Spoken hurriedly, in hushed tones. "Vampire."
Whispered behind the veils of the ladies of court. "Somewhere within the castle."
Eyes' darting back and forth nervously. "It could be anywhere. You never know with monsters like that." Furtive glances down halls that were enclosed in shadow and gloom. Once safe to travel during the hours when the sun dominated the sky, the halls were now the very birthing places of nightmares.
Torches placed in scones that had for the longest time held none. Armoured hands reaching for weapons; the cling of mail against mail. More guards than before walking the halls. "Make sure your armour is on tight boys," a sergeant said before he went on patrol. "These bloodsucking bastards go for any exposed flesh, and are as vicious as any cornered beast."
Trepidation and unease filling the air like water in a cup, threatening to spill over at any given moment.
Inside his mother's chambers, surrounded by the royal guard, William sat on Queen Iseult's lap and schooled his face to appear blank. At the young age of six, the young prince knew that the last thing his mother needed was to see fear on his face. It would give the queen more tension than she needed at this moment. William was to be the next king of Nibelung, and showing fright here in front of his future subjects would have been unacceptable. Born of warriors and taught from an early age to imitate the qualities of his forefathers, William would not huddle in a corner like some of the ladies of court were doing and shiver.
William could feel the worry coursing through his mother's body, from the way she sipped her wine from the golden goblet to the way she tapped her left foot insistently on the hard stone. Iseult would glare angrily at one of the two serving maids from time to time when they let out a choked whimper, or moved about too hurriedly or loudly. The queen had demanded that all noise be kept to a minimum; who knew if it might bring the vampire down upon them? With deliberate slowness, Iseult set her cup down on the table beside her, making as little noise as possible. An example to all within the chamber.
"William, are you alright?" she whispered in her son's ear. The blue veil that Iseult wore about her head to hold back her long hair tickled the edge of William's earlobe.
"Of course I am, mother." William replied with the beginnings of annoyance seeping into his voice. It had been, by the young prince's silent count, the fifth time his mother had asked him the question in the span of half an hour. Iseult nodded, and then resumed tapping her foot against the floor.
Looking around his mother's spacious chambers, William noted how different they looked during the night. During the day, when the sun's warming light streamed generously though the rose tinted windows, William had learned his alphabet and numbers, had been taught the provinces and duchies of Nibelung. Even the carpets that covered the floor seemed washed out without the sun's light. Against the wall to William's right was a wall hanging, spun from cloth that had come from the far north and was soft to the touch. The tapestry's image was that of a unicorn in a garden of roses, maidens sitting to either side of the mythical beast. Underneath the carefully embroidered tapestry sat an iron bound chest. William knew that inside were his mother's treasured items that she had taken with her to Nibelung when she had married his father. The chest had been stamped with the young queen's personal seal, a swan gliding along water that rippled out behind it.
To the young prince's left was a door that led into his mother's bedchamber. For the sake of safety and to not watch two chambers at once and thus divide their strength, the guards had locked the chamber up tight and had barred the way with chairs. Two royal guards stood at attention in front of the door, their ears straining to catch any sound that might come from the chamber beyond.
Behind William and his mother the ladies in waiting huddled in a group, casting quick glances out one of the three windows into the courtyard below. Brynhild's strong hands, looking more like they belonged to a woman in the fields than one of the upper classes, wadded up her kerchief into a ball while her eyes looked over the other maids. Brynhild had slapped not long before Freyja, who was perched at the furthest window to the left, when she had begun to have hysterics, claiming that she had seen the vampire. Her cheek still bore the handprint from the older woman. The ladies of court were clothed in their nightgowns, robes flung over their thing shoulders that would afford them some warmth in the cold chamber.
In front of William, the young prince could see the door that led out into the corridors of the palace beyond. The doors had been locked from the inside, and a trio of guards stood in front of it, their halberds held in a relaxed armoured grip. William knew that the unperturbed expressions the guards wore on their scarred faces were just for show – at any given moment they would be ready to deal with the vampire should the monster show its face to them.
The only light that filled the chamber was a small lantern, set in the centre of the table where Queen Iseult and William were sitting at. The guards had asked that one light at least be kept on. When Iseult had demanded pointedly to know why, the lieutenant had said most adamantly that no human could see in the dark while a vampire could. Iseult had allowed the lantern to be lit after that.
William fidgeted, wanting to be set down and stretch his legs. A slight tingly feeling was beginning to work itself over his left arm; the prince curled his fingers into a fist and held it until he felt the pins and needles feeling abate. His eyes were heavy and it was a huge effort for him not to yawn. Thoughts slow and muggy from the lack of sleep, William blearily tried to remember how he had ended up in his mother's chambers. The young prince recalled being woken up by his nurse, how he had turned towards her with a ready curse that just last week William had learned from one of the guards. His nurse's hand had quickly clamped over his mouth, her voice in a high whisper ordering him to be still. Then he had been dragged from his chambers and through the castle halls, the guards surrounding him while looking over their shoulders as if expecting an attack at any moment. The young prince had head from snatches of conversation by the palace servants that a vampire had somehow managed to scale the ramparts, had sadistically slain the guards and was now roaming loose. In the higher chambers that belonged to the queen William had been placed with his mother and was now under lock and key.
A thought suddenly occurred to the heir of Nibelung. "Mother," William whispered in the near darkness, "where is father?"
"He is out hunting for the vampire, Willy."
"Please don't call me that, mother. I'm too old now for such a name." William's voice held an imperious note, rolling his eyes at what he considered to be a horrible pet name. "Why is father hunting the vampire? Why is he not here, protected like we are?"
Iseult smoothed back William's blond hair, cut in a pageboy fashion. "Because what type of king would he be then if he were to hide away from the vampire instead of going out to face it as a true ruler should? The people respect Sigurd, your father not because he is king, but by the deeds he has done. A true king will protect his people, even if it might be at the cost of his own life." When Iseult said that, William felt her tighten her hold on him just a bit more, her foot tap just a little faster.
"Father will return," William spoke in a defiant whisper. "He is my father, after all. And your husband."
Laughing quietly, the queen kissed the crown of her son's head. "Yes, he is your father, after all." So precocious, Iseult thought. Does he have it from Sigurd or I? Or is it something that he was born with?
A scream suddenly tore through the heavy silence, echoing eerily down the halls and corridors of the Stahlberg castle. It went on and on, growing in pitch and intensity. It was a cry that only an animal caught in a trap, or a human about to meet death, would be able to utter. The guards drew their weapons, eyes narrowed and caution filling their faces. One of the maids whimpered, another began to cry softly. Brynhild's mouth narrowed into a fine line and her hand looked ready to slap some sense into the woman.
"Where did that come from," one of the guards demanded. "Does anyone know?"
"It sounded like it came from the grand hall of the palace, but with the echo you can't be sure," another answered tersely. "But it sounded close, closer than we need it to be damn it."
"Be silent everyone. Hold your tongues, for it might just mean your lives. Dowse the flame," the lieutenant curtly spoke. One of the guards did so, and the chamber was plunged into darkness. All the occupants could do was sit quietly and wait. The sound of his own breathing was harsh in William's ears and through his own nightgown he felt his heart ready to burst through his chest.
He hoped to pass through the night alive.
~ ~ ~
The castle was well defended but not impregnable, or so the general mass seemed to agree when Emily asked the people of Stahlberg. She did not just ask anyone on the street; such a thing would have been the very height of stupidity and would have aroused suspicion sooner or later. Instead the Serioli had gone to certain areas of the city that the well to do and proper citizens would have no dealings with. On the eastern edge of Stahlberg, where thieves and murderers as well as those 'touched' in the head drifted to sooner or later, Emily had inquired about the castle's battlements in five different establishments.
"Not one thief has gotten in that has returned," a grizzled man with one eye and a balding head had told Emily as he collected beer mugs from patrons too drunk to realize that their drinks were being taken from them. "You can count on such a thing, by my own missing eye."
Another person from the pub Everybody's Fool, obviously a mugger, had confirmed what the one-eyed man had said. "Oh there have been many 'o thieves that had gotten the notion to go and git themselves some sort 'o booty, I assures ya lady. Only we ain't never heard from any 'o them again." Emily had thanked the man pointedly and had quickly left the pub. When he had taken the notion of following the young woman in the hopes of taking anything of value from her, the Serioli had drawn her blade and had convinced the mugger that he would rather continue his life with both hands and a heart instead of being sent into the Beyond.
All conversations had pointed in the same direction for Emily. Stahlberg castle had an entrance that the underworld knew of and that the royal guard had never got around to closing. The denizens of the east end were convinced that Emily was looking to steal something, or acquire an item as the politically correct term went, and then make a haste retreat. They could not have been further from the truth. Emily was only looking for an entrance; she was not looking for an escape route to use. Once inside the castle, she could easily go about her work without being noticed by the servants or staff.
However, it was the location of the entrance that eluded the Serioil. Finally, at the last pub she visited when the sun was sinking below the horizon and more people were filling the streets, Emily came across a person that had been willing to give her the location. Sitting across the old and dirty man, one of those who was obviously different from the others in the head, Emily raised one eyebrow and could only scoff slightly. A dirty red bandana covered the man's eyes, hiding the empty sockets. More than a week's worth of stubble clung to his cheeks, and his hair was as greasy as the chicken that the establishment was serving that evening. He had a nervous tick; the man's left hand would spasm, and then fasten tightly over anything that it was holding.
"You want to know about the castle, missy?" He gave a lop-sided scowl, showing teeth that were rotting in the gums.
"Yes," Emily spoke in a neutral voice, devoid of any emotion.
"Don't want to go there, don't want to." He wagged a finger at her, and then pounded his fist into the table hard enough that the utensils jumped. "Bad stuff happening there. I feel it in my bones. Not just for tonight, but for years to come. You understand, missy?"
Inhaling the tavern's odour as little as possible, Emily caught herself nodding and then stopped. He was blind; who was going to see it? "I do not know what you mean, sir."
Running both hands through his stringy hair with flakes of dandruff falling to the table's top, the man muttered to himself for a few moments and then laughed. "No one does, do they? I could say it all and you wouldn't believe me. Not one in this bar would." He raised his voice to be heard over the din of the others. "Not one of ya would!"
"Bad things happen all the time," Emily spoke to soothe the old man. "It is a way of life, is it not? Especially in cities as large as this one. Just tell me how to get into the castle, sir, and I will be on my way."
"I smell something bad coming off of ya, missy. Like the grave, but only there is no rest in the end. Not for people who meet you. I predict things like this, ya know. It's why I'm here, because I'm touched but not like the others. No, never like the others." Emily shifted slightly in her chair, folding her hands across her chest nonchalantly. With a twist of her right wrist, Emily felt the small dagger fall from her sleeve into the palm of her hand. No one had seen it, and if the man began to prove violent, then his little prediction would soon come true.
"And it is because of this little ability of yours that you know of a way into the castle?" Emily couldn't help the note of disbelief from entering her voice. The old man cared to either not hear it or was unable to.
"Yes, it is." He grinned; Emily got a glimpse of pus seeping out from an opened sore on his gum. "But before I tell ya, missy, give me your right hand first." He held out his own right palm, encrusted with dirt as it was, waiting expectantly.
The Serioli arched an eyebrow, the corners of her lips turning downwards. "Excuse me?"
"Its me price for giving you the location. I only want to read your hand, to know your fate. It's a hobby that I have. You can try to ask around the whole of the east end, but you'll find that all who came asking for the location came to me, missy. I'm the only one who knows. Pay the ferryman or you don't cross the river."
He's more touched in the head than he knows, Emily reflected mockingly. His words were sane enough to the assassin and she assented. "Very well, I suppose the price is only fair." Transferring her concealed dagger into the palm of her left hand, the Serioli gingerly gave her hand over into the 'touched' man's. She expected that the touch would burn, or at least in some way there would be pain. There was nothing, only the old man's fingers quickly darting over the palm, tracing the lines in the flesh and feeling the pads of the fingertips.
At length the vagrant grunted and pulled back from the Serioli. "I see a lot of trouble ahead of ya, missy, things that you would have been able to stop should you wish too. But you, like your own kind, chose to do nothing and let everything take its own course. I don't know how some people can do that and live with themselves, but you seem to do a good job of it."
"I did not come here for a lecture," Emily interjected, hastily pulling her hand back and wiping the dirt from him on her pants' leg. "The location, now."
He gave a hacking cough, wiping the phlegm away with the back of his hand. "You smell of the grave, missy, smell of it real badly. What's got you hurrying to death so quickly?"
Emily had had enough. Underneath the cover that the table provided, she pressed the small dagger up against the inside of the old man's thigh. "Tell me what I came to hear, kind sir, and I would be as inclined to not cut the large vein that pulses through your leg. Once my dagger pierces the flesh, you will bleed out in a matter of seconds and nothing will be able to stop it."
The old man stilled, save the tick in his left hand, and nodded. "Very well, missy. You make your point clear for someone like me who has no eyes." He gave a raspy chuckle. "On the western wall of Stahlberg castle, just beyond the moat, there is a crack within the wall. Small enough, you can get a small boat or piece of driftwood through there with you on it. Once inside, you are inside the lowest level of the castle." He held up both his hands. "And that's all I know, missy. Now get lost. The stench of Death himself hangs over ya!"
She had left, grateful to be away from it all. Under the cover of darkness, the young crescent moon hidden behind clouds, Emily had found the opening just as the old man had said. Dressed in the dark browns and blacks that the assassin preferred, Emily had been undetected, as she had made her approach. It was not like royal guard to let people slip past their net of resistance, but Emily had done so. The Serioli had expected better, but when the ramparts were over fifty feet high she supposed that even the best slipped up sooner or later.
There had been no driftwood, but Emily had found a small skiff that had been tied around a willow tree and hidden by the overhanging branches. If it belonged to one of the citizens who liked to fish in the moat, or was the property of the castle, it made no difference to the Serioil. In the dark, Emily cast off in the skiff and came up alongside the wall. The stone was covered in moss and overgrown ivy, arm deep in some places. Her leather gloved hands searched for the opening in the darkness; curses in her mother tongue filled the night air as Emily became more and more frustrated. Then her fingertips found a crack; tracing it the crack had widened until Emily groped through the vegetation and found the gap. It was no wonder that the castle was unaware of its existence. There was too much growth over it to begin with.
Steering the skiff underneath, Emily went from the natural darkness of the outside into that of pitch black. Her Serioli eyes adjusted quickly; the one upstanding quality that the Serioil had over others was that they could see in the dark just as well as any cat. Emily easily guided her raft past small outcropping of rock and granite, until she pulled up alongside a wall that had stairs carved into it. Hoisting herself onto the ledge, Emily followed the steps up until she came to a door that had seen better days. Dilapidated, the wood rotten and eaten by bugs, it was easy for the woman to jostle it open and slip through.
Blinking her eyes as she adjusted from the sudden change of dark to the light of torches, Emily looked at her surroundings. From the barrels and heaps of wooden crates around her, the assassin surmised that she was within the storage chambers of the palace. Adjusting her falchion so that she could draw it quickly, Emily tightened her gloves and began to walk quietly through the storage chambers. From time to time her booted feet kicked up small clouds of dust, a sure sign that no servants had been here to clean, only to light the torches.
Arriving at last to a flight of stairs that had been worn down by the passing of many feet, Emily began to climb. The sheer silence annoyed her; it seemed to worm its way into her ears and would not leave. At the same time, she was afraid to make any noise in case a passing guard's ears caught it. It was as if the whole world had suddenly become devoid of sound, or people had forgotten how to make a clamour. Or maybe, the Serioli thought, just maybe something was happening in the palace tonight that merited such quiet.
The uneasy silence was broken with the sound of a scream, and Emily's thoughts were confirmed.
It was the type of scream that she had heard often enough, the racket that a person made when they had been horribly wounded, the blow fatal. Emily had given such blows but her hands had muffled the sounds enough from her victims that others had never heard it. She drew her falchion out of its sheath easily and held it loosely in her right hand. Taking the last few steps quickly, Emily arrived at the door, firmly closed against her. Pressing her ear up against the wood the Serioli listened for the sounds of running feet, the clanking of armour. She could hear nothing, save another blood curling scream that lingered in the air long afterwards.
"What the hell is happening out there," she hissed under her breath. Kneeling, the assassin took out a small pouch filled with lock picks. In a few minutes the door was unlocked and Emily pushed through, her sword held at the ready. What she saw down the darkened hallway to her left made the Serioli's mouth twist in disgust.
Placing one foot in front of the other, Emily approached the body in the hall. It was one of the Nibelung royal guards, or he was by the uniform that he wore. The face had been shredded, the cooling blood collecting in small depressions along the floor. The man's hands still gripped his spear tightly in death, the leather gloves covered in his own lifeblood. Emily knelt down beside the corpse and looked along the neck where the armour had been ripped away. Two puncture wounds seemed to glare back at her.
"A vampire. Now I understand why there were no guards on the lookout, and why there are none in the halls. All after the damn vampire," the Serioli muttered to herself. Her senses now further heightened by this new threat, Emily glanced quickly in all directions as she rose. She had seen her fair share of vampires – had claimed a few as bounties as well. Her Serioli village had been greeted by the presences of vampires often enough, and they had reacted, as anyone would have with a wild animal: hunt it down and destroy it.
Emily decided then and there that it would be too dangerous to attack the queen; with all the guards no doubt protecting the royal family such a thing would be impossible. Instead, the assassin's mind quickly set to work, figuring out how she could turn the disadvantage of a vampire's presence in the Stahlberg castle to her advantage.
Time to go vampire hunting, the Serioli thought with barely contained glee. To her, Emily considered this a perk in the job she had taken.
~ ~ ~
The doors shuddered, the strength thrown against them impressive enough that the iron began to groan under the strain. The guards fearfully eyed the door, licking their lips and bracing their feet on the floor. In the chamber, the women began to shriek, running around madly as they searched for an escape. Brynhild had stopped slapping them and was instead looking around for something that could be used for a weapon.
Wood began to break off of the heavy doors, the metal beginning to buckle under. Iseult grabbed William in her arms. In the dark, with the screams coming from her ladies in waiting and the guards shouting in the hopes of being heard by the other humans in the castle, the queen did not know what to do. Her first and foremost concern was William's safety. Stumbling through the inky blackness, flailing limbs hitting her backs and skirts brushing up against her own, Iseult made her way over to the trunk. Falling to her knees, one hand brushing along the trunk's lid until it was opened, the young queen grasped William in her arms, hugging him. Over the panicked cries in the room Iseult told William to hide in the trunk and to not come out, no matter what happened.
"Mother, what if-"
"Be silent in there, William," Iseult hissed as she tossed scarves and linen over him. "Don't you dare come out no matter what happens!" Before her son could protest again, Iseult had slammed the lid shut and turned in the direction of the door.
The sound of the wood cracking caused her heart to leap into her throat.
The metal shrieked, high-pitched and overriding the screams from the women. The door fell inwards, the thundering sound filling the room. The guards gave their battle cries, leaping forwards in the direction in which they hoped the vampire was.
In the trunk, William balled his hands together and placed them over his ears, not wanting to hear anymore.
~ ~ ~
Emily did not see any living guards as she glided wraith-like through the halls. There were plenty of bodies that littered the way, making it easy for her to find the vampire. It had been careless in its kills and was not bothering to hide anything. Obviously the other palace guards were hunting still for the vampire in other sections of the castle, or they were being deliberate cowards and not coming to deal with it at all. One thing was for certain. This vampire was utterly mad – one that had come to her village once had been the same. Only when the Serioli had gone hunting, there had been ten of them, not just Emily.
Screams, frantic and female-pitched, made Emily snap out of her reverie. Following the sounds, the Serioli dashed down the halls until she came to the chamber that lay at the end of the corridor. The doors hung on their hinges, twisted and smashed by the vampire's strength. In the darkened chambers beyond, where the torches' light did not fall, the screams and the sounds of wood crunching could be easily discerned. Emily picked up one of the torches and boldly stepped into the room, her falchion ready.
The scene within twisted the Serioli's stomach. It was like looking inside a butchering house. Before Emily, lying in a heap was another royal guard and a young woman, her left arm ripped from the socket and dress soaked in blood. The walls and tapestries, claw marks over them, were spattered in blood too. Further in, illuminated by the light of the torch, she could see the remains of what had once been a table. A body was lying on the wood, the flesh pierced in multiple areas. It was mutilated enough that Emily was unable to tell if it had been a man or a woman. Gagging reflexively, Emily swept the torch ahead of her, the light finally catching in a corner of a chamber a group of women huddled together, two guards standing before them, their weapons covered in blood. And its back to Emily was the vampire.
As the Serioli watched, the vampire launched itself at the guards, arms spread wide to grip them both in a bear hug. The crunching of the bones through the armour was sickening. Blood poured from the guards' mouths as the insane vampire dropped them to the ground as it gibbered incoherently. Through it all, the women screamed. At the corner of her eye, Emily saw movement. She turned quickly and gasped without knowing it. A young boy was climbing out of a trunk, a look of determination on his face. The vampire saw the child too and sensing easy prey, turned towards the boy.
"Hey!" Emily cried out to the vampire, bringing her sword up with the edge of the blade pointed to the monster. It hissed, turning to face the new arrival. The skin was flushed with new blood, but the vampire's body was gaunt, almost like a skeleton. Yellow eyes widened for a moment; a grey tongue flicked out and licked away the blood from the vampire's lips. Baring its talons at Emily, the vampire took a menacing step towards the Serioli.
"William, get back," a woman in white – Queen Iseult, Emily's mind gave the information quickly – cried out to her son. That cry caused the vampire to turn back to the boy, hissing at the young human before it.
It was so hungry ... the blood it had consumed could not fill it up fast enough ... perhaps the blood from someone so young would be enough ... rent the flesh, tear the bones, watch that face turn into fear ... yes, so delicious...
Iseult cried out as the monster turned on her son. Her handmaidens pulled her back, none of them wanting the queen to rush in blindly. William stood frozen, his eyes wide and face pale as a monster he had only heard about in stories came towards him. It was Death itself, only Death was not wearing a black cloak or carrying a scythe. It had fangs and eyes that glowed evilly. William whimpered and felt his bowels loosen. Shame mixed with the fear at such a loss of face, but the fear was overwhelming.
Emily acted. Pulling her arm back, the Serioli threw her torch at the vampire. It impacted on its dead flesh, the fire eating away and leaving a charred smell in the air. The monster reacted; it arched its head back and howled in agony. Three strides was all it took for Emily to reach the vampire; one clean slash along its back and upper left arm as it turned to face her. A talon streaked out to grab at the assassin. Emily pulled back, and all the vampire was left clutching was her cloak. Growling, its eyes flooding over with insanity, the monster pulled the Serioli in. In its haste to kill its opponent, the vampire had forgotten that the human was still armed.
One thrust, right into the gut. Emily yanked her falchion upwards, feeling the ribcage give way under the strong steel. The vampire released its grip on Emily and grasped at the sword, cutting its hands as it tried to pull the blade from it. Emily threw all her strength behind the blade and felt it come through the other side of the vampire, felt it grate against the spine.
Shrieking, screaming in agony, the vampire whirling around crazily as it tried to grasp the sword. Falling to its knees, blood frothing at its mouth, it began to imitate the sounds of a beaten animal. As the women watched on in horror and with a macabre fascination, Emily withdrew a small sickle from the folds of her cloak. Standing over the vampire, the Serioli whirling the curved blade over her head before bringing it down on the monster.
Its head, now freed from the rest of its body, hit the floor with a dull thud and rolled until it hit the remains of the table. The body wavered for a few moments longer, the arms twitching, and then it fell to its side.
Iseult raced to William, wrapping her arms around her son and cradling him to her chest as she cried tears of relief. The young prince clung to his mother as if unsure that she was real, that at any moment she might vanish. Torchlight suddenly flooded the ruined chamber as a troop of Stahlberg royal guard entered, King Sigurd at the head. The king looked over the scene before him. His eyes fell on his wife and son; immediately he strode over to them to see if they had been injured. Emily, oblivious to the presence of the king or of the guards, jerked the blade unkindly from the vampire's now twice dead body, creating more gashes in the pallid flesh. Wiping the blade on a ruined tapestry, the young woman re-sheathed it and finally seemed to notice the arrival of the new warriors.
"Who're you?" It was one of the lieutenants that asked, looking carefully at Emily. More eyes turned to Emily, all wondering how this person had shown up conveniently when needed and had taken down the vampire when seasoned warriors had not. The Serioli was about to give back a plausible lie when Iseult interrupted her.
"What does it matter? She saved William! She saved him when no one else could. This girl deserves our gratitude, all of it." The young queen wiped tears from her eyes and walked towards Emily, leaving William with Sigurd. "And what is your name, so that I can give you your reward?"
"Emily," she said quickly, "Emily Sunfire."
Iseult turned her head slightly. "A strange last name."
"It's a Serioli's name," the assassin responded.
"Serioli," Sigurd murmured. "Not many of them like to go come to cities as large as this one."
Emily gave a small bow in the direction of the king, but spoke to Iseult. "I am a little different from my other Serioli countrymen."
Iseult clapped her hands. "And it has done you well, Emily. I feel that there is only one reward that I can give to someone so brave and courageous such as yourself, who managed to defeat such a monster when no one else was able to. My handmaidens can agree that your valour is what saved us tonight." At this the young women chorused that they had indeed seen courage in Emily that the men had been lacking.
At this a few of the guards looked at each other and then at the newcomer with distaste, but all held their tongues. The women of the castle, in the guards' views, were clucking hens and nothing more. King Sigurd came to stand beside his wife, holding William in one strong arm, the boy still crying quietly. He whispered in his wife's ear; she nodded and the royal couple looked at Emily. Even in the bloodied chamber, where moments before something awful had happened, Emily received the distinct impression that something even she had not been planning would occur. That it might complicate her plans.
"It is my wife's decision and mine," King Sigurd announced, "that you, Emily Sunfire, become the personal bodyguard of Prince William."
For a few moments, the Serioli stood stunned. It seemed almost ludicrous that something like this would happen to her, but it had. Then her mind turned inward, whispering that this still did not change anything and that, if anything, it would make her mission from Moebius easier to accomplish. Plastering a smile to her face, one that held no real happiness behind it, Emily made a small bow.
"Your Majesties, it seems I have no other choice but to humbly accept your offer."