I would be remiss if I didn't take a moment to dedicate at least a chapter to some of the different ways people show grief - but most of all, Vlad. This chapter may not move the plot along very much, but I felt that showing this side of him was integral to his character growth over the course of this story, but it was also extremely challenging and delicate to write. There are a number of people in my life who struggle with the harder emotions, and so when grief of this magnitude hits, they tend to either go into intense solution mode or they isolate hardcore. This gives them a feeling of control when everything else seems to be spiraling. It's just another thread in the tapestry that makes up human nature. For Vlad in particular, I tried to do a bit of both with him. We'll see if I pulled it off successfully.
Copyright © 2022 TSM. All rights reserved.
Chapter 33
The Darkness Stares Back
"What if we set up fronts here and here, and have a few of us come around here through the back?" Rémy offered. He was motioning to a place on a three-dimensional holographic map that was being displayed on the dining room table. "Lyra – you and Frank should be able to plow through whatever Augustine has set up here in the courtyard easy enough to get to the main gate."
"And having the two of you up front and center, that should draw enough of Augustine's attention to keep him distracted long enough for Rémy, Jacob, and I to slip in and clear you a path through the main area of the palace," Carmen continued. "With Jacob's help, it should be a pretty straight-forward thing clearing out the foyer and the reception hall…"
"And we could hold that centralized area – get more people to come in through this route here to assault his army from the back. We'd have him surrounded on all sides."
"And it would give you a clear shot to the throne room."
"But would Marcus really be somewhere so obvious as the throne room? I doubt after what happened the other evening at Heroes' Square that he'll be in any hurry to put himself so blatantly at risk – not unless that room has some sort of strategic advantage we're missing," Jake pointed out.
"He's arrogant enough to be in the one place he feels is rightfully his," Niklaus replied with a bit of a shrug. "I wouldn't put it past him. But if he's not there, there are a few more locations we could check," and he started to adjust the view of the map, zooming in on the illuminated rendering of the palace. "There's the south tower, closest to the Danube. Or the main siege tower here a little more to the west… If he's not there, his left and right hands certainly will be."
"More council members, you mean," Rémy translated. Niklaus nodded.
"Do you think he'd be in his rooms in the east wing?" Tempest wondered aloud, turning the image of the map around so the aforementioned part of the structure was closest to her. "There's a private courtyard in that part of the palace I remember Uncle Antón mentioning a number of times – some secret passageway hidden within the shrubs on the north side he could easily steal away in if things go in our favor. He could try to run."
"Oooh, good thinking, Tempi!" Jack announced, already zooming in on that very location. "The memorial he erected for Mathis is in that courtyard. If he's not in the throne room, he'd probably be there…"
"It'd certainly be the most poetic location," Louise agreed, arms folded across her chest. "The place commemorating to the person responsible for starting this whole bloody thing."
"But how would we even get to that part of the palace without getting pinched off?" Lyra asked. "It's clear on the other side of the building, and there's a labyrinth of halls and stairwells between us and that location."
"I personally see him making a run for it from the throne room to the east wing," Tempest replied confidently. "He knows every route to that courtyard like the back of his hand and if he can get you to chase after him, he'll probably hope to lose you or overpower you entirely along the way."
"So our best bet is to take him out in the throne room the second we have the chance," Lyra said. "How many entrances and exits are in that chamber?"
As the little band of revolutionaries continued to plan their upcoming assault on the palace, Vladislaus lingered somewhere in the periphery, only partly listening to the conversation as he otherwise attuned himself to the presence of Francesca, on her return back to Vilkova from lycan territory. To his surprise, she was travelling alone.
Where's Ezekiel? he inquired down their shared bond. He was still get used to how clearly her voice resonated in his mind, as if she were standing right beside him.
He said he wanted to make sure Vesper got settled in, but I think he really just wanted to spend some time with his family.
Will he be returning to the house before the dawn?
He assured me he wouldn't be staying much longer. Isabella was in conference with the elders of the pack when he and I arrived and Tristan only came out before I left to say that while the elders were undecided, he and his cadre plan to stand with us.
I hope you told him we'd be grateful for the numbers.
I did, but I also told him that I'd wish they'd just all take the chance to leave now while they can. We have no idea how bloody this is going to get and the wolves have already sacrificed so much. The elders recognize that… but Isabella, bless her, is arguing our case. We have the cause, but they have the numbers.
It's true. We can only benefit from the might of the wolves and it would give us an edge over Marcus and Lilith's army. If our own kind were more willing to fight, I'd have no problem with the lycans sitting this one out, but we need all the help we can get… as much as I'm loathed to admit it.
Our kind have been left to their own devices for far too long. They've forgotten what it means to be unified, to live in solidarity with one another.
Something we'll have to work on when all this is done.
I'll be sure to add it to the list, was her cheeky reply.
A half-smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it faded when he heard a powerful knock at the front door. The interruption brought a sudden halt to the conversation within the dining room as well, all eyes turning in the direction of the hall that led out into the foyer. Another round of knocking ricocheted through the main corridor of the house and with a faint exertion, Vlad materialized from his place against the wall in the dining room to the front door. What he found on the stoop nearly brought his brows up to his hairline in surprise.
Lee Feng was flanked by two of his fellow assassins who had firm grips on the arms of a bound, hooded, and seemingly unconscious male… or just deadweight out of spite, Vlad couldn't be sure.
"I have something that might interest you," Lee announced after bowing once to his king.
Dracula took a step back and motioned for the man and his companions to enter, the others trickling out from the dining room to see what the ruckus was about.
"Who is that?" Carmen asked, rising up on the balls of her feet to peer over Rémy's shoulder, as if it would provide her with a better look.
"This, madam, is one of the unwilling recruits of Augustine's army," Lee explained.
"Lilith's, technically speaking," Lyra muttered mostly to herself, moving forward to get a better look. "The man reeks of her magic."
"I don't think it's so much the man himself, but this," and the shadow master motioned for one of his men to lift the hand of the captive. Situated on his middle finger was a black obsidian ring – a seemingly innocuous thing, but the shared expressions by both Lyra and Jacob immediately caught the attention of Feng and his men. "You recognize this."
"We've encountered something like it before," Jacob admitted, making it a point now to linger a safe distance away.
"Sarah, the matron of the Blood Thorn coven… she wore something similar, but instead of a ring it was a collar around her throat," Lyra explained, arms folded as she slowly circled the newcomers. "It took both Jake and I to get the damn thing off of her. It ended up killing her in the process."
"When was this?" Jack interjected.
"During our final confrontation with the Spider," Vlad replied stoically, "at the Ervin Szabó Library."
"So what does the ring do? I assume it's something like mind-control?" Niklaus asked, drawing closer than any of the others. He took the still notably dead-weight man's wrist in his hand to study the ring on his finger, but was careful not to touch it.
"It would appear so," Feng confirmed. "And there's no way that we've been able to find to remove it that doesn't involve cutting off digits. Believe me, we tried for hours with this one's companion."
"What happened to them? The companion, I mean."
"We had to cut off their hand entirely," one of the assassins explained. "When the poor man finally came to, he was only barely himself again – more a shell than anything else. The limb, however, was irreparably damaged – we had to cauterize the wound and apply inferí to keep him from bleeding out, but so far, nothing has been able to heal in the proper way."
"Probably because the witch's magic is still maintaining its hold. That infernal ring is still on the lad's finger," the other assassin replied.
"So that's how she got Augustine his army, then?" Lyra said through gritted teeth. "By kidnapping and overpowering refugees? Enslaving them?"
"And here I thought you were being melodramatic when you called your mother a cunt," Louise mused, a dark kind of humor on her face.
"Oh, believe me, that term barely does her justice," the redhead replied. "My guess is we won't be able to free these rings from the wearer's hands unless she wills it… or something."
Vlad wasn't quite sure what that or something was referring to, but there was a cold fury in Lyra's tone that sent the faintest of chills to spider-walk down his spine. His eyes flicked briefly to the Sumerian glyphs on the woman's arm before returning to look at Feng.
"Do we know if Marcus has been able to replenish his numbers at all in the last twenty-four hours?"
"My reports speak of some, but not nearly as many as he had been hoping for. We've manage to cut off the Oradea pass to keep anyone else from fleeing through that tunnel," Lee replied.
"How many people do you think are left in the city?" Tempest wondered.
"Not including the lycans? We don't know for certain. Most have gone under ground after the events of last night. After the word got out that Marcus had somehow enslaved those who had reportedly fled the city in the past couple of days, many have opted to wait out the war in isolation."
"Do you think any will come and fight with us?" Rémy asked, trying to keep the hopefulness out of his voice.
"That I can't say," the shadow master admitted with some reluctance. "I have at least two-hundred left of my guild who are at your disposal, your majesty," and he nodded his head to Vlad. "And while I do know there are some of our kind that are willing and able to fight by your side, many, I understand, are choosing to sit this out."
"Surely they don't expect us to do all the fighting for them!" Louise exclaimed, sounding offended.
"And the lycans have already sacrificed so much for the alliance already," Carmen added. "Even if they agree to fight, this has never been their fight to begin with…"
"You could always compel the people to fight," Jack said to his father, clearly taking no pleasure in making the suggestion. There had once been a time when Vladislaus would have considered the option. He had done so before and in far less dire circumstances. But he immediately shook his head.
"Francesca would never forgive me if I did," he said, "and quite frankly, if the people aren't willing to fight for their own freedom, then when this business with Marcus is done, I will take no qualms in washing my hands of them all."
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Rémy said with a sigh. He then looked to Feng. "So what do we do about this?" and he motioned to the bound and still seemingly unconscious man with the enchanted ring.
"As I see it, we have two options for dealing with Marcus and his slave army," Feng replied. "We either continue as we have and we kill them – which may end up being a mercy if the condition of this one's companion is any indication."
"Or?"
"Or we remove as many hands as we can to at least cut them off from the demoness' spell."
"There has to be a way to get the rings to come off that don't involve chopping off limbs," Jacob insisted, looking to Lyra. "At least with true death, the blood bath is kept somewhat to a minimum. But the second you go literally disarming people, the blood could send people into a frenzy."
"Which could make things that much worse," Carmen agreed.
A heavy silence lingered in the air for a moment as everyone quietly weighed the options. Once more, Vlad found his gaze turning toward Lyra, and what he saw in her face as she studied the bound prisoner piqued his curiosity.
"There may be another option, but it will put a serious crunch on our already compressed timetable," she said after a while.
"Meaning?" Rémy asked.
"Meaning we can't waste precious time when we take out Marcus," and she started to head back into the dining room, turning away when she realized that Dracula's gaze was still on her, scrutinizing… almost suspicious.
"You think he's connected in some way to the power of the rings?" Jacob called out, following after her.
"In a manner."
As the others retreated back into the dining room to continue their battle planning, Vladislaus returned his attention to his shadow master, then to the enslaved vampire who was starting to rouse.
"What would you like me to do with him, your majesty?" Feng asked.
Dracula crouched down in front of the captive and carefully pulled the hood from off his head. The instant the covering was removed, the possessed man's eyes snapped open, two pools of endless, glassy black. The vampire snarled in Vlad's face, fangs out as he leaned forward, snapping his teeth. The assassins held him fast as Dracula took the seemingly young vampire's face in one hand, gripping his chin, studying him.
There were many of his kind that he had never met in person before, that he hadn't even known existed. Prior to his entering hibernation nearly four decades ago, a census had been taken of the city and surrounding territory, counting well over a million vampires alone that had chosen to make Budapest in particular their home. Even with the blood virus of several years previous, not to mention the strategic herding of his people from the outer regions into the city itself, he had no doubt that at one point, there had been concourses of nosferatu.
But how little it seemed there were now.
How much his people had endured in his absence.
How greatly they had suffered and lost.
Vladislaus could not find it in himself to blame them for not wanting to fight. They had known little more than violence and fear in the last few decades – why on earth would they volunteer for more? True, the dark ages of centuries past had troubles of their own, but those threats had always come from outside sources, never from within, never from one who should have treated them as their own. But Dracula knew that practicing empathy with his brother of circumstance – especially at this point – was a fruitless endeavor.
Understanding Marcus, having compassion for him – it offered nothing of benefit to Dracula, no further insight he didn't already have, and no reprieve from the conflict that still lied ahead. With a heavy sigh, Vlad rose to his feet, snapping the seemingly rabid vampire's neck to render him unconscious again before replacing the hood over his head.
"Put him someplace secure – somewhere where Marcus and Lilith's influence can't reach him. We'll have to deal with the enslavement ring after all of this is done." Feng nodded and motioned for his men to begin removing toward the exit. "We may not be able to save all under Lilith's thrall, but at least we can spare this one."
"We'll make sure he's secured and unable to do himself or anyone else harm, your majesty."
"Thank you, Feng."
"Don't thank me. Thank your queen. The idea to nab one of them was her idea."
Dracula smiled a little.
Of course Frankie had thought to do that.
He had been so busy with his own grief and worry, he hadn't even considered…
"I'll be sure to do so," he promised his shadow master.
They then exchanged farewells, and soon Vlad was left alone in the foyer.
His hand remained against the closed door for a spell, brow pressing gently against the cold wood as he tried to steady himself.
How he wished Bernardini were here to counsel him.
The hollow ache of his friend's absence lingered in the center of his chest, an emptiness that continued to smart in spite of Frankie's previous ministrations. This house felt so empty without the Italian's comforting presence. Even the city seemed strangely off-kilter in a way.
Antón had been his most trusted friend and advisor for centuries – and only now was Vladislaus truly beginning to understand just how much he had come to rely on his friend, the gravitas and weight of the man's influence on his life. As he reluctantly made his way back to the dining room and the loud chatter of strategy and debate, Dracula felt a kind of fear beginning to settle in the pit of his stomach, slowly taking root. He lingered in the doorway for an extended moment, gaze sweeping over the faces of his children, his friends and companions.
Already, there were faces missing that should have been in this room – Danny, Damon, and other members of the alliance that had fallen over the last year. Then there was Antón, Mariella, Hal, Alessia… the thought of his two missing children was a wound that continued to ache after all this time, and just the memory of losing Jack – albeit temporarily – it was all still so fresh in his mind, even though he no longer bore the weight of any of it. That twinge of doubt twisted uncomfortably in his gut.
Francesca was right.
They couldn't bear any more losses.
He couldn't bear it.
This room felt too empty all of a sudden, even if it was crowded with people, people he had come to admire and care for.
"I can't do this," he said quietly, not even meaning to make the confession aloud, but once the words had been uttered, the conversation in the room died as the others turned to look at him.
"Father?" Tempest called out, brow furrowed in concern.
That pitiable look felt more like a poniard than an expression of sympathy.
"I can't let you do this," he replied a little more firmly. "I can't let you put yourselves at risk again – not after what happened last night. Not after only just getting you back only days ago. I can't. I won't." He looked directly at his children and said, "This fight is between myself and Marcus alone. So it has always been. Francesca and Lyra have a role to play, and so they must partake of the battle, but the rest of you… I don't want you to fight. I forbid it."
And he turned on his heel the instant the protests began, exiting from the room as if it would somehow put an end to the argument.
But Jack was the first one to chase after him, the others following close behind.
"You can't do this!" he insisted.
"Yes I can," Vlad replied. "I am your king and your master. You will do as I say."
"Oh, so you won't use compulsion on the rest of our kind, but you have no problem telling us to sit and stay?"
Dracula whirled around and pointed his finger in the man's face. Jack had to stop abruptly to keep from running into him.
"Watch your next words, boy."
"Oh, don't boy me!" Jack snapped back. "I am not a child! None of us are!"
"We are the Dracul Sânge," Louise reminded him. "Children of your blood yes, but also your warriors. We have been bred and trained for such a moment as this."
"I cannot risk another loss… not after..."
"Is that what this is about?" Niklaus asked.
Vlad couldn't bring himself to respond, but the truth of it was in his eyes, easily seen behind his mask of ire and desperate grasps for control.
"Marcus has only done what he has in revenge for what I did to Mathis," he insisted. "I started this. I will finish it. This is my burden to bear – not yours."
"Oh, hang Mathis!" Louise exclaimed. "He had it coming! Yes, he killed Alessia, and I'll admit that was bad enough on its own, but you'll also remember that he had attempted to form a coup against you twice in less than a century. He's lucky he got to live as long as he did."
"Father, you're not the only one who has lost loved ones to Marcus. You're not the only one who has suffered because of what he's done," Tempest answered calmly, trying to sooth the heating tempers in the room with cool rationality. "We all have a stake in this."
"And we all have a right to fight," Niklaus added.
"I said no!"
"But you can't just do that!" Tempest insisted, her composure fracturing a little under the bullheaded will of her father. "Hal is dead because of Marcus! Francesca has already denied me my retribution against Krisztian Sokolov. A reckoning against Marcus is my right. It is all of our right!"
"I will be the one to seek vengeance for Hal's murder. Not you. You will all stay out of this."
"We will not!" Jack argued. "We have already fought too hard and too long these last four decades to sit this out now."
"Uncle Antón respected our right to fight for ourselves," Tempest added angrily. "Why won't you?"
The invocation of the Italian's name sent a sharp pain through Dracula that made his body go visibly rigid. His irises began to glow as his grief gave way to the further flaring of temper.
"You think I would have let you risk your lives for one second had I known? He's lucky I never had the chance to castigate him for the allowances he made! Letting you all run amuck through the city at will – putting yourselves in danger!"
"Antón trusted us!" Jack shot back. "He made no secret of the fact that he hated the situation, but he still allowed us to help. Encouraged us, even!"
"Yeah – like the one time he totally encouraged Niklaus to break into the palace archives to steal Mariella's journals," Lyra muttered sarcastically. "Or the time Tempest went into the north district without back-up and nearly got killed."
"Lyra!" Louise exclaimed, a look of betrayal on her face, as if what she had just revealed was supposed to stay a secret.
"He did what?" Dracula snapped.
"He did not encourage any of that. She's being sarcastic," Jack insisted, before sending the redhead a sharp look. "And it's not helping."
"I'm just saying, maybe Bernardini should have been a little more strict with you lot," she defended. "You may have already forgotten, but I saw what shape your brother and sister were in when they got out of the north side," and she motioned to a guilty looking Niklaus and Tempest. "It took both myself and Sorsha to heal them."
Vladislaus felt that familiar paternal protectiveness wash over him like a wave, the force of it nearly pulling him under.
"And need I remind you all that that same Sorsha supposedly escaped the city with what was left of her coven through the Oradea pass. If Lilith got her hands on them…"
"Lyra, this is definitely not helping," Louise snapped through gritted teeth.
"Besides, we don't know for sure if…" Tempest added, but she was cut off.
"I get that you all want to help, but… and I can't believe I'm even fucking saying this right now…" Lyra replied, rolling her eyes a little, "but maybe Dracula is right. Maybe you should all sit this one out."
That caused an explosion of arguing on all sides that would have escalated into a straight-up shouting match when Vladislaus went silent the moment he felt a soft touch on his shoulder, stilling him before he could further lash out at his defiant children.
He turned to find Francesca standing there at his side, the woman silent and immutable.
He hadn't even heard her come in.
The impact of her sudden calming presence was felt by all, the wind quickly sucked out of everyone's contentious sails. While the soothing peace of her sent his hackles rising, the demon within ready to fight back, to cling to the familiar comfort of anger and isolation, Vlad could hear her voice in his head as clear as if she had spoken the words directly into his ear.
Don't let your grief for Antón give way to fear, she urged him with a gentle firmness. Not now, Vladislaus. Not like this.
In spite of himself, he could feel the tension in his body beginning to ease as that hand on his shoulder began to caress its way downward, over his bicep before she curled her arm around his. She held his gaze throughout, and with an intensity and steadiness that even he could not deny. The blood-bond between them wouldn't allow it.
When he released a beleaguered sigh, not really a fan of this woman's undeniable sway over him – at least at present – Frankie spoke aloud for the others to hear, still maintaining eye contact with Vlad.
"We've all experienced loss at Augustine's hand," she said. "I know that the danger is real and the outcome uncertain – even with the prophecy. But everyone here has as much a right to fight as we do."
He opened his mouth to argue, but she continued.
"And need I remind all of you that no one has more of a claim on Marcus' blood than myself?" she added pointedly, looking to the others. "And if anyone else were to possess the right for a shared stake in that claim, it is Lyra. Only the two of us are truly required for the task ahead. I could very well insist that all of you," and she sent a pointed glance in Dracula's direction, "stay out of this. But I won't… as much as I may wish to."
"Why not?" Lyra asked.
"We may not have the numbers we need to launch a full-scale assault on what remains of Lilith's army," she explained. "When I was leaving the den, Tristan told me that the lycan elders were thinking of sitting this one out." There were a couple of noises of surprise.
"But why?" Tempest asked.
"There are many who feel they've bled enough on our behalf in the last year alone… they are hesitant to do so now – especially after the surprise assault from Marcus just the other night. Quite frankly, I don't blame them."
"Will none of them fight with us?" Jacob inquired.
"Tristan has a group of men and women willing to join us when the time comes," she admitted. "But that still leaves the odds heavily stacked against us."
"There are still people in this city who would fight with us," her brother chimed in. "You got them to fight with you that night in Heroes' Square," and he looked to Dracula. "You both rallied them to you. You could do it again."
"We don't have time to raise and organize a proper army. Not if we hope to take out Marcus quickly," Vlad finally said. "And we do not have the luxury of time… especially if he tries to make a run for it."
"And that's if he hasn't already," Lyra added.
"Do you think he has?" Frankie asked her.
"I would feel it if he had," the redhead assured her. "He's still in the city – that much I know. But the second he catches wind of me having this," and she lifted her marked-up arm, "and that's assuming Lilith hasn't already told him… I'd say it's only a matter of time."
"Seems both of your parents have a talent for self-preservation," Ezekiel declared, looking to Lyra as he closed the front door behind him. The redhead sent him a narrowed look, not taking kindly to the unwelcome reminder of her parentage, but he merely smiled in return.
"Any update from the wolves?" Frankie asked. Zeke shook his head as he approached them.
"Isabella was still making a case on our behalf when I left. I spoke to the elders myself before I departed, but I have no idea if it was enough. Tristan is with us, though."
"That ex-boyfriend of yours deserves a fucking medal," Rémy said with a bit of a chuckle as he looked to his sister.
"A medal and a goddamn parade," Ezekiel agreed with a smile. "So – what did I miss here?"
"Father wants us to stay out of the fighting," Jack explained begrudgingly.
Zeke went a little rigid at that.
"Surely not." The looks his siblings were sending him suggested otherwise. "Well, if you're going to make anyone sit this out, have it be Jack, since he's the one who had the near-death experience."
Jack slugged the man's arm in retaliation.
"What I desire in this situation doesn't appear to hold much weight, evidently," Dracula murmured quietly, sending a pointed look in Frankie's direction. She boldly sent one back at him.
"We want to fight alongside you, Father – as we have always done," Zeke replied.
"I personally would rather face true death again than be forced to the sidelines," Jack added.
"Does this mean you're going to try and banish us from the fighting too," Rémy chimed in, motioning to himself, Carmen, and Jacob.
Vlad looked to his new brother-in-law, his friend, and after a moment of consideration, he finally shook his head.
"No… though I won't deny a part of me wishes to spare all of you from what is to come for Francesca's sake," he said. "But my indignant children are correct. I have no right to deny you – especially you, Rémy. The four of you," and he looked into the eyes of his wife's brothers and her two best friends, lingering on each of them for an extended beat, "you are all that remains of the original alliance. I have seen what you have given to this enterprise, have witnessed each sacrifice, each difficult decision – first in the name of Francesca, and then in the name of a fickle people who were too cowardly and complacent to fight for themselves."
Vladislaus felt so tired all of a sudden, so ready for all of this to just be done.
"I would infinitely prefer to spare you – all of you – from what is to come… but it would appear I am overruled."
He released his arm from Frankie's hold with a heavy sigh before pressing a light kiss to her palm – the only assurance he could muster to show that there were no hard feelings. He then patted her hand once before letting it go.
"If you'll excuse me," and he proceeded to depart from the foyer.
"Father, wait!" Tempest called out, but Frankie gently stopped her from following after him.
"Give him space," she said with a rueful smile. "He's still processing. And if that weren't enough to preoccupy him, he's not used to all this."
"To what?" Rémy asked.
"Sharing the risk when his every instinct is screaming for control… to bear the weight alone."
"Surely he knows that we're stronger fighting together," Tempest replied. "That our odds are better when we fight as one."
"He understands that deep down, but you also have to grant that the last week has been especially trying for him," and she curled her arm around the woman's elbow, leading them all back to the dining room. "He only just got you all back – only to nearly lose one of you. And the weight of Antón's absence in particular, I think, is proving itself a far deal greater than even he could have anticipated. Everything is moving so fast, and the stakes only ever seem to get higher and higher as we progress…" She patted Tempest's hand reassuringly. "Just give him time. What he needs now more than ever is your patience… not your derision," and she sent Jack and Lyra in particular a very censorious look.
Vladislaus wandered the winter-laden paths of the overgrown cemetery on the hill for some time, the soft crunch of snow beneath his hessian boots the only sound in the stillness of that cloudless night. The air was so cold, he could feel it settling deep into his bones, and yet it was that chill that proved so reassuring to him. The cold reminded him of home, of the Carpathians, of a time when things were far less complicated than they were at present.
Yet, in spite of the reassurance, that underlying well of grief and trepidation remained, like an insidious shadow in the corner of his mind, full of what ifs and if onlys that left his thoughts turning over on themselves – a twining, knotted amalgamation that had him feeling every second of his age. After a while, he paused in his trek once he reached the crest of that silent graveyard, turning to look out over the vista before him.
Below, at the bottom of that hill, nestled between a frozen-over offshoot of the Danube and the lush, dark forest sat Vilkova. And on the other side, barely discernible beyond the trees he could make out the lights of the city of Budapest, the glistening spires of the palace nestled near its heart. In a strange way, standing alone on that hill was like being situated with one foot in the grave and one without, lingering on the precipice of what would either be his greatest triumph or the most excruciating of losses.
The uncertainty of it all was maddening.
On the one hand, he found himself recalling the details of Mariella's prophecy, the promise of redemption and reascension, of victory over his enemies. He could not deny that there was this intrinsic part of him that believed her words, the surety of Marcus' pending destruction.
And yet the lingering sting of Bernardini's death had him wondering… what would be left standing at the end of it all? What more would he lose and could he bear the weight of it?
The answer came to him almost immediately, as if his old friend were still with him, standing at his side taking in this vista beyond the line of trees. There was a thought, spoken in Antón's voice – a sentiment he had shared on more than one occasion, but never had it struck that chord within him as it did now.
Fear is normal and uncertainty even more so. Acknowledge it, feel it, but never let it rule you. Trust in what you know and let the rest fall away.
Vlad chewed on the oft given counsel for a moment, mulling the words over silently as his gaze lingered on the glistening lights of Budapest in the distance before diverting back to the estate house at the bottom of the hill.
Trust in what you know…
He'd never admit to such weakness aloud, but to himself he could confess that he knew very little in the grand scheme of things – and yet, perhaps what he did know would prove sufficient:
He knew the strength of his children – their skill in combat, their loyalty and fortitude.
He knew the valor of his friends – those remaining members of the alliance. He knew their dedication, their willingness to sacrifice all for the course at hand. They had proven themselves time and time again over the last year and a half alone.
And he knew Francesca – his heart, his soul, the woman who had singlehandedly restored so much of what he had lost already, who had forgiven him his failings time and again, who saw all that he was and still loved and accepted all of him.
This he knew – that in spite of the insurmountable odds stacked against them, in spite of the risks and the variables and the ambiguity, he could trust in the strength of the company which surrounded him. With them, he could venture into that great unknown. With them, he could continue to stare out into the void before him, even as that horrifying darkness stared back.
He could withstand.
He could endure.
Vladislaus Drăculea wasn't the same man he had been a year ago.
Perhaps, with that acknowledgment in mind, it was finally time for him to let go of the safety net of that man, of the familiar – that need to always be in control – and to instead trust in the people around him, to venture forth together instead of always alone.
If there was ever a time to let the fear and grief and uncertainty fall away, it was now.
He had regained so much since he had awoken from stasis, and as consequence, had so much more to lose than he ever had. But the moment the thought crossed his mind, Antón's familiar voice was quick to echo back, eager to contradict him.
No. Not more to lose, Vladislaus… more to fight for.