Hey guys! Bit of a longer turnaround time between ch 31 and 32 than I would've liked, but I truly cannot rush this story because it'll fight back. I don't control it. It controls me.
I mentioned in the last chapter we were in for a time jump (so I guess the long wait works out well in that regard) but I did cover a fraction of that via my 12-chartered Christmas special, National Vampire's Christmas Vacation. If you're into this you've probably already read that. If not, I recommend checking that out before reading this. You don't need to, though. It'll just add a bit of depth. It serves as a "where are they now" one year after ch32, whereas ch32 picks up five years after.
I have a few other notes I wanna share about this chapter itself but I think they'd be best saved for post credits. So I'll see you at the bottom of the page!
Enjoy!
Chapter 32: When I Dropped My Sword (i threw it in the bushes and knocked on your door)
Song:long story short by Taylor Swift.
Fatefully
I tried to pick my battles
'Til the battle picked me
4 years, 10 months post-war:
LAKEWOOD GOLF CLUB
"What a beautiful wedding." Kurda remarked to no one in particular as he admired the floral centrepiece of the round table they'd been assigned to. There were name cards and everything. To dine in such luxury was a far cry from the majority of meals they typically cobbled together.
"Mmm, yes. Quite lovely indeed." Vancha put on an accented tone of mock-pompousness like he was an eighteenth century lord. "But I must say the meat is quite over-cooked. Quite."
(In case you were wondering why they can't have nice things).
Gracie chuckled at the facade he was putting on. "Just run to the back and ask the caterer if he'll make you a rare chicken breast. He probably gets that all the time." She suggested.
Vancha's eyes lit up and it crossed her mind he might actually do that. It was a near miss. Instead he took another bite of his chicken and washed it down with a sip of blood snuck discreetly from his pocket flash.
"Human mating ceremonies are awfully complicated affairs, aren't they? Seems like a lot of unnecessary steps here." He added as an afterthought.
Kurda rolled his eyes in exasperation at his colleague, while visibly trying to stifle a laugh. "Say human mating ceremony a little louder. I don't know if all the other tables heard you!"
Vancha guffawed. And Kurda laughed because Vancha's laugh is almost always funnier than the joke. Gracie had to make a concerted effort to stop laughing herself long enough to refill her wine glass. Normally she didn't care for red. But after five years of rebuilding what had once been broken, seeing the light in her dad's eyes never got old. That was worth celebrating. The wine had a subtle hint of honey and went down like velvet.
The best part was the custom label on the bottle: Debbie & Alice Hemlock-Burgess along with today's date embossed in rose gold script above a photo of a smiling couple.
This felt like one of those record-scratch-freeze-frame moments. Almost a year ago the group found themselves near a city Darren recognized, and he used his burner phone to send a cautious text to what he hoped was still Debbie's number. It was. She agreed to meet with him the following night. Darren left with jumbled nerves, a bouquet of flowers from a gas station, a handful of "lady-charming" advice from Vancha, and a stern warning from Gracie to do the opposite of everything Vancha said. But all Darren really wanted was to know Debbie was okay. He didn't have any expectations. He just thought the flowers were pretty.
And when he rang the doorbell he certainly wasn't expecting to see Debbie and Alice standing side-by-side in the doorway of the small house they'd bought together. Darren rejoined the other vampires several hours later, grinning from ear to ear and waving a wedding invitation. The date coincided serendipitously with the end of their five-year mission to spread news of the Treaty of Scars. The four vampires at this corner table were the only guests who knew the beaming brides hadn't actually met in a cafe. But cafe is easier to explain to your friends and family than Cavern of Retribution.
The day of the wedding itself found Darren was distracted and withdrawn. He'd been like that all throughout dinner. And it had nothing to do with the sight of his first flame in an elegant white gown as she swayed on the dance floor with her new bride. He even wiped a tear as he watched them with genuine fondness til their first dance song concluded, then his eyes drifted back down to the phone in his hands. While the guests applauded and toasted the happy couple, Gracie took the opportunity to prod his shin with her foot.
"Hey. You good?"
He glanced up at her, and for a moment he looked surprised to see her there. As if they hadn't spent the last five years joined at the hip. He quickly rearranged his face into a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Yeah. Sorry. I just have to call my sister."
"Everything okay?"
His noncommittal half-shrug said it all. Gracie didn't question him any further. He slipped out of the dining hall in the direction of the patio overlooking the golf course. Vancha and Kurda exchanged weighted, knowing glances as they watched him go but neither spoke aloud.
Gracie finished the last of her meal and excused herself to touch up her mascara. There was one other person in the bathroom, a Burgess cousin washing her hands. By the sounds of it she'd single-handedly finished her table's bottle of wine.
"I looove your dress. 'Sso cute." She slurred.
"Thanks. It has pockets!" Said Gracie. "Love your shoes."
They made small talk for a minute before the other girl stumbled back towards the dance floor. This was one of the arbitrary things Gracie missed about being human: the universal female experience of making friends in public bathrooms on tipsy nights out. But there weren't enough words in any language to explain that to her fellow vampires. She tried with Kurda once. Even the open-minded, in-touch, forward-thinking vampire she'd ever met had no idea what she was talking about.
Gracie lingered in front of the mirror for longer than she'd care to admit. She hadn't gotten properly dressed up since she'd been blooded. She bought this entire ensemble in a whirlwind shopping trip that morning - mascara, eyeliner, and a strappy navy blue cocktail dress. For a moment she debated taking the dress home with her, but it was fleeting. She'd slip it into a donation bin before leaving town tomorrow and trust the universe would steer it to someone who needed it more than she did.
She turned to go, track down Darren and see what fresh angst had upended his life. But she paused once more, captivated by her own reflection. Something was different. She couldn't place exactly what had changed. Her body hadn't noticeably aged since she was blooded five years ago. Sure, the muscling on her arms and shoulders was more defined. And her hair was shorter now. She'd cut it halfway through the second year of the mission. Function over aesthetic was an obvious choice out in the wilderness. Now that the mission was over she was glad to see it had regrown almost to her shoulders. She liked it better this way.
But the difference went far deeper than surface level. It didn't hit her till she shifted her focus past her physical appearance. And when she blocked it all out and looked herself in the eye, it clicked: for the first time in her life she knew exactly who was looking back at her. She used to think she was happy, all things considered. Now she knew she was.
She was finally free of the invisible weight she carried every second she spent living as a human when deep down she knew her heart lived in Vampire Mountain. Free of the constant unease that hung over her head like a dark cloud from the second the war started til months after it finally ended. And more than that, strong enough to shoulder the guilt that was part of her now. The person staring back at her from the other side of the mirror came at a steep cost. Her human parents, her innocent siblings, and the good man whose only crime was to fall in love with the girl he thought she was. That girl had never been real. She only wished she figured it out sooner.
Darren was exactly where she thought he'd be; out on the balcony. His phone call was over but he didn't seem in a hurry to get back to the party. He was just standing there, elbows resting on the railing that overlooked the venue's sprawling garden where the ceremony had taken place. He was so deep in thought he didn't notice Gracie approach til she was right beside him, but he managed a smile that almost passed for casual.
"Hey! Sorry. Just got off the phone. I was about to come back inside."
"It's fine. We have about fifteen minutes until they cut the cake. Everything okay?"
That was all it took for Darren's mask to drop. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking much older than he did a second ago. "He's trying. But it's not good. He had another incident and Annie thinks he's about to be expelled. Again."
Gracie bit her lower lip to stifle the words that almost came tumbling out. While true, they wouldn't have helped anyone. What did you think was going to happen, Darren?!
"Fuck. Sorry to hear that." She told him instead. "I thought things had gotten better after your last visit."
"I thought so too. As if having newborn twins wasn't enough for Annie to deal with. Arthur's doing his best but Darius is still clashing with him. And it's just getting worse."
"Really? After three moves and six schools in five years, the troubled teenage half-vampaneze won't listen to the well-meaning human stepdad who gave him two human step-siblings to compete with?"
"It's not like that!" Darren protested. "Arthur knows the truth about everything and he loves Darius just as much as his own —"
Gracie sighed and regrouped. "You're misunderstanding me. I know it's not like that. But from Darius's perspective, it's exactly like that."
"I guess." Darren replied with a resigned nod of acceptance. "All I know is I have to step in. I promised him he'd never feel as alone as I did when I was first blooded. And if I don't do something now, I'll fail him."
The silence that fell between them was long. That wasn't out of the ordinary. What was out of the ordinary was how heavy it suddenly felt. For a while they just stood there, side by side on the balcony. Down below in the garden, the tipsy Burgess cousin was posing in front of a water fountain and trying to coach her boyfriend on which camera angle would produce the best "candid" shot.
Minutes ticked by. The cousin gave up and took a selfie instead. And Gracie turned to Darren, already knowing the answer to the question she was about to ask.
"You're not leaving for Vampire Mountain with us tomorrow, are you?"
"I don't see how I can." He kept his eyes on the garden below. His face was unreadable.
"You're going to miss the biggest Council of our lives."
Only then did Darren turn to face her, letting out a hollow laugh as he did so. "Don't tell the others, but I don't really care about that. Ever since the moment I first set foot in Vampire Mountain twelve years ago I've been giving the clan everything I have and then some. Now my family needs me more than they do."
He was doing it again. That thing where he talked like an adult with actual wisdom and life experience. Always threw her for a loop. Not that he wasn't an adult with wisdom and life experience, but usually he spoke more candidly with her. That was the basis of their friendship: I can just be me when it's just you.
"You're doing the right thing." Said Gracie. She planned to leave it at that, then she heard herself add: "Just… when I pictured finally going home after all this… you were there too."
"I'm still going home." Darren corrected her quietly. There was a gravelly hitch in his voice.
Gracie smiled through the familiar pang of guilt as she remembered that no matter how closely their destinies intertwined, Darren's initiation into the kingdom of night had been so different from her own it was unfair to compare them. The shining heroes of Gracie's story were responsible for some of the darkest days of Darren's life. It was a painful truth to grapple with. But to pretend otherwise would be a disservice to their friendship.
"I know. You're right. I'm happy for you."
"Thanks. I'm happy for me too." He took a steadying breath but there was a restrained sort of jubilation about him. As if he was making a concerted effort to appear matter-of-fact about it. "One of the Princes has to sit it out anyway. Might as well be the only one who has somewhere else they'd rather be. I think that's fair."
"Can't argue with that." Said Gracie.
Darren raised an eyebrow. "You can't? Must be an off day for you." He paused before adding tentatively, "You'll make other friends."
She laughed, and waved a hand dismissively at where he directed his earnest concern. "I'm not worried about that. You're the one who was pulled out of school during your key social development years, not me —"
"And you never let me forget it!"
"— but how many of my new friends will talk to me like a normal person despite my last name?"
Darren didn't skip a beat, and that in itself was why Gracie considered him the best friend she'd ever had. He grinned and said, "Harkat."
"Okay. You've got me there."
"And now that we've cleared that up, we can move on to official business." Said Darren. "I want you to be the one to present my part of the mission debrief to the other Princes."
"That's a really pretentious way to ask me to read your notebook of scribbles to my Dad and Uncle Arrow."
You'd never know by how casually she said it, but her heart swelled at the implication of Darren's request. Just because the Hall of Princes meant something different to her than it did to the average vampire, didn't mean it wasn't an incredibly prestigious duty to be assigned.
"If you don't want to do it, that's fine." Said Darren. "I'll ask someone else —"
"Of course I'll do it!" She laughed, elbowing him in the ribs. "Just know it'll be a dramatic reading where I do an impression of you the entire time. Anyone ever told you you're really aggressive with those exclamation marks?"
"Gods, you're such a menace. I'm not going to miss you at all." Darren snorted. She might've believed it if not for the way his voice cracked as he gently elbowed her back.
"I won't miss you either. Larten will, though. Better get someone to warn him in advance so he doesn't cry when he sees us all walk into the Hall of Princes without you."
She was half-joking but Darren grimaced as if the notion was causing him genuine hurt.
"I'll make sure he gets a heads-up. But if I wrote him a letter explaining everything in my own words, do you think you could —"
"Yeah. I'll give it to him for sure."
Darren grinned ruefully. "I was going to say read it to him."
"Right. Forgot about that. Totally."
"I really do wish the timing was better. But I don't see what other choice I have." Darren added. "Knowing he's the son of the Vampaneze Lord is eating Darius alive."
"That'd do it. He needs someone to remind him he's also Sire Shan's nephew." Said Gracie. "It'll balance out."
"How do you know?"
"I don't. I just act like I know what I'm talking about. And you fall for it every single time."
Fact check: kind of true.
"Still helps. You've been a great second in command." Said Darren. Then his expression sobered again. "It probably doesn't mean much considering all of my royal colleagues are either your dad or your uncle…" he offered after a pause, stumbling over the words a little. "…but I'm still going to give you a flawless performance review whenever I get back to the mountain. Just so it's officially on the record somewhere."
"Considering you're the only Prince who isn't my dad or my uncle, that actually means more coming from you." Gracie admitted with a thin smile.
"Oh." Darren seemed surprised, as though that wouldn't have occurred to him in a million years. Suddenly he was beaming again. "Well, good."
"We should head back inside." Said Gracie, gesturing at the glass door behind them. "Maybe stop at the photo booth and get a nice Polaroid so we can stick it to your throne and pretend you're there for Council."
"Make sure you tell everyone it's me." Darren joked as they headed for the Polaroid booth. "They're not going to recognize me from last time I left the mountain."
"Those four new chin hairs aren't doing what you think they're doing."
"Don't forget my growth spurt! I'm tall now."
"You're one inch taller than me. And I'm five foot four. Feel free to do your own math on that one."
They were both laughing as they turned away from the balcony. Tomorrow they'd fumble through an awkward goodbye. Tomorrow they'd both be sadder than either of them would admit. But tonight was a celebration. A victory lap before closing this chapter once and for all.
TWO MONTHS LATER
(4 years, 11 months, 3 weeks post-war:)
VAMPIRE MOUNTAIN
INFIRMARY
The blankets on these cots were softer than you'd expect from a place like this. Mika had never really noticed before, because usually when he visited the infirmary he only had one thing on his mind: getting the fuck out of the infirmary. Which is the lightest possible way to imply a lifelong unchecked crippling phobia of anything that even remotely resembles hospitalization.
He also couldn't pinpoint exactly when he'd gotten that out of his system. Repetition was key, he supposed. He'd been up here more times in the past five years than the rest of his life combined. Voluntarily. sitting right here on the edge of this bed time and time again while human-surgeon-turned-elite-vampire-medic Dr. Jai Yang assessed the healing progress of his left shoulder. Because as much as Mika hated this kind of thing, he hated the idea of fumbling through life with a half-functional limb more.
"Amazing what happens when you listen to me, isn't it?" Jai remarked as he grasped Mika's upper arm and manipulated the joint. "I told you those exercises would keep the scar tissue from seizing things up. But I'll admit I wasn't expecting for you to end up with a better range of motion on your bad side than your good one."
"I've been told I have issues with perfectionism." Said Mika placidly.
Mika's well aware he's an outlier. Any other vampire would've taken the reduced mobility and worn it as a badge of bragging rights. It was a hell of a role to play in the demise of the Vampaneze Lord. But why settle? At first Jai had been surprised at his determination. But Jai was as much a warrior as he was a healer. He got it. And after half a decade, here they were.
"Let's see how the scar's looking." Jai added.
The fabric of Mika's shirt had enough give that he could tug the neckline far enough to expose the cord of scar tissue that ran from his clavicle to directly over his heart. He hadn't realized back then, but the bullet hit him at an angle. It rocked his collarbone first. That slowed it down enough that it didn't rip through his heart or lungs. And even still, it almost had.
Jai let out a low whistle of amazement, undoubtedly recalling the night it happened. "Wow."
"Easy. It's not that bad." Said Mika sardonically. Because they both knew it was worse.
"Do you feel anything if I move your arm like this?" Jai firmly but gently twisted the limb behind Mika's back. And in the earliest days of the process, that one fucking hurt to the point where Mika almost punched him on instinct.
Now, he just shrugged. "Am I supposed to feel something?"
Jai released the arm and smiled with unmistakable pride. "No. Your persistence has served you magnificently. Unless it starts bothering you again, I don't see a reason to continue the routine checkups. You've far surpassed your goal. Consider yourself fully healed."
Mika knew Jai was referring to his physical vessel, because gods knew it shouldn't have been working as well as it did given the damage it sustained. But that was just a bonus. The real healing had taken place far below skin and bone. And if only it had been as easy as maintaining a consistent exercise routine.
"I guess I'll be on my way." Mika said as he stood from the cot, stretched his both arms and let out a small sigh of satisfaction. "No doubt you've got your hands full getting this place ready for all the Festival fallouts next week. My professional intuition is telling me it's going to be the party of the century."
Jai raised an eyebrow. "I'd love to tell you I always have time for my favourite patient. But I respect you enough to be honest. You're wasting my very limited time. Now get out of my infirmary."
Mika shot him a wry grin. "Not that the bar is very high, but you're my favourite medic."
"What an accolade!" Jai gasped in mock surprise. "I don't know what's more prestigious: the half-dozen awards I won throughout the course of my career as a world-class human surgeon, or the unofficial Sire Ver Leth seal of approval."
Mika couldn't help but laugh as he headed for the door, pausing only to grab a pencil and pad of paper from Jai's supply desk. He wrote MVL Approved, drew a star around it, then folded up the sheet and slipped it onto Jai's chest pocket.
"There you go. Now it's official. Thanks for everything."
Jai wasn't typically quick to smile. Mika liked that about him. But he cracked a fleeting grin at Mika's joke. Because Mika wasn't typically quick to joke. It meant something to both of them.
"Pffft. You'd better be on your best behaviour at the Festival. That shoulder belongs to me just as much as you after all the work I put into it. If you wreck it all over again, you're on your own."
"Ah, fuck. I already promised Arrow I'd be on my worst behaviour. You should've asked me sooner. Good luck on the rest of your preparations, though."
"Wait. One last thing —"
"What?"
"Six more days." Said Jai cryptically, as if baiting Mika to ask, til what?
He rolled his eyes and turned away so Jai wouldn't see him smile.
Misery
Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep
And you passed right by
I was in the alley surrounded on all sides
NORTHERN FOREST
WAY STATION 17
The air was cold. The dry, crisp cold that seems to clean your body from the inside with every breath. The night sky was so clear you could practically see into the next galaxy. The campfire Kurda built was crackling magnificently. All that was missing was a fresh kill to roast over it. There wasn't a breath of wind to be found, which was uncommon for this region. That meant Kurda heard his visitors approach long before they arrived. The voices were vaguely familiar but he couldn't place them. All he knew was they weren't his travelling companions returning from the dinner hunt.
It was common to run into fellow vampires on the trail to Vampire Mountain, especially this close to Council. It'd be stranger if they didn't see anyone. Still Kurda's body tensed on reflex and his hand automatically settled around the hilt of the dagger he kept strapped to his belt. Not once in five years had he needed to use the blade and he prayed that wasn't about to change here in the home stretch. Through no shortage of blood, sweat, and tears he'd rebuilt the reputation he'd once assumed was irreparable. But a one hundred percent approval rating is unreasonable no matter who you are. Kurda wasn't naive enough not to keep his wits about him at all times. Especially with Vancha away from the campsite.
"In the politest way possible, I ask that you identify yourself." Kurda spoke aloud into the night air. He already knew they were vampires, but that didn't guarantee anything.
His words were followed by a cautious chuckle.
"I would, but then you might just run me through with that knife." Kurda's visitors appeared through the trees, walking slowly with their hands raised to show they weren't planning to attack.
There were two. One was a stranger to Kurda, but the one who'd spoken was Marlon Zales. Kurda hadn't seen Zales since he spoke up during the reinstatement trial to imply nefarious intentions beneath Kurda's return to Vampire Mountain. While Zales hadn't called for Kurda's execution like some of his peers, he might as well have. Kurda remembered it vividly and Zales clearly knew that. Zales was smiling but it looked more like an awkward grimace than anything else.
Kurda offered a thin smile in return. "Fear not, General Zales. I've never been one to hold grudges. Truth be told, I'm much happier to not use this at all. I try to make a habit of expecting the best while preparing for the worst." He added as he released his blade.
Zales relaxed his posture but his expression didn't change. "We're damned lucky you don't hold grudges." He said stiffly. "If anyone was ever entitled to it, it'd be you."
Kurda didn't know what to say to that. After hearing it so many times over the past five years you'd think he'd have come up with a half-decent canned response by now. He didn't disagree. But he didn't see the point in beating the dead horse any further.
"I'm also not one to dwell on the past. I find the future much more interesting." Said Kurda.
Zales nodded. Still stiff, still awkward. Kurda didn't revel in the man's discomfort. But he did feel a creeping sense of vindication he wasn't entirely proud of.
If only you'd all taken me this seriously twenty, thirty, fifteen years ago. A lot of our friends would still be alive.
"This is my apprentice, Cato Sloane." Said Zales, gesturing to the younger vampire by his side. To his surprise, Cato dropped into a clumsy but earnest bow. He appeared to be in his twenties. It's rarely reliable to ballpark a vampire's true age based on their appearance but Cato had a fresh-looking face that suggested he hadn't walked the night for very long.
"It's an honour to meet you, General Smahlt." Said Cato.
"Enough of that." Kurda shook his head and forced a flippant laugh, downplaying how taken aback he was by the formal greeting. "Even if you were expected to bow to any General, I haven't been one in about twelve years. I'm just a vampire like you."
"Sorry, Sir. I've just heard so much about you." Said Cato as he drew upright.
"My condolences." Kurda replied with a wry grimace. But he rearranged his face into what he hoped looked warm and welcoming. "On route to the party, I assume?" He added, gesturing in the vague direction of Vampire Mountain.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Said Zales. "I ran into my old friend Azerion a few miles back that way. Heard you've been travelling in the same group. He said I could find you at this way station."
"Interesting. Good to know he's so willing to disclose my location. Has he caught our supper yet?" Kurda snorted. He wasn't actually worried. It had been a long time since he'd doubted where Renley's loyalties lay.
"He was tracking a fox when I ran into him. And he actually refused to tell me anything about you at first." Zales admitted. "But he changed his tune when I told him I wanted to apologize in person for the accusation I made at your reinstatement trial."
Oh.
For a moment Zales seemed unable to look Kurda directly in the eye. But he meant the words he was saying. That was why he was struggling so much.
"Like I said… I don't have time, energy, or desire to hold grudges. And the forgiveness is mutual. Believe me when I tell you I haven't taken for granted the way I've been accepted back into the fold." Kurda extended his hand, and only then did Zales meet his gaze as they exchanged a firm shake.
"Naturally I've heard quite a bit about the progress you've made throughout the mission." Zales told him. "And I've never been so happy to have been wrong about anything."
That was another thing Kurda heard a lot. Not always those exact words, but the same line of feedback. And he still never knew how to respond to it. So he just kept smiling.
"Marlon, Cato, would you care to dine and camp with us tonight?"
"We'd be grateful to share the way station for the day. But don't worry about feeding us. We can hunt our own meal."
"I'm not feeding anyone." Kurda corrected him. "Our group has a system. I build the fire, Vancha and Renley hunt the game. My daughter Gracie usually helps them. She's young enough that the novelty hasn't worn off yet. I have faith they'll bring back enough meat for all of us."
"Fair enough. Appreciate it." Zales grinned. He took a seat by the fire and his assistant followed his lead.
"I should probably mention we're also travelling with the Vampaneze Elders." Kurda added. "They'll return from the hunt any time now."
Zales flinched ever so slightly. So slight that Kurda was probably just imagining it. It wasn't as if the Treaty of Scars was news to anyone, or that this was the foundation of what would eventually be true clan unity. By now the entire clan should've been aware this would be the first Council in history attended by any members of the vampaneze clan.
"Excellent. It'd be my absolute honour to break bread with them." And as awkward as Zales still sounded, he still meant it.
"How many days left til we make it to Vampire Mountain?" Cato asked his mentor eagerly.
"Hmm, hard to say. Less than a week I'm sure. Hard to know exactly though. What do you suppose, Smahlt? I seem to recall you were always directionally gifted."
"I don't have to suppose." Kurda laughed. "I can tell you it's five days exactly, providing we keep to the pace we've set and follow our rest stop schedule. But who's counting, right?"
The knife cuts both ways
If the shoe fits, walk in it
'Til your high heels break
VAMPIRE MOUNTAIN
HALL OF ARRA SAILS (FORMERLY BAKER WRENT)
"It's crooked."
"How would you know? You are all the way down there!"
"I know it's crooked because I can see it's crooked. Left side's lower than the right. And you'd know it too if you used your eyes for something other than rolling at me, Quartermaster Crepsley."
If Mika had a nickel for every time he operated a ladder in cooperation with Larten he'd have fifteen cents. Which isn't a lot, but it's more than he wants. Normally hanging new signs isn't Quartermaster work. And it sure as hell isn't Prince work. There are other staff for little things like that. But there's no other Arra Sails. Not even close. Now or ever. So despite the unlimited delegation privileges their respective roles allowed them, Mika and Larten undertook this one with their bare hands.
They made the sign all by themselves. Mika, being literate, painstakingly pencilled the words The Hall Of Arra Sails onto a slab of wood. Larten, being illiterate but knowing where to find a chisel, immortalized it in the rich spruce. And the time had come to mount it above the doorway to the hall where Arra's skill became legendary.
Larten glanced over his shoulder to shoot a haughty glance down at Mika who was supervising the project from floor level. "You are just saying that because for once you are not the one at the top of the ladder. Remember the year we held Mountain Christmas?"
"And this is what I get for letting you have a turn. Left side needs to come up about half an inch — I said an inch, not a foot! Charna's fucking guts."
"I do not see a difference! You are exaggerating."
"I have to exaggerate to get my point through your thick skull!" Mika insisted. With every word they exchanged it became harder and harder not to laugh, but he was hanging tough. "Bring the left side back down slowly. Lower… lower… back up a little… there!"
"There?"
"Yes. Perfect."
Mika didn't have to say it. He already knew Larten was thinking it. The gleam in his eyes said it all: Arra was here. Laughing with (or at) both of them.
"Now for the love of the gods, hold it still while I pass you the hammer and nails. You know how to use those, right?" Mika added.
"I am the Quartermaster! Of course I have witnessed the carpentry staff at work on many occasions."
Mika pointedly took three steps backwards to distance himself from the potential fallout zone if this went awry. Larten rolled his eyes again, but he was smirking as he got to work.
"What is to be done with the old sign?" Larten inquired, using his elbow to gesture to the slab of wood engraved with The Hall of Baker Wrent that had been set on the floor to make room for its replacement.
"Whatever the Quartermaster normally does with old signs." Said Mika with a shrug. "You're really overestimating how much I know."
"If you are going to play the know-it-all, you should not be surprised when people assume you know it all. I will ask Seba what to do with the old sign. I do not want to offend Baker's spirit." Said Larten as he hammered the nails into place. "Did you ever meet him? I believe he died shortly before I joined the clan."
"We crossed paths a few times. He thought my name was Marco and I wasn't confident enough to correct him. It was a long time ago. His was the first Vampire Mountain funeral I ever went to." Said Mika. "All I remember was how much they talked about his skill in the sporting halls. Paris told me later that was because there wasn't much else good to say about him."
Larten chuckled ruefully at that. "So I suppose we need not feel bad about retiring his name."
"I won't be losing sleep over it."
With the sign in place, Larten descended the ladder to stand beside Mika on ground level. For a moment they just admired their combined handiwork in silence.
"You did a marvellous job on the lettering." Larten offered. His voice was stiff. The type of stiff one typically affects when trying to sound unaffected.
Mika took it all in stride. "All I did was spell the words." He shrugged. "You did the real work carving it in. Better than I would've done. Arts and crafts have never been my strong suit."
Larten nodded mutely, then added in a voice far lower and thicker than before: "I knew how to spell her name, you know. But she was always laughing at my terrible penmanship. I just figured your hand would provide a neater template than mine."
"Fair enough." Said Mika. He patted Larten on the back — roughly, of course. They're still not that close. "It looks great. The only mistake was not renaming the hall sooner."
"I still miss her. Every day and night."
"Me too. She would've loved this."
"That is why I am embracing it. For her."
"Damn, Quicksilver. That's awfully profound for you."
Larten shot him a wry grin. "Profound for Quicksilver, perhaps. But you must remember I am Quartermaster now."
"And I still think you should've just taken the job we offered you sixty years ago." Said Mika.
"I think everything worked out for the better, if I am being honest." Larten shrugged. "I am fine with keeping dust from collecting on Darren's throne until his… delayed return."
"Right. And you're good with that?"
Mika already knew Larten wasn't good with that, but had been keeping up a magnificently brave face ever since the night Vancha dropped him a telepathic note warning him Darren had decided to linger in the human world a while longer.
"Why would I not be?" Larten shot back. Very quickly.
Because my kid's coming home while yours decided to take an extended holiday at his real parents' house and don't feed me that line about how he's just your assistant because every vampire in this damn mountain knows you consider him a son and you love him exactly as much as I love Gracie even though you'll never admit it which is for the best because I'd rather die than get emotionally intimate with you but you're still my friend and I DO care. Idiot.
Mika would've said all that – one sentence, no pauses, it was right there on the tip of his tongue. He could've said it. And maybe he should've said it. But he knew full well Larten was smart enough to infer all of that on his own. So all Mika had to do was shrug. And that was the end of it.
They continued to admire the sign for several minutes more. Then Larten glanced pointedly at Mika, and Mika opened his mouth to agree with what he was certain Larten was about to say: we had best get back to work, there is still much to prepare for the Festival.
"There are only four more days left, you know." Larten told him instead, one reddish eyebrow arching as if he'd offered up a scandalous secret. As if Mika didn't already know how many days, hours, minutes, seconds were left on the clock. He played it nonchalant. He'd gotten pretty used to doing that.
"Who's counting?"
And I fell from the pedestal
Right down the rabbit hole
Long story short, it was a bad time
NORTHERN FOREST
WAY STATION 7
The closer Kurda got to Vampire Mountain, the harder it got to fall asleep. And stay asleep.
The sun was still above the horizon when Kurda woke. He could tell by the golden glow outlining the doorway to the way station they'd camped in for the night. He sat up slowly, hoping the others would be starting to wake too. The quicker the troops mobilized, the quicker they could get out of here. Get back to Vampire Mountain. Get back to — No! Kurda squashed the thought yet again. You've made it five years. Don't jinx it now. What will be will be.
The others were still sleeping like rocks. Or a bunch of sardines. Gods, Kurda wouldn't miss this part. These close confines were getting old. The fact that they were all still friends was nothing short of a miracle at this point.
Kurda quickly noticed one of the sardines had gone missing. And he was ready for a breath of fresh air himself, so he yawned, stretched, and slipped outside to see where Vancha had wandered off to.
He was exactly where Kurda expected.
"Up here, Smahlt!"
Sure enough, Vancha had scaled the pine tree that loomed over their sleeping quarters. He was waving down at Kurda, looking quite proud of himself. Kurda rolled his eyes but grinned up at friend as he started to climb. The exposed skin on his face and hands would start to prickle in a few minutes, but the sun was low enough that it wouldn't truly burn. Vancha, on the other hand, had clearly been sitting in this tree for at least an hour. Kurda could practically see the man's face blistering.
"Glad you found time for one more third-degree sunburn before getting back to the mountain." Kurda chided Vancha once he'd seated himself — very carefully — on the branch beside him.
"Gods only know how long I'll be cooped up in the mountain before they set me free again. I can't let the sun get complacent in my absence." Vancha replied with conviction.
It wasn't easy to mirror Vancha's completely straight face, but Kurda managed. "You'll get it one of these days, Sire."
"This is why I like you, Smahlt. You understand me." Vancha's face cracked into a wide smile as he clapped Kurda on the back — so forcefully Kurda almost fell right out of the tree.
"Understand is a strong word."
"Listen, I've got good news. Gannen told me last night he received a telepathic message from Elder Otazu. He'll get to Vampire Mountain shortly after us." Said Vancha.
"Excellent. Otazu will be invaluable. I've always been impressed by him. Thank the gods he accepted our offer." Said Kurda, beaming at the news.
"The gods?! Pffft!" Vancha scoffed. "I didn't see any of them at that negotiation. That was all you."
Kurda wondered if there'd ever be a time where such earnest praise didn't make his cheeks flush. "You're too generous, Sire March. The gods may not have been in attendance, but I certainly wasn't alone."
"Well, I hope it wasn't lost on you that the vast majority of the vampaneze we've met have been far more trusting of you than of Darren or myself." Vancha told Kurda. "I'm entirely convinced you could've run this entire mission just as well or better without a single Vampire Prince on your roster. We were just along for the ride, really."
"Call it what you want." Kurda chuckled. "You know as well as I do you're the reason I had the opportunity to try in the first place."
Vancha held his gaze. "I'll never regret my decision to nominate you for investiture, Kurda. And if I had my way, we'd be picking up that ceremony right where Darren interrupted it twelve years ago."
Kurda's stomach dropped at both the memory and the implication. Not in a million years would the notion have crossed his mind. It was unfathomable.
"Well, luckily for me you'd need to run that one past a few more people for approval." He replied quickly. "Suffice it to say I'm more than grateful to just be part of the clan. Never mind at the top of the pile."
"Humble as ever. So tell me, as the defining mission of your career draws to a close, what's next for the great Kurda Smahlt?" Vancha spoke with exaggerated bluster, as if playing the role of an overeager journalist. But there was a subtle glint in his beady eyes that suggested he was genuinely interested in Kurda's answer.
"What is this, an exit interview?! I don't know what's next but I can tell you it's not retirement." Said Kurda.
"Well, I'd certainly hope to the gods you aren't retiring any time soon!" Said Vancha. "We've got more work for you yet. I dare say you've hardly scratched the tip of the iceberg!"
"I think you're blending two metaphors there. You can scratch the surface, or you can see the tip of the iceberg. I don't think you're supposed to scratch the iceberg. Safety hazard, you know."
"Forgive me. It's been a while since I've studied linguistics." Vancha snorted, dodging Kurda's lighthearted attempt to evade the question. "I ask again: what's next for you? And I have a hard time believing you haven't given it at least a bit of thought."
"Well, Council is about to open. So needless to say, that'll require my full attention." Kurda replied reasonably. "Especially considering this is to be the first Council in clan history where we open our doors to the vampaneze —"
"Ah, yes. I've heard from reliable sources from within the mountain that a few have already arrived." Said Vancha. He winked and tapped his temple, implying a telepathic exchange with his fellow Princes. "So far so good. The special guests have been welcomed warmly, and the regular attendees have been warned that anything less than their best behaviour will result in them being personally escorted out of the mountain by Mika or Arrow."
Vancha exchanged frequent dialogue with his colleagues back in Vampire Mountain, so Kurda was very accustomed to hearing Mika's name mentioned in passing. But there was something about tonight. Kurda couldn't catch himself in time. Maybe he didn't want to catch himself. The sound of those two simple syllables wasn't just enough to unlock something dormant within him. It was everything. He smiled. Vancha noticed. And that was when Kurda realized Vancha's inquiry about what's next had nothing to do with Kurda's career.
"You still have feelings for Mika." Said Vancha. Said, not asked. At least he was done beating around the bush.
There was no point in lying. Kurda took a deep breath.
"The way I feel about Mika has been my one true constant." He said. "Everything else has changed. But not that."
"Fair enough. You had a kid together, after all."
"We found a kid together." Kurda corrected him. This enduring little inside joke made him smile even now.
Vancha chuckled at that, then sobered up. Kurda sat and waited for Vancha to ask. He knew it was coming. Vancha held his gaze and true to Kurda's prediction, there it was:
"So… do you think you might…? Ever?"
It was awfully open-ended. While simultaneously pointed as shurikens strapped to his belt. Kurda would've been within his rights to stall for time. Might what? But he knew exactly what.
"All I know is we parted ways on good terms when this mission began, and that alone was better than I dared hope for." Said Kurda as diplomatically as he could. "I've always considered myself an optimist… but who am I to hold onto hope that we might once again be what we were? I left a great deal of damage in my wake."
Kurda had never quite gotten accustomed to how quickly Vancha could flip the switch from his trademark slapstick jesting to the stonefaced, calculating ruler the world sometimes forgot was hidden beneath that peeling skin. The ability to shift that quickly was one his few mannerisms that reminded Kurda uncannily of Mika. Not the peeling skin part. The other stuff.
"Over these past five years I watched you pick up the broken pieces. Some say you rebuilt yourself. I disagree. I say you cast those pieces into the fire. I say you reinvented yourself. Nobody else has ever done what you did."
"It's my responsibility to restore my reputation as an honourable vampire, and I'll never stop working for the clan's trust. But no matter what I do, how hard I work, I can't change the past. I can't force him to let me back in. Nor should I."
"I may not know him in the same ways you do. But I've known him longer. And the most merciful thing you could do was grant him space to figure it out on his own." Vancha finished the sentence as Kurda nodded in agreement. Vancha paused, then added as an afterthought— "You speak with great wisdom, as always. I apologize for prying."
"I don't blame you for wondering. What affects Mika affects the clan." Kurda offered. "I'd never peg you for one to get invested in other people's sordid affairs for the sake of mere curiosity."
He fully expected Vancha to snicker at the lighthearted phrasing, but to his surprise Vancha retained his expression of earnest studiousness. "I can't pretend I'm indifferent." Vancha said. "But you're wrong about one thing. I'm not worried about the clan. Not anymore — thanks to you. You deserve to know the same peace you've restored to the rest of us. In whatever form destiny sees fit."
Kurda let out a dark chuckle. Because that was an unintentionally hilarious turn of phrase if he'd ever heard one. "Respectfully, Sire March… what will be will be. All I know is that Destiny doesn't get a say."
Vancha cackled — finally — as he caught the reference and he clapped Kurda on the shoulder again. Not as hard this time. "Three more days."
"Really? I wasn't counting at all."
Pushed from the precipice
Clung to the nearest lips
Long story short, it was the wrong guy
Now I'm all about you
VAMPIRE MOUNTAIN
HALL OF RUSH FLON'X
"I must admit I'll miss these nights once your schedule gets busy again." Vanez huffed as he swung his battle axe towards Mika's shoulder.
Mika blocked it with a sideswipe from his own weapon, laughing breathlessly. "I don't doubt it. All that time you spend training the next generation of up and comers, it must get tedious being the best fighter in the room."
"I meant because I've been short-staffed and you've been an exceptional Interim Co-Games Master. And an adequate sparring partner." Said Vanez as he shifted directions on the fly and attacked Mika from the left.
"What if we change the paperwork? We can put Hale up in the Hall of Princes, and I'll stay down here and take her promotion instead." Mika suggested casually, trying to downplay the fact he was panting from how hard he had to work to keep up with Vanez. "We haven't given her the official offer yet. There's still time."
"Don't get ahead of yourself." Said Vanez. "It's been helpful having an extra set of eyes on things, but I don't know if I could handle your attitude indefinitely."
"Extra set of eyes?"
"Fine. A set of eyes. Gods, won't you humour the blind man?"
"Isn't that what I'm doing right now? Letting you win?"
"That's what you thought you were doing?! I was letting you win!" Vanez was laughing as fiercely as ever but Mika picked up on the way he increased the force and intensity of his movements, as if trying to remind Mika he was every bit the Games Master he'd always been. Or maybe he was trying to remind himself.
"You know we're not replacing you, right?" Said Mika.
"Of course I know. It was my idea to add new blood to the roster, after all. Can't exactly score assessments without eyes." Vanez scoffed back — awfully quickly.
"Teach her even half of what you know, and the next generation is in excellent hands."
"That's the plan."
"She really is the perfect candidate for the job, aside from me." Mika added nonchalantly.
Vanez was grinning again. And better yet, the tension in his swing had disappeared entirely. "Come off it! You already have a job! Not even Mika Ver Leth gets everything he wants."
They sparred for several minutes more, trading just as many verbal jabs as physical ones. And even fully blind Vanez was still every bit the warrior he'd always been. Mika's title of Interim Co-Games Master was more of an inside joke with Vanez than anything else, but he'd loved every moment of his unofficial part-time job.
"You've put on weight the past few years, haven't you?" Said Vanez out of nowhere, after Mika deflected a vicious swing with an equally assertive counterstrike.
Mika's brow automatically furrowed before he remembered (again) that Vanez couldn't see his facial expressions. "Pardon you?"
"Oh, spare me the vanity! I mean muscle mass!" Vanez explained, snickering at Mika's indignation. "I can feel it in your swing. There's more power behind it than even a year ago. And your reflexes are faster than ever. If I didn't know better I'd think I was fighting a General with something to prove!"
Mika was already smiling again as it clicked into place. Just last week he'd found himself looking down at his right bicep, wondering if it was filling out his t-shirt sleeve more than it used to, or if he was just imagining it. He'd be lying if he said he paid much attention to that type of thing these days. But maybe there was a correlation between that subtle change and the fact that for the first time in decades he had the energy of a General with something to prove.
"You caught me, Master Blane. I skipped a few workouts back while I was busy… how'd you put it? Staving off the apocalypse." He snorted. "Times change. I even eat breakfast now."
Vanez laughed uproariously. "You really have come a long way! But in all seriousness I'm impressed by how well you've come back. Inspired, even."
Mika rolled his eyes. Not that Vanez could see."You're just saying —"
"I am not just saying that because you're my boss!" Vanez cut him off with a wry grin, taking advantage of Mika's distraction to almost disarm him with a sharp upper cut. "Besides, as long as we're in this hall, I'm your boss."
They were still laughing as they laid their weapons down. When you're as evenly matched as they are, keeping score is only an unnecessary distraction.
"I'll let you continue to believe that." Mika snorted. But he made a point to sober his tone. Vanez no longer had the means to read the facial expression of those he conversed with, and Mika wanted to ensure his old friend wouldn't miss his sincerity when it truly counted: "Thanks for keeping me busy, Vanez. I know it was only five years… but it would've felt a lot longer if I hadn't spent so much of it here."
"Consider us even, then." Vanez replied with a stoic nod. But then his eyebrow twitched, a gesture Mika had come to recognize as his modified version of a cheeky wink. "Next time you get restless up there in that high security prison of yours, you know where to find me. We can give the new hires a demonstration."
"I'd like that. I'll put something on my calendar."
Vanez let out a great roar of laughter and clapped Mika on the shoulder. "Pfft. You're such a bureaucrat. Speaking of calendars — two more days."
Mika rolled his eyes again, but this time he was glad Vanez couldn't see his smile as he retorted,
"You've been counting? Thought you were blind."
Actually
I always felt I must look better in the rear view
OUTER MOUNTAIN RANGE
WAY STATION 3
The sun was high enough into the morning sky that most of the vampires and vampaneze had retreated into the way station over an hour ago, bunking down til night fell upon them once more. Four remained in the light, enjoying what few years remained before they too would have to hide from it as their elders were doing right now.
Marlon Zales and his assistant Cato Sloane had spent the past several nights travelling alongside Kurda's group. Gracie and Cato had been enjoying each other's company. Gracie wouldn't admit it but Kurda could tell she missed Darren and was glad to have an acquaintance closer to her age. And to top it all off, they ran into another band of travellers as they approached the way station tonight. Three adult vampires and two more half-bloods. Needless to say the way station was just about stacked to the rafters. The other group offered to move on, but the gracious Sire March wouldn't hear of it. Kurda wasn't eager to curl up in such tight quarters. He was perfectly content to watch Gracie spar with her new friends for a while.
While Kurda himself has never seen the appeal in fighting — even for purely recreational purposes — he still loved watching Gracie hone her skills. She hadn't had much time to train before leaving for the mission but Mika's influence still shone through; every move was calculated and deliberate.
They didn't seem to be keeping score but Kurda was pretty sure Gracie was winning by the time the four half-bloods called it a day. They all shook hands and the other three retreated into the way station. Gracie grinned when she saw Kurda, and sat down on the log beside him.
"Bedtime already? You looked like you were just getting warmed up." Kurda chuckled.
"Yeah, Ramsey and Phillip had to get some sleep. They'll be leaving earlier than the rest of us so they can take a detour and meet up with another group. They invited Cato and I to come with them. I think Cato's going if Marlon lets him." Gracie explained breezily.
"I don't mind if you travel with them for the last leg of the journey." Kurda told her seriously. "Your work ethic the past five years has been nothing short of incredible, especially for someone your age. You deserve to spend time with your future peers. Plus I know their mentors. You'd be safe."
She rolled her eyes, but her grin didn't falter. "Are you always going to screen the parents before I go on playdates with the other baby vampires?"
Kurda had to fight to keep a straight face, because that analogy was funny as hell. And not that far off the mark.
"Exactly."
To his surprise, Gracie shook her head. "I already told them I'd see them during the Festival. I'm still Darren's secondary even though he's not here. Mission's not over til we walk back into the Hall of Princes. I might never do anything this important for the rest of my life. Just in case this is where I peak, I'm not missing any of it." She said it like she was joking. But on the off chance she wasn't, Kurda set her straight.
He reached out and took her hand in his so she'd know he wasn't just stringing words together in a way that sounded nice:
"Gracie, there's no way this is where you peak. This is only the beginning."
She threw her hands up in exasperation. "You know what I mean! I want to be taken seriously because the clan thinks I'm worth noticing! Not because of who raised me. Dad is Dad. And you're…"
"A highly controversial politician at best, and an exiled traitor at worst. It's okay. You can say it." Kurda laughed. He could laugh about it now.
Gracie didn't echo his laughter but she allowed him a brittle smile that only looked a little forced. "Call it what you want. The specifics don't really matter at this point. You and Dad both have big reputations. I just don't want that to be the first thing people think of when they hear my name."
Kurda paused to consider his response. It didn't take a psychologist to see Gracie spent a lot of time dwelling on her future. Nor was it new information to Kurda. All he knew now was that he'd have this conversation with her as many times as she needed to hear it, and he was prepared for it to be a lot.
"Oh, my little Honey Bee." He sighed at last. "Your light shines brighter than you know, and you have more control of your future than you give yourself credit for. By the time you're finished, yours will be the only face that comes to anyone's mind when they hear Smahlt or Ver Leth."
She raised an eyebrow like she didn't entirely believe him. But her face softened after a moment, and she chuckled "As long it's not nepotism baby."
"We're the least interesting thing about you. I promise." Kurda told her. "Now I want to show you something before the sun gets too high. Come with me."
He'd made this trek enough times in his life to know if you just walked all the way to the nearby hill, you'll have an unobstructed view of Vampire Mountain itself. Gracie was visibly confused but followed him nonetheless. The ten minute hike was well worth the way her jaw dropped as she realized she was truly seeing Vampire Mountain for the first time, its snowy peak illuminated by the brightening sky.
"Welcome home." Said Kurda. The word 'home' caught in his throat in a way he wasn't prepared for. All he'd wanted was for Gracie to see it. He hadn't anticipated his heart rate spiking as reality crashed over him like an avalanche.
"Wow." Gracie exhaled in awe. "All these years… I've never actually known what it looks like from the outside. It's beautiful."
"With an exterior like that, you'd never know how rough it looks on the inside." Kurda joked. He tried to keep his tone light; a bid to keep his emotions at bay. But his voice cracked again and he decided the best thing to do was just shut up and admire the view.
Kurda's relationship with the iconic stone peak was convoluted to say the least. Always had been. He'd never seen it as the same safe haven his fellow vampires had, yet it had always ignited an undeniable sense of purpose within him. Twelve years ago Destiny took that purpose and poisoned it into desperation. Desperation to despair to defeat. And from the ashes of that defeat rose the phoenix who took all of it back.
But his golden wings had grown weary, and seeing visual proof that this truly was the final approach… there were no words.
He was going home.
They were both going home.
And Mika was in there somewhere.
"I know it's not perfect. But it's home." Said Gracie. As if she read his mind. There was an unexpected hitch to her voice that Kurda recognized from his own, and he put his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. He would've been fine to enjoy the view in silence but Gracie had other intentions.
"I can't wait to see Dad. I've missed him." She remarked.
Real subtle, sweetheart.
"I've no doubt he's missed you just as much. No matter what any vampire tells you, five years is a long time." Kurda replied.
"He's missed you too." Gracie continued even more pointedly.
"Did he tell you that on one of your phone calls?"
"No. But you always tell me to read between the lines."
Kurda sighed and angled his body so he could look her directly in the eye. She mirrored his posture, practically confirming she'd been preparing for this conversation far longer than he had.
"Gracie, I can see on your face how badly you want to ask —" Kurda began.
That was all it took to pierce her front of calculated indifference.
"Do you blame me?"
"Not even a little bit." Kurda murmured, squeezing her shoulder. "Listen to me. No matter where Mika and I stand with each other, there is great love between us. There always will be. And we love you more than anything."
"I know."
"Good. Never forget it."
She nodded. Kurda knew there was more. He could see her mind working. Deliberating. Weighing her words before she spoke them. These were the moments when she reminded him the most of Mika. But when she finally spoke, there was no denying her words were wholly her own:
"I'll be fine either way. And I'm not saying you should try. I understand it's not as simple as just getting back together and living happily ever after." Her voice cracked. She paused. Took a breath. Carried on. "But… I wish you would. That's all."
Kurda inhaled and held itfor a moment. He almost kept the admittance to himself. But if there was anyone on this earth he could trust with his most guarded secret, wasn't it Gracie? But was it even a secret at this point? And if the idea made his heart swell so much he didn't know if his chest could contain it, did he even want to keep it a secret?
"I wish that too."
She nodded; a silent acceptance. That was enough for now.
They stood there side by side for some time, both knowing they needed to go back to the way station and rest up. But there was no small amount of irony in how difficult it was to find a moment of peace while travelling with a large group for the purpose of promoting peace.
Eventually Gracie shot Kurda a sly grin and nudged him in the ribs. "Guess what?"
"What?" (Kurda already knew what).
"One more day."
"I know. I can't wait."
Missing me
At the golden gates they once held the keys to
VAMPIRE MOUNTAIN
HALL OF PRINCES
A: Hey. I'm about to open the door.
MVL: Good. I'm hungry.
Mika, seated comfortably in his throne with a stack of pre-Council documents in hand, glanced across the room. The familiar telepathic warning was followed by the familiar hum of the door sliding open to reveal the familiar Arrow, and he was carrying a tray of familiar breakfast food. This collection of familiars had been combined into a daily ritual: they took turns picking up breakfast in the Hall of Khledon Lurt, bringing it up here, and eating it together.
"You don't have to warn me anymore." Mika reminded Arrow once he was within earshot. "I'm good now."
"I know you're good." Said Arrow, a comfortable smile softening his rugged face. "But I don't mind."
Mika nodded. He couldn't help but return the smile, knowing how thoroughly Arrow meant the words he said.
The catalyst for this new routine was a single instance of bad timing, four years and eleven months ago when memories of the Battle for the Hall of Princes were still fresh. Mika was struggling. But that wasn't new and he was managing it. So he thought. He'd been minding his business, finishing some paperwork and waiting for Arrow to trade places with him so he could go to bed and chase the sleep that had been evading him. Mika couldn't remember what had distracted him prior to the moment Arrow opened the door, seemingly out of nowhere. All he remembered was how quickly the innocuous sound triggered a flashback so visceral it ripped the air from his lungs.
Arrow's working memory has been known to let things slip through the cracks. But there's something about unintentionally sending your best friend into a debilitating panic attack that really sticks with you. That's why Arrow's made a habit of offering a gentle telepathic heads-up every time he's about to open the door from the outside. Every single time. In four years and eleven months he'd never missed.
And most impressively, he'd converted Mika to breakfastism. Daily. Not just on special occasions and not just a litre of coffee. Actual food. Not eggs, though.
"If you wanted extra eggs, you could've just told the kitchen staff that. This is such an unnecessary step." Mika pushed his plate towards Arrow, who'd inevitably get rid of the problem.
"Sorry. Forgot again." Arrow groaned as he used his fork to shovel Mika's unwanted eggs onto his own plate. "Here, take a piece of my bacon to make up for it."
"I was going to do that regardless." Said Mika, shooting Arrow a grin as they completed the transaction and each dug into their breakfasts.
Life is slow now. The world has gone quiet. So they eat breakfast. They don't have to be in the Hall of Princes at the same time all the time — but they choose to be more often than not. They talk. They laugh. They nap side-by-side in their thrones, often. They work, sometimes. They spar a little bit. They play games – cards, checkers, dice, even chess. Mika figured teaching Arrow chess was the least he could do. The cozy mundanity of these daily rituals are a quiet counterbalance against the memories that haunted this place. The safest room in the world is his sanctuary once more.
That was why Mika didn't care that after all this time Arrow still didn't remember he hated eggs.
"I'm going to miss this." Said Arrow out of nowhere. Apparently he felt that was a groundbreaking revelation because he didn't bother to swallow his food before he started speaking.
"Close your mouth. That's disgusting." Mika replied conversationally. Then he added, "Personally I'm going to keep eating breakfast. I know I had my doubts at first, but you got me addicted."
Arrow rolled his eyes, but paused to do as he was told. "You know what I mean! Everything's about to change." He insisted after gulping down the last of whatever was in there. "The mountain's going to be busier. And you're getting your family back."
"Just because Gracie's coming home doesn't mean —"
"Not just Gracie." Arrow cut him off, arching an eyebrow. Mika knew there was no point skirting around what Arrow was getting at. They talk about a lot of things, but they don't talk about Kurda. Arrow knows the deal: Five years apart. No contact. What will be will be. He'll be back someday.
But someday is today.
Mika sighed long and slow, and pointedly met Arrow's eyes.
"I haven't spoken to him in five years, A. Just like we agreed. Not a single word. Not even telepathically. Maybe he's moved on. I wouldn't blame him. Gods know he'd be well within his rights to start over with someone else."
Mika didn't flinch at the way the words burned his tongue. Making peace with the truth hurt, but he could take it now.
"…And is that what you want?" Arrow asked. His eyes were soft with earnest interest, but everything else — from his tone to his body language — was oozing awkwardness. Like this was some deeply taboo topic but he cared so deeply he couldn't contain himself.
"What I want is for this clan to welcome him home like the hero he is. That's what I told him before he left. Not that any of us have ever deserved him — least of all me." Said Mika evenly.
Fact check: truth is subjective, but that is true to Mika.
Arrow exhaled. He seemed almost disappointed. As if Mika's answer was unsatisfactory. Mika frowned. He thought it was a pretty good answer.
"Mika… remember who you're talking to. You can be honest. I already know the answer anyway."
"If you know the answer, why does it matter if I'm honest?" Mika replied, arching his eyebrow to pointedly mirror Arrow's skepticism.
Arrow didn't flinch. He looked Mika dead in the eye and shot back with dogged determination:
"Well, do you know I want it for you too?"
Fact check: Unconditional support is one thing. But in a million years it wouldn't have occurred to Mika that Arrow was actively rooting for the same impossible outcome that Mika himself didn't dare even think about. So, no. He didn't know that. And given what happened at last Council it would've been awfully bold for him to assume as much.
"You really want to know what I want?" Said Mika eventually. "For you to be half this invested in what's next for you. I don't have any secret plans or intentions. If this is as good as it's ever going to get for me, I've already won. As long as Gracie can take a break from conquering the world and visit me every now and then. That's all I need. And breakfast."
Fact check: Truth is subjective, but that's true. Objectively.
Arrow started to roll his eyes, no doubt ruminating on some kind of half-heartfelt half-disparaging retort. Mika would have to use his imagination to fill in those blanks.
From beyond the sealed doors of the Hall of Princes there was the sound of the staff knocking on the floor. A familiar sound, but with far more gusto than usual. Mika opened the doors from his armrest panel to admit a red-faced, beaming guard who looked like he'd just sprinted all the way up here.
"Sires! My apologies for interrupting your breakfast. But I've just gotten word from the sentries that Sire March and his travelling companions have arrived at Vampire Mountain!"
"Thank you for the update, Anton. Summon the Generals up to the Hall of Princes, and send someone to tell Sire March we're ready for them." Said Mika. He managed to keep a straight face, mostly because Arrow had chucked any and all semblance of stoic professionalism out the window on behalf of both of them. He was shaking Mika's shoulder with a level of exuberance that could only be described as childlike, whisper-shouting into his ear all the while:
"Five more minutes!"
When I dropped my sword
I threw it in the bushes and knocked on your door
The way I'm so proud of myself for finally getting a Bloodline chapter under 13k words is actually embarrassing. This is getting out of hand.
Now for the footnotes:
1. I've had the DebbieAlice wedding reveal planned and partially written for AT LEAST a year now and it was killing me to keep it a secret. That's it.I just really wanted you to know that.
2. The alternating where-are-they-now scenes started out as a brief intro. They were only meant to take up the first quarter of what I had in mind for this chapter. But my lack of self-restraint worked in my favour this time. I had a lot of fun fleshing out these little moments in time and the change/development each of them represented. So I stopped trying to condense them and let them become their own chapter. And I'm not a math girly but that does mean there will be one more chapter than originally planned. I don't know how I'm going to pace things out yet but there's going to be three more chapters left to come at the absolute most. Probably closer to two plus an epilogue. I'm laughing as I type this because I always make these proclamations then I fuck off and do the literal opposite. Like I said I don't run this story. It not only runs me, it dog-walks me.
3. I've stepped back from reminding/encouraging readers to leave comments but I do have some thoughts to share. I've tossed this around in my brain deciding how best to word it, and I think it's something like this: I know fandom feedback culture has changed from when your Shandma first started writing all those years ago. It's not exclusive to CDF. This is an ongoing trend in every corner of the internet. Bittersweet nostalgia aside, your presence is my present and I'm just happy you're here at all. This isn't just a pleasantry, I mean the fuck out of it. But like….. if you've been following this story for a while, if you're invested and enjoying it enough that you keep coming back…. that's EXTREMELY useful and comforting information for me to have. It's okay if you prefer to consume fanworks in silence. We as creators aren't entitled to your praise. But this is a gentle reminder behalf of every writer and artist in the entire world: if you like what we're doing and you want us to keep doing it, don't just assume we know. Mind you there's been no shortage of love shared for this story and I take none of it for granted. I'm giving you this food for thought in a more general sense, i.e. I'm not just talking about my story. I'm talking about all the stories. The message here isn't "Please comment on Bloodline by before you exit this browser tab". It's more like "When you come across a story or a piece of art that makes you feel something, no matter where or what fandom, please understand how badly the creator would love to hear that".
Ew that was such a text wall I'm so sorry. Ch33 is probably over half-done but don't expect it too soon. This is the part I've been waiting for and BET I'm going to agonize over every single word til it's perfect. (Only to find a typo in the first paragraph once it's posted because that's just the world I live in.)
Thanks for being here. Have yourself a beautiful day/night and I'll see you next time.
- roxy