Hi. I'm the author. I have been out a long time, due to my internet being down, school, and the length of this chapter. It's 14 pages on my word processor. That's why I took so long. Don't think I dropped the story. I wouldn't do that.
By the way, I redid and changed a few minor details in the previous chapters and I have them up so if you have spare time and are feeling quite dedicated to my story feel free to have a look. Well, a lot happens so I hope I didn't write all this to no avail at all. Read and if you don't review I shall be rather pissed off. Need I say more?
Sorry for wasting your time with mindless babble.
Jaqueline de Beaudillavèla hammered on the front gate of the castle. She looked down at the shivering girl standing next to her. All she wore was a plain white slip-- one of the straps was slightly askew from her shoulder. She wore no shoes, and thus, Jaqueline had ended up having to carry her for most of the flight home.
"We're going to have to do something with you first," Jaqueline said down to her.
The girl stared.
Then it occurred to Jaqueline to ask one particular question. "What's your name?"
It took her a moment to process the question, but finally the girl replied, "Geneviève Chantal Desmers."
Jaqueline nodded. After a moment more of waiting, she felt a tug at the sleeve of her jacket. It was Geneviève. "What's yours?" she asked.
Jaqueline smiled. "Jaqueline," she said. Just then the doors opened. "Now come, we've got to find a place for you. After, of course, the lord has had a look at you."
Once more, Jaqueline took a hold of Geneviève's hand and led her to Lord le Beaudillavèla's throne room. She knocked, and the doors opened. Both human and dhampir entered.
Jaqueline stopped several feet in front of the gilded throne. She nodded her head in respect. When she looked up, Lord le Beaudillavèla was eyeing the child.
"I thought this may happen," he said. "Very well. In any case, you're back sooner than I expected. I haven't been waiting long. What happened?"
Jaqueline answered, "All went according to plan. It was actually a Silvanus who was making the abduction. It was Alester—the same one who I encountered a few nights ago."
Lord le Beaudillavèla paused, cupping his hands over his nose in thought. "Does he still live?"
Jaquline was taken aback at the query. "'Does he still live?' Of course he does! My orders were to halt the abduction, and I am well trained under your own rule that killing is prohibited unless instructed by one of such reasonable authority as yourself, and I had no such orders. I proceeded to halt the abduction in my own methods as instructed, and I did. Alester now has to heal a large hole in his back, now that the one I put in his stomach is gone, but yes, he lives.
"As for the girl, I had no choice but to take her. She's seen, my lord, two dwellers of the night, she's heard us speak of the conflict, she saw the duel, and now knows our whereabouts, so I had no choice-"
Lord le Beaudillavèla held up his hand to silence her. "I have no objection. After all, we are no Silvanus. This type of situation has happened in years past, though you were not around to remember it. She may stay; just keep her out of trouble."
"Where do I put her?"
"Wherever you like. That is up to you. Wherever she prefers. I would recommend however, somewhere with her piers. But that is up to you."
Jaqueline nodded, and turned to go, but the lord's voice stopped her movements.
"After the situation has been attended to, Jaqueline, I will need for you to return. We need to discuss your next move."
Again she nodded, and the two exited.
XXXXX
Jaqueline took Geneviève into her chambers. Both sat down on her bed.
"Do you understand the situation?" asked Jaqueline.
Geneviève, who was still mostly paralyzed with shock and fright, shook her head. "When can I go home?" she asked.
Jaqueline set her hands on her shoulders. "You will never be able to go home."
Geneviève looked down.
As Jaqueline watched, she saw a glittering tear fall from the girl's nose to the velvet bed sheets. She, Jaqueline, was naturally unsure of what to do. She was unfamiliar with the ways of children, and in such a situation she felt helpless. She certainly did not want Geneviève to fear, but she felt it was necessary to explain to her the full weight of the situation at hand.
"I'm sorry about the way this is turning out…" She paused, watching the girl's reaction. She could not see her face; her hair hid it. The girl issued a slight sniff.
"Do you understand the situation?" asked Jaqueline.
Geneviève did nothing.
"You need to understand. I don't think you do. Do you know where you are?"
"You're a vampire," said Geneviève. "You're going to kill me."
Jaqueline shook her head, smiling slightly at what she had been called. "No. No, we won't kill you. When we were back in your village, there was another there; a man. Do you know who he was?"
"Another vampire."
"Yes, he is a vampire. He's a Silvanus. Do you know what that means?"
She nodded.
"I'm not a Silvanus," said Jaqueline. "You're at Castle le Beaudillavèla. The one who was trying to take you—Alester Silvanus—he's their king's son—he was taking you to kill you. I was sent to stop him. The only way I could save you would be to take you with me. We won't hurt you here."
Geneviève sniffed. "I want to go home."
Jaqueline sighed. "You can't go home. You must understand, we can't let you go home. If I hadn't taken you when we were in the village, Alester would've, and you would have no life at all two nights from now. If we let you go back now, your people won't understand the difference between our two kingdoms, and you could be used as a pawn or a martyr to strike up a third party in an already deadly-enough war. Do you understand now why I had to do what I did?"
The girl looked up. She regarded Jaqueline for several moments, then left the bed and went to the open window. She stared out at the forest, and the hill that led down to the river separating the territory of le Beaudillavèla and the Silvanus. The moon, in return, shown back onto the small, pale face of the lost child.
Jaqueline rose. "Now, we've got to find a place for you here, and get you cleaned up."
Geneviève turned around and watched Jaqueline wordlessly.
Jaqueline took a breath. "I'm thinking of putting you downstairs, with the orphaned children. I can't think of anything else to do. You'll find that to be of a reasonably comfortable atmosphere, I think. You'll find other children your age there. You can still go outside when you like. You can learn academics as you wish, and there are other teachers here. You can learn a trade to help the clan. You can really be trained in anything you like. But for a start, I think you'll probably want to get cleaned up after all of that walking. What do you think?"
The girl blinked. "I want to go home," she said.
"I know. But you can't. This, for now, is the best for you. Let's go." Jaqueline turned to the door and motioned for the girl to follow. She did.
Arriving on the first floor at the children's apartment, Jaqueline knocked lightly, and entered. Being slightly past three am, the Noble children were wide awake, as were most of the dhampirs, but there were a few humans, children of the wanderers who were accepted into the clan, who were dozing on couches. Jaqueline approached the adult supervisor. "Here's another," she said to the woman. "I'm putting her completely in your charge from now on. Take care of her." The woman nodded, and Jaqueline turned to go. As she did so, Geneviève shrieked and locked her arms around Jaqueline's waist.
"I want to stay with you," she said into the leather trench coat.
Loosening herself from the child's grip, Jaqueline squatted down so the two would be at eye level. "You can't stay with me," she told her. "I'm just not the right person to look after you. You'll like it here." She smoother Geneviève's hair back so she could better see into her eyes. "Don't worry. I'll be around." Then she got up and made her departure.
Jaqueline stood before Lord le Beaudillavèla. She waited for him to speak, as he stood watching her with a scheming smile.
"We make our move when they are off guard, and already in a state of organized chaos."
Jaqueline nodded.
"Two nights from now. In the meantime, I shall have the tailor measure you."
XXXXX
Jaqueline shivered against the cold wind as she carefully made her way through the wooded landscape. She wore black, leather boots—equipped with weapon holsters and plenty of straps to aid in harnessing equipment—that pulled up to her thighs, Underneath were her usual black pants. She wore a crimson strapless bodice with black trim, tied with gold cord, in addition to her elbow-length black gloves. Concealing all—including her weapons—was a flowing black cape. It fastened at her bosom with a small gold clasp in the shape of le Beaudillavèla mascot. Otherwise, the cape was loose at the shoulders, fell behind her, and the right side was pulled in front at her waist and pinned to her back, so it gave much the impression of a dress from the waist down. Her hair was pulled back and delicately pinned to the side of her head with a red toothed clip. She was truly dressed to attend a masquerade.
Naturally, the assassin was well-armed. Tucked into her holsters were the two handguns, a switch knife and dagger was hidden in each belt, and her long-neglected sword—by far her favorite and most efficient weapon—was hidden on her back, beneath the cape. Among all that, there were other multiple little tricks Jaqueline held that she could play at any moment.
Against the cold wind, she continued to press on. She was nearing the castle; she could see the spires against the deep, moonlit sky.
Arriving at the clearing, Jaqueline moved toward her usual way of entering the castle. She had come to know the grounds rather well, from all her experience sneaking around there. As always, she completely avoided the front door and navigated to the small opening in the ground next to the castle's foundation. This was one of the openings that led directly to the level of the canals—the way that Jaqueline always entered. Going through the front doors—or any doors for that matter—was far too risky for her level of operations.
Jaqueline removed the stone covering that sat atop of the hole. She looked over the edge. There wasn't much to see—it was pitch black. She knew the way well though.
There were rusted iron bars hammered into the stone passage that descended. As she began her descent, she pulled the stone covering back into place above her head. She continued to go down, until there were no more rungs to climb.
It was here that things always began to get a bit hairy. Although she had done this so many times, she was always nervous before the next move: Jaqueline let go. She fell, and continued to fall for several moments longer than would cause the average being a decent amount of comfort. Finally, her heels connected with a slick stone floor. It was not meant for humanoid feet, but water, hence the slant of roughly 70°. There were walls on either side of her now, and they were only about 3 feet apart, which actually rather aided her balance. In fact, the whole arrangement was not a room, but a chute or sewer, which led on for great distances.
She slid, keeping knees bent and center of gravity low—that was all taught her in basic sword training, as well as being Noble instinct. There were several turns where the wall would change direction at a right angle, but with expert agility and reflexes, rather than slamming against the rapidly approaching wall, Jaqueline was completely free to turn with the passage.
After she had descended several hundred feet below ground, the whole floor—it served rather like a chute, in this case—ended abruptly. When she detected this, Jaqueline pushed off with her feet, maximizing her momentum, allowing her to flip her body in the air so as to consume relative amounts of kinetic energy, and land with an advanced double combat roll.
Where she had landed, the setting was marginally different: while still wet, cold, and virtually black, the architecture was definitely no longer meant for any humanoid, nor for small amounts of run-off water, as the previous passage had been. Jaqueline was in the level above the canals. If she kept moving forward, following the sounds of rushing water below her, she would find herself in the unknown realm of the formerly mentioned canals.
The "corridor" in which she stood was massive. At least ten well-sized men could have lain across it, and maybe only then been barely able to touch each wall. Above her, the distance was the same to the ceiling: the corridor was circular, reflecting its purpose as drainage for water. The basic architectural support was much more ancient here and below, than in any other parts of the castle. These levels were the first built—the most ancient. The architectural style could be identified as that from the Second Dark Age—the age of human/mutant enslavement, roughly the year 4050—otherwise some two or three thousand years after the mass detonation of 1999. The above levels of the castle were considerable newer, by anywhere from 2000 years after the canal levels. This was due primarily to the canals earliest use as a figurative bomb shelter, or mass hideaway of those beings seeking protection from the horrors of the surface of the earth. Indeed, it took roughly the two thousand years allowed before the average civilian was safe from harm's way during all times of the day. Even now, that wasn't necessarily true.
Returning from this historical digression, this level was where the mass amounts of water collected from the various grates and moats that ran oddly around the grounds. On this level there was verily a labyrinth of these drainage corridors, intersecting each other, crossing each other, joining, intertwining, and all leading to the same place: the canals.
Needless to say, our heroine continued in her desired direction. If she kept her pace up, she would be able to reach the staircase to the blood cellar with plenty of time before the gala started.
After many minutes of intrepid trekking, Jaqueline passed one of the openings that dropped straight off to the canal. From far below, eerie noises echoed up to the less watery levels and floated about in their phantom haunts, to reach the ears of whosoever passed. The echo of powerful splashes drifted to her ears. Was it the waves from natural magnitude and flow from the drainage? Or perhaps there was truly some force or being present. Long deep groans, mellowed by distance, could have been simply the creaking of the ancient castle's foundations all those feet below.
Shivering in what was not only cold, Jaqueline increased her pace. What she could tell with her warrior instincts was that there was definitely something down there. At the moment anyway, she felt no care to find out what.
She finally reached the entrance to the staircase. There was a small alcove in the wall and the stairway began there. She commenced the arduous climb. After having climbed perhaps six or seven floors, she emerged on the level the humans were kept in. Instead of proceeding straight as she normally did—which would put her in the blood cellar—Jaqueline turned left and navigated a narrower passage toward the heart of the castle. At this time of this night, the area of the humans and the blood cellar would be traveled by slaughterers and chefs to procure the thin, cold blood that ran through the bodies of the prisoners.
Finally she reached the staircase to the living floors of the castle. She mounted the staircase and leaned against the door. When it opened, she found the computer blue prints she had consulted were correct: Jaqueline was in a derelict conservatory. All the plants were dead: trees wilted in their pots, wrinkled flowers strewn the floor, and dried out ivy clung limply to etched stone walls. Across the room from her, all that flourished was algae in a circular stone pond, where bony corpses of fish floated upside-down. The water was fed by a leak in the ceiling. Exiting, she found that this entire wing of the castle on this floor was deserted. Unable to place the cause from memory, Jaqueline supposed it was due to some timeless invasion or quarantine of so many forgotten years before.
Exiting through the doorway, she spared a glance backwards at the glass panel of windows. Indeed, the sun had long since dipped below the gloomy horizon. What she could see now was a starry sky, and only a faint glow above the treetops remained of the warmth of the day. The gala should be about to start. With that thought, she slipped over her eyes the red silk veil, the red and black beads hanging from it tickling her cheeks.
Jaqueline walked the length of the hallway. After she had turned a corner and passed a dozen doors, a black cloth hung down in front of the path. It seemed to be separating the two areas: the abandoned area and the living area of the mansion.
Ahead and to the right of her was on of the main staircases leading down to the public floor. This area, the main hall, a relative atrium, was for banquets such as this, where all could convene in a large area to discourse, and for more everyday social purposes as well.
The arrangement was also clearly set up to mirror this purpose: there were the two staircases leading up to the second floor where the more specialized rooms were for the public use, and then from there were multiple ways to get to the third floor, where there were the private chambers and several other public rooms. Needless to say, the main rooms of the banquet were on the first floor. Between the two staircases was a large fire place, where this night, and most nights, burned a ghostly pale flame, weaving in and out its fingers to warm the cold flesh of the dead. Above the fireplace was a long mantle. Situated at the top was an ancient clock, its ebony wood sparkling. For centuries this clock had faithfully instructed all the Silvanus inhabitants of the time, down to the second. Set around the fire were chairs and couches and chaise-longs and cushions arrayed all in convenient range for socializing.
There were hallways that led off to either side of the room. On the left it led to the servants' quarters, where the humans, dhampirs, and Nobles of lesser lineage who served the house lived. To the right of the main hall were rooms such as the main lower-floor library, the ballroom, the feast room, and the main gardens and conservatory, which of course led to the outdoor courtyard.
As Jaqueline entered the main hallway, there were several attendees who had arrived ahead of her: they were richly adorned in sparkling, colorful garments, long satin dresses or flamboyant suits, and naturally, they were masked.
Shouldering her weapon down lower with her shoulder, Jaqueline quietly picked a vacant couch and sat down. Moments later a well-dressed servant scrambled by and offered her a drink, which she politely declined. Being a Beaudillavèla, Jaqueline would not drink real blood.
She passed the next several minutes by herself. Since the gala officially started at 10h00, and the current time was around 9h30, Jaqueline was expecting more time waiting. The feast, after all, was when the action began, and that was not until midnight.
At 20 till 10, a young Noble sat down next to Jaqueline. She eyed him suspiciously, waiting for him to speak first.
"You looked lonely," he said. "I don't recognize you."
"Indeed, this is a masquerade," said Jaqueline.
He smiled pleasantly. "Where are your quarters?"
"That would ruin the fun if I told you," she said mysteriously. She got up, intending to go to the courtyard. However, he was quick, and halted her.
"Can I get you a drink?" he asked.
Once again declining, Jaqueline started in the direction of the courtyard for the second time. As she passed the staircase to the second floor, a familiar silhouette drifted down toward her. He wore black boots that laced up to his shins, black silver-studded pants, an asymmetrical brown vest over a white shirt, and the give-away item, the usual sweeping silver cape to accent the studs. Over his eyes was a silver-rimmed black silk mask.
Jaqueline turned her face away and hurried to the courtyard. Once outside, she felt much safer surrounded by the night's beauty. This outdoor courtyard was just a slight inlet cut away in the blueprint of the castle, rather than the castle being a hollowed square built around a central courtyard. It had a view of the sky though, and all around the surrounding walls were windows overlooking the scenery. There were winding paths and gnarled trees, and pale flowers turned their faces upwards toward the moon. There were fishponds inhabited by exotic fish and lilies, and beyond that were twisting vines growing up the stone pillars of the long balustrade encircling the whole area.
She decided that if she sat, that would attract attention, and so Jaqueline proceeded to walk about the garden. After a moment of wandering, she paused at the edge of a fishpond. She looked over the edge. Colorful scales shimmered in the moonlight, and sparkling air bubbles rose from undulating gills. She let her hand trail in the water, and graze across the tops of glowing water lilies. This was true beauty, she decided, although it was tended by the corrupted force she was here to put an end to.
Jaqueline turned to go toward the castle. As she did so however, a thin gasp escaped her lips as she found herself face-to-face with the one she so hoped she would be avoiding. Instinctively, her hand reached for her weapons, but just in time she remembered that here she was supposed to pass as an idle Noblewoman. She backed a step, keeping her eyes on those of her enemy's.
"Such a pleasure, yet such a surprise," began the Silvanus. He reached for her hand, and brought it to his lips, gently landing a kiss. Disgusted, Jaqueline pulled back.
"If you give me trouble tonight, Silvanus," she said, "I shall leave bearing the heads of two of your clan."
"Trouble?" An expression of mock surprise played across Alester's face. "But why would I ever do that? Such a lady would never harm her host."
She glared. "You know why I'm here. You won't be bothering me."
As fast as lightning, Alester grabbed her wrists and pulled her to him, in a gesture that onlookers would see as a man and a woman simply quarrelling over lost love. "I would love to see you try," he said. "Tell me, Jaqueline. Do you let them tell you what to do because it's their morals you believe in? Or because that's what they want you to believe? Have you ever thought—and I mean truly thought—about these principles you've been taught from birth? Why put yourself on the same level as these human wretches? Think of what you could be without their limits upon you. You're good. I know how good you are. What if you were to join us? You could be great. You could be one of us."
Again, Jaqueline pulled back from him. She narrowed her gaze, eyeing him suspiciously. "Why ask such of me?"
Alester's only response was a mysterious smile. "Come," he said. "Dance with me." Catching hold of her hand, he pulled her to the direction of the ballroom. Jaqueline had no choice but to follow.
As they returned to the interior of the castle, both saw that the festivities had progressed, and the gala was going to have quite the attendance if it continued to fill up with consistent volume.
Entering the ballroom, Alester didn't miss a beat in sweeping Jaqueline into a waltz. Looking at him somewhat startled, she realized that the orchestra had not yet even begun playing. They were dancing to nothing.
As they began to get the feel of the music-less dance, Alester stared, unblinking, into Jaqueline's eyes, which made her somewhat uncomfortable. Her first instinct was to withdraw herself from his grasp, but there was something unworldly and alluring about the cadence of the type of character he was. She felt more inclined to stay and finish this dance.
"So tell me, what do you do in your spare time, Jaqueline?" Alester asked her.
"I prefer to keep such information private from strangers," she replied.
He scoffed. "You can hardly call me a stranger, Jaqueline," he said. "You've met me on two other occasions, and a sword duel tells everything about one's character. You can talk to me."
She looked at him. His tone was carefree and almost humorous, but she felt that he was speaking with meaning.
She took a breath. Raising an eyebrow, she said, "Alright. In my spare time, I practice weaponry and combat. I do network searches and learn about the past, and make predictions about the future. I study tongues. I travel sometimes… but I suppose I have never actually been very far from home."
Looking up at him, she realized that since their dance had begun, he had not once taken his eyes from hers.
Unsure of what to do, she decided to proceed with the conversation. "And you in your spare time… I hear you're a chemist."
He smiled, charmingly, she thought. "Yes," mused Alester. "You might call me that."
"What do you call yourself?" she asked.
Laughing slightly, he replied, "Whatever you do. A chemist, then. I study alchemy, both ancient and modern. I've devised potions and medicines. I'm working on elixirs now, and genetic cell reanimation."
"You're also into biology, then?" she asked, surprised.
"I'm experienced in many fields of science," he said. "I mainly focus on chemistry, but at times when I have an interest I expand my boundaries to whatever I please."
"So you're attempting genetic cell reanimation?"
"I am."
She nodded. "And what have you found?"
"So far?" he smiled. "Failure."
It seemed that he wished to cut the conversation off. She let it be. They danced on.
After several moments, Alester remarked, "You dance well."
Jaqueline bit her lip, smiling. "A duel is a type of dance. I suppose the two go hand in hand."
Alester nodded. "My instructors would always make it clear that the two were nearly the same. Both have trained movements, involve two people, and, when done right, can be deadly." With the last comment uttered, Alester let his slightly-open mouth fall lightly onto the base of Jaqueline's neck, sending a shudder through her body. And still, they danced on.
Glancing up at his face, she realized that she could now easily see beyond her initial impression of him: the dogging assassin, the Silvanus. There was a more evident personable side as well. Having talked with him this little bit, she realized that she actually had a mild appreciation for him. He seemed quite pleasant and sincere, in fact.
Finally Jaqueline let her eyes leave Alester's face. She glanced around the ballroom and realized that it had gradually begun to fill up, and countless other bodies floated tauntingly past her eyes. The music had begun at some point, and she hadn't even noticed. She had let the time slip away, and by now it had to be10h20, at least. She had been caught off guard. Jaqueline felt suddenly overwhelmed. She felt victimized, targeted, as if she were at the other end of a sword. Had she been this careless in a combat she would not have survived. She suddenly felt the necessity to break free, to run from Alester.
Detaching herself, Jaqueline hurried from the room. She didn't know where she was going, but there was a nauseous feeling of claustrophobia in her throat that she felt she wouldn't be able to rid herself of even with a hacking cough. And so she fled the room, knowing not where she was going. Jaqueline suddenly found herself in the atrium, and Alester was next to her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.
"Come, sit down," he said. He escorted her to a vacant lounge couch. "Are you alright?" There was a look of concern on his face as he asked. She could tell he cared.
Jaqueline nodded. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry, I just felt suddenly…"
Alester smiled sympathetically. "I know what you mean. Don't worry about it too much."
She looked up suddenly. He seemed to be speaking more seriously than she had meant. She blanked for a moment. It almost seemed like he was suggesting…
"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked. "Would that help you? You're pale."
Jaqueline shook her head. "You know who I am."
"Yes, of course," he replied. "I'm sorry. I should have realized. I can get you your alternative from the kitchen if you wish."
Thinking for a moment, she said, "Yes, please do."
Alester departed.
Standing, Jaqueline made her way to the feast room. Her head was still spinning a bit, but she was able to find her way through the crowd. The feast room was virtually unoccupied by participants of the celebration, but quite a few servants were darting in and out, bearing blood glasses and crimson pitchers, and several other exotic blood-based dishes Nobles considered delicacies. Black pudding was a classic. There was a recipe of some sort of blood biscuits, baked so long that the water evaporated and all that was left was the minerals. In contrast there was a beverage of sweetened blood, and frozen blood, and other such variations. After all, the dining is indeed part of what makes a gala a gala.
Watching all of this, Jaqueline, trained in the ways of an assassin, was beginning to form patterns of all of this in her mind. At the head of the center table was the dining throne. Since the table was exactly ahead of her place at the entry-way, all she could see was the back of the throne. That was important: she needed to remember this angle for the job to come. Looking up, she surveyed the arrangement of the chandeliers on the ceiling. Perhaps that could be used to her advantage as well.
She jumped as a hand was placed on her shoulder. Turning, she found it was Alester. He held in his other hand a glass of scarlet liquid. He handed it to her, and she smiled, taking it. She drank.
"What are you thinking?" asked Alester.
"It's beautiful," she said. "I'm unaccustomed to this scale of festivities. Au Château du Beaudillavèla we have smaller celebrations. But this is something different."
"And how would you feel if you were the one to put an end to this, and turn it into a slaughterhouse?" Alester's tone had suddenly become grave.
Jaqueline looked at him from beneath low eyelids. He had once again placed himself in the position of her enemy.
"You're welcome to stay and enjoy yourself this evening. All I ask is that you leave things as they are."
Jaqueline turned her back.
"There is more than an hour to the feast," he called from behind her. "Stay with me."
Regardless, Jaqueline began walking, into the crowd in the main hall. She was aware of Alester's presence when he caught up with her, because she could hear his impatient breathing. Then she stopped.
Turning to face him, she leaned toward him, closer, and then still closer. An enchanting smile brushed over her lips. It was most becoming when a loose strand of hair fell across her countenance as she murmured, "I don't want you to think I don't appreciate what you're doing for me."
Alester stared back, trying to see past the simple harbor of her pupils. He was seeing as she was, or so he thought. It was this smile that so captivated him. Then, as her eyes darted slightly, and also alarmed as it so appeared, he was imprisoned by her so much such that all he could do was to follow her gaze. He glanced over his shoulder briefly. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he turned back in time to comment to Jaqueline, only to find that she had vanished.
XXXXX
Discarding of her glass, Jaqueline headed for her destination. As Alester had said, there was just more than an hour to the feast, and she was here for a purpose. She didn't care what Alester thought. She was accomplishing what she had come for whether or not it suited him. This was her duty and obligation du Beaudillavèla. She did not care to have Alester's consent. In fact, it pleased her that he discouraged such actions as highly as he did. She felt victimized by him. She had never felt like that around anyone before, and she hated feeling it now. She hated it. He was the enemy, and she found herself feeling devastatingly in love with him. She didn't want to be. In fact, Jaqueline firmly made up her mind that her second motivation to disposing of the Silvanus king was to punish Alester for causing her such grief.
Turning over these vengeful thoughts in her mind, Jaqueline proceeded toward the kitchen. She needed to have planned out her entire masquerade before its execution, and in such cases, time was of the essence.
Quickly becoming acquainted with the kitchen, and being dodged by respectful servants, Jaqueline opened the door that led to the blood cellar. Descending, she couldn't help but cringe each time she passed a chef carrying a linen-wrapped carcass. One chef was exiting from the doorway to the upper dungeon levels of the castle—where the humans were. Indeed, she had been correct to avoid the route when she slipped into the banquet.
She entered the corridor. Tonight it smelled of death. The room around her stank of blood, and it was not the smell she normally appreciated when she thought of her daily meal. This was spilled blood from tired prisoners, whose throats had been barbarically slit with a steel blade while they were still chained. Still, she felt grateful to be the only one of Noble heritage while she stood there. Being speculated by the humble wouldn't help her think.
Jaqueline decided the most likely area for her target: there was a small dressing room several yards from where she was. In the blueprint of the castle it fit in between the back of the kitchen and the atrium. Most likely the room she was going to had been the quarters of the head maid or chef in centuries past. Now though the way the castle was ran, all servants lived together in their own wing of this château.
She encountered no one for her entire traversal there: a good sign. Jaqueline stood outside the door. She knew the plan. She knew there was no going back after this. Here was the beginning of what no one had attempted in centuries, and Jaqueline was realizing a fate that would affect the most of her kind. It was here the true action began.
From beneath her cape, she drew her blade. A swift slam of the hilt, and the door was opened. Bearing the blade in front of her so as to ward off the anticipated glances of enemy swords, Jaqueline bore down upon the room. She raised her blade in resistance to the powerful striking of—nothing. The room was empty, completely devoid of guards and servants alike. A quick about face, and she silently clicked the door shut. For there was one item in the room, which in fact, was exactly what she had come for.
Standing in the center of the room was a long, thin object, resembling in size and shape of a coffin. It had a dark wooden base, roughly two feet off the ground. Laterally its size was big enough for someone to lie down in. Rather, as Jaqueline gazed, this verily coffin indeed had an occupant. Lying on the crimson satin that adorned her vessel was a young woman. She was young, perhaps eighteen at most—and clearly human. She wore the traditional colors, black-trimmed red, as a satin garment that pulled loosely over her bosom. At the base of her throat was a necklace, and upon the stone in the center was chiseled the mascot of the Silvanus. The girl's black locks cushioned her head, which was dainty, and wore spare of make-up. To an onlooker, it would seem rather a curious set-up. Though indeed, the arrangement was finished, for Jaqueline knew why the victim wore her black ceremonial shroud, and her mask. And victim? Indeed she was. Jaqueline's village encounter with Alester had merely been to disable him from bringing an additional being into the conflict. For what lay in front of Jaqueline was now the replacement sacrifice. Their inability to acquire fresh meat had led the Silvanus to resorting to the most comely maid they had stored in their own cellars.
Jaqueline regarded her from a distance. The girl's eyes were closed. She had been placed under a sedative. Jaqueline reached into her luggage and retracted a knife. She disliked this task immensely. Slitting the girl's wrist, Jaqueline put it to her lips and sucked the warm liquid that trickled out. She was extracting the sedative, and it had to be done from the least fatal artery.
After several moments, she felt the girl stir.
Jaqueline straightened.
The girl eyed Jaqueline in bewilderment and terror.
Speaking first, Jaqueline simply said, "I'm here to help you. Just go. Now. And don't be caught."
As if she had another option, the girl did as she was told.
Jaqueline approached the receptacle and lay down in the girl's stead. She closed her eyes, and waited.
XXXXX
After somewhere around a half hour, someone entered the room. It was a medic, to put the finishing touches on the victim. Armed with a medical bag, the servant extracted a syringe and needle. Filling it with a silvery liquid, he injected it into the victim's arm.
"You'll be just fine with this, dear one," he said, although he knew the victim was sedated and couldn't hear him. The medic however, had a sick mind and enjoyed talking to his patients while they slumbered. "You've got around an hour worth of breathing there, stored in pure solid oxygen. So don't worry. After that, you'll be one of us then." He leaned down and whispered into her ear, "I hope the water's not too cold." With a low chuckle, he exited.
The medic's departure was followed by the arrival of several servants. They hauled a sizable cart with them. Overtop of it was a black cloth, concealing what lay beneath. Unveiling it, there appeared to be a large tank of water, in which a pump was inserted. On the top shelf of the cart however, was a glass dome. It was clearly designed to fit over the top of the vessel that the victim lay in. The servants placed it just so. It curved in a delicate arc above the victim's body and interlocked into a rubber sealant at the surface the woman lay on. Interestingly, at the crest of the dome, right above the victim's nose was a hollow siphon-shaped stem, about the width of a finger.
Positioning the cart next to the victim's vessel, the servants attached a hose connected to the water pump into the stem at the top of the dome. A servant pushed a button, and the pump sprang into action, slowly flooding the interior of the dome where the victim lay. For ornamentation, it was not pure water. In the water swam small, silvery minnows, whose transparent bodies reflected the dimly flickering torches. Floating with them were sparkling plant fragments and other decorative debris. Pale lavenders and blues and oranges sparkled in the water, truly defining beauty. Between the water and its aquatic inhabitants, and the beautiful woman within, the still life mirrored the richness of the banquet. In fact, as the servants packed up the equipment, the hands on the clock in the Great Hall ticked ever impatiently toward midnight.
XXXXX
Torches blazed, eyes sparkled, and gossip ceased. Glistening sequins on capes reflected the color of blood red. Overhead chandeliers swayed slightly to a sweeping draft. The flames flickered, and wisps of hair brushed over napes of necks.
All of the attendees were seated around the tables. Faces were tilted toward the dining throne, where sat an aged man of arresting presence. His thinning hair was neatly brushed, and came to a neat point at the back of his neck over his silver robe. From the way the clan denoted him, the man was clearly none other than Lord Silvanus. He was here, at the head of feast.
Rising, the lord raised his hands skyward, nearly penetrating darkness. Silvanus closed his eyes and cried, "A pleasure, to be sure, but where is our blood?!"
The cheers of his audience echoed down stark passages.
"Again," continued Silvanus, "We are here to celebrate our bloodlines, our heritage and our unity."
There were applauses, and cheers.
"For ages, we have been the Silvanus, and the only Silvanus. We have maintained our lineage in a way no other clan could, and we remain the untainted Silvanus! The pride of our ancestors runs through our veins, and we will honor it. So tonight, we are here to remember who we are!"
Cheers resounded.
"-We are pure-"
-A single syllable of endorsing shouts-
"We are free-"
-Shouts-
"We are victorious-"
-Shouts-
Silvanus stood up. "We are the Silvanus!" The words tore from his throat and echoed in the hall.
There was applause, and the screams and the shouts. The clan became less of their civilized selves, and they became their ancestors, they became mad creations.
Silvanus threw back his head and screamed the words that unleashed the monsters in his people: "Give us our BLOOD…!!!"
The clan threw out their energy, a deadly projectile to knock armies off their feet, as they screamed and cheered, and beat their hands against the table, pounding feet against the floor. The legs of the tables shook as the clan allowed themselves to be the creatures they were only once a year on this very night.
The king cackled madly.
The doors were thrown open, and entered the vessel that bore their sacred parcel that bound them to their native customs. Fingers pointed and throats ripped with shouts of unrestrained insanity. Pupil-less eyes were bound to the receptacle as it was carried by servants, and placed on the table in front of the king.
A chant began, slow, and then gradually accelerating as the discord grew between the synch of the claps and the cheers. The power of the vibrations shook the liquid that bore their victim. The echoes stirred her delicate hair, and the transparent skin quivered with every beat.
The noise circled around her head, and the king spiraled through it all, encased in his glory. Each face of the Nobles was a contortion, and down a row were more contortions, and contortions still at the next table, and the next, as it were. Their expressions bore the mark that lay beneath their skin. It did on each one of them—down to the king—all but the one that remained unaffected. Not one noticed the face of the Silvanus prince that was caught in their web, staring in shock at the face of their sacrifice. He knew. Alester Silvanus knew that the insanity of this loosely-defined banquet would come crashing down in seconds as-
The chant grew faster as the king drew nearer to the vessel. Above the noise he screamed, "Now, for our blood…. We REMEMBER!!!" His hand drew nearer to the panel that would drain the water that encapsulated the victim and retract the glass to expose her.
As his finger neared, the chant reached its heightening roar, to the tempo of- one, one, one, one- and then they broke the noise. The room echoed with silence.
The king's finger stretched a thread that contracted as his finger grew ever nearer to freeing their desire—and as it touched the switch-
Shattering glass exploded in all directions, and water flooded the table. There were shouts and shrill screams as the clan realized—their victim rose. With fire above her and water below her she shook the droplets from her garments and flung her cape. From her back, she drew a blade in a sweeping arch. She turned in a circle to face them all. "Your heritage?!" she shouted. "And what of your blood?!"
The crown was silenced. All eyes were glued to the woman.
"I will give you your sacrifice!" She reached down and grabbed their lord, dragging him from his feet and hurling his body to the table. "From le Beaudillavèla—"
She raised her sword above her head.
"Here is your BLOOD!"
The crunch as her words were cut short by the bite of a blade through a heart, and the point connecting with the table. For a moment there was nothing. Then a crimson line spread from the heart of the king and stained the table, flowing onto elaborate dinnerware and cascading down the tablecloth onto the floor.
No one spoke.
The assassin retracted her blade and flung the gore across the table.
"Oublier est toujours tant plus," she whispered. Two piercing eyes blazed fires from beneath the black hair plastered to the blazing visage.
Moving in a blur, her free hand pulled from her belt an iron throwing star, and loosed it high in the air. It cut through the cord suspending the chandelier hanging directly above her. It fell, and the flame engulfed the tables. A river of fire stretched down where lay the king and stood the assassin, now a blazing fireball. The sudden light was blinding. The contrast between the dark and the incineration burned the retinas of the Nobles, who all blinked in unison. At that moment, a body on the table that would not burn whirled with the whine of a sword going into its holster. By the time delicate eyes had adjusted to the change in lighting, it was clear the assassin had already made her departure.