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