She saw death in his eyes, coming closer and closer. Vampires died surrounded by family or on the battlefield. She had to help him. She had to…
Maud made her voice neutral and calm. “Dina, do you have a vigil room?”
“No.”
“Then I’m going to make one. Off the kitchen.”
She closed her eyes, reaching for the magic of Gertrude Hunt. Dina’s inn responded, moving first slowly then faster, pulling apart floors and walls, forming a new space, shaping a massive tub, growing the proper plants… It would give him the peace of mind. If he was reassured that proper rites would be said and prayer offered on his behalf, he might hold on.
Hold on, she willed. Please, hold on. Please don’t leave us.
She opened her eyes, took the showerhead from Dina, and kept washing him.
His chest barely rose.
“Don’t go,” she begged. “Hold on to me.”
He smiled at her, so weak it almost broke what little resolve she had left.
“Fight it,” she said. She grasped his hand, trying to pour some of her vitality into him.
“Everything is slowing down.” His voice was quiet. He raised his hand, his fingers trembling. She leaned into his palm, and he stroked her cheek. “No time.”
“Fight it. Live.”
His eyes dimmed.
A knock sounded. A door opened and Caldenia ka ret Magren strode into the room. Once a galactic tyrant, now Gertrude Hunt’s only permanent guest, with a bounty on her head that would let you buy a paradise planet. She carried a small box.
A cure. Maud had no idea how she knew it, but she believed it with every heartbeat.
Her fear had paralyzed her, and Maud turned numb.
Even as the needle pierced Arland’s skin and his wounds stopped bleeding, she still couldn’t bring herself to hope. She directed the inn to transport him, she watched him slide into the mint bath in the vigil room, and then she sat by him and whispered prayers, one after another.
Around them the inn was quiet. Dina had left somewhere. Sean and others were in the kitchen, but they might as well have gone to the moon.
Live, Arland. Live. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave Helen.
A warm wet hand touched her. Maud opened her eyes. He was looking at her, his blond hair wet, his skin still too pale, but his blue eyes were brighter and deep within his irises, she glimpsed the same iron will that drove him into battle.
“My lady,” he said quietly.
“Never do that again,” she whispered.
“Stay with me,” he asked.
“Where would I go?”
He smiled then. She rolled her eyes and went back to the rites.
The practice mace whistled over Maud’s head. She dropped into a crouch and kicked out, aiming to sweep Arland’s legs. The Marshal of House Krahr leaped up and back, avoiding the kick. Maud lunged to the left, rolled to her feet, and came up in time to dodge another blow.
He forced her across the white marble floor. Sweat drenched her face.
Around them the grand ballroom of Gertrude Hunt glowed in all of its glory. The enormous light fixtures on the ceiling were off, and glittering nebulae shone on the dark walls and the tall ceiling far above, clusters of stars sparkling like constellations of precious gems. The only illumination came from the delicate glass flowers blooming on golden vines that twisted around the towering turquoise columns.
She used to spar with Melizard like this, but their practice matches always had spectators. Like everything, her late husband put on a show meant to impress and further his ambitions. Maud once told him she was uncomfortable with the attention, and he told her that he wanted everyone to witness his human wife’s skills. He spun it as a way to improve her position with House Ervan. Now, years later, she understood that it was always about him, never about her.
Arland never paraded her or himself in front of an audience. If someone had come to practice beside them, he wouldn’t object. He was a knight of an old House and politeness was ingrained in his bones. But he never invited attention. However, their practice sessions were theirs alone, private, quiet, just for the two of them. And she never held back.
He told her he loved her. She remembered every word. It was etched in her memory. He stood before the tub where her catatonic sister sat, watching them with unseeing eyes, knowing that they were about to go into battle that might end them both and told her the truth.
When I first saw you, it was like being thrown from a shuttle before it touched the ground. I fell and when I landed, I felt it in every cell of my body. You disturbed me. You took away my inner peace…
Arland charged her. She danced away, spun around him, tapped his back, and was away before he could chase after her again.
…You taught me the meaning of loneliness, because when I don’t see you, I feel alone…
Arland lunged, thrusting. An unexpected move, one particular to a sword, not a mace. It caught her by surprise. She took the blow in the chest and staggered back. He advanced and got a slice of the practice sword across his neck for his trouble.
…You may reject me, you may deny yourself and if you choose to not accept me, I will abide by your decision…
Arland dropped the mace and rushed her. She should have avoided him, but the last battle for the survival of Dina’s inn had taken a lot out of her. Her emotions were a mess, her brain felt like it was overheating trying to wrestle her thoughts under control, and Maud was still too damn tired. His fingers caught her right wrist, and he pulled her to him, turning her so her back pressed against his chest. His hands clamped her upper arms in a steel vise. He’d caught her like that before, and she knew from experience that getting out of this hold was impossible. Even if she pulled up her legs, hitting him with her dead weight, he would simply hold her above the floor.
They stood in a kind of embrace.
…But know that there will never be another one like you for me and one like me for you. We both waited years so we could meet.
He let her go. She picked up her sword and walked back to the practice weapon rack.
Arland loved her. And she loved him too. She had known it the moment he asked her for the Liturgy of the Fallen, because it felt like the fear that he would die would wrench her heart out of her chest. But then he ruined it all and asked her to marry him.
Maud dropped her sword and her buckler onto the practice weapon rack and pulled on the inn’s magic. The inn obeyed, parting the floor under the rack and letting it sink down into storage, but it responded sluggishly, almost as if it was confused by her directions. The response at her parents’ inn had been instant. Here, it was like giving commands to a sibling’s dog. It obeyed her because she was family and a human, but it knew she was not its human.
It would get better with time, if she stayed. And staying at the inn made all the sense in the world. She and Helen would be safe here. Dina could use the help, and Helen loved it. The inn responded to her much better than it did to Maud. All inns instantly took to children.
But what would happen when her daughter realized she couldn’t have friends?
What would happen when he left?
That last thought gave her the shove she needed. Maud turned to Arland.
“I love you,” she told him. “But I can’t marry you.”
His handsome face stayed perfectly neutral, but she caught the splash of happiness in his eyes. It dimmed instantly, but she caught it.
“May I ask why?”
“Because love is simple, but marriage is complicated.”
“Explain.”
She crossed her arms on her chest, using them as a shield. “When you look at Helen, what do you see?”
“Potential.”
She could’ve kissed him for that, but that wouldn’t help. “If you didn’t know her background, would you say she’s a human or a vampire?”
“A vampire,” he said without hesitation.
“Because of the fangs?”
“Because of her predatory drive. Fangs make her look like a vampire. They can be obtained by surgical means, but the instinct to identify and strike at the opponent’s weaknesses can’t be fabricated or learned. One either has it or doesn’t. She has it.”
That was her assessment as well. “If I stay here, in my sister’s inn, Helen would have to confine herself to the grounds. She can’t attend a human school. Other children wouldn’t be safe around her. They wouldn’t know what she was but they would know she was different. They would ignore her or torment her, and she would retaliate.”
Arland’s expression hardened. “I have no right to offer my opinion, but would imprisoning her in the inn be the best thing for Helen?”
Imprisoned. That’s how he saw it. That’s how she saw it too.
Within the inn, the innkeepers possessed almost god-like power. They built rooms for a hundred different species in minutes. They bent the laws of physics and opened passages to planets thousands of light years away. They saw the oddities and wonders of the galaxy pass through their doors.
But the human world of the innkeepers was small, the friends few, and even though the galaxy lay at their door, most of them rarely stepped over the threshold. Outside of the inn, they were vulnerable. The children of the innkeepers grew up at home, apart from human society, and when they grew up, they became innkeepers or the ad-hal, the enforcers of the innkeepers. Sometimes they left Earth the way she and her brother had. Almost none of them entered human society. Once they learned to use their magic, there was no putting it back into a box.
“What would happen to Helen if we took her to House Krahr?”
Arland frowned. “She would run wild around the keep with other children like her. I’d like to see the Sentinels try to wrangle her into a classroom. In fact, I would pay good money…” He caught the expression on her face. “That is, she would receive a fine education in line with the other scions of House Krahr.”
“You once told me that she should be a rassa in the grass, not a goren on the porch.”
Rassa were fierce ambush predators, while gorens, smaller and tamer, served vampires like dogs served humans.