Darius looks over the faces of the men and women he’s addressing; some seem thoughtful, others still too scorned to listen. I don’t know if he’s expecting a response from the masses, but Emerus leaps up to the same platform to make the conversation more intimate again.
“A simple explanation from a man with simple, compromised intentions,” Emerus says.
And thus the stalemate continues, the two brothers arguing two different truths. Unfortunately, the one on my side is viewed as the treasonous son and has an uphill battle if he wants to get anyone on his side.
“I suppose,” Emerus says, finally breaking the silence, “that you plan to assume the throne. Perhaps your standing as the eldest heir made the decision to lead all these foreigners into our kingdom easier.”
“I meant only to save the child and her mother,” Darius says back, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t kill our father.”
“His blood certainly colors your hands more than it does mine.”
Again Darius’ eyes scan the waiting vampires, like he’s weighing their loyalty to the throne against their loathing of him.
“I’ll put it in the hands of the citizenry, Emerus.”
Everyone in earshot freezes, listening intently to see if Darius actually means what he said. I’m as on edge as anyone else; putting his future in the hands of those who hate him most seems like a foolhardy move. I’d speak up and tell everyone Darius has been huffing glue and doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but I’ve admittedly been a few steps behind the clever vampire for a number of days.
Emerus looks more skeptical than surprised, trying to determine his brother’s angle.
“There are no Ancients to oversee a vote,” he says.
“I’m aware,” Darius responds.
“Nor any priests to sanctify the outcome.”
“As I said, this is a decision for those who remain. Unprecedented times call for unprecedented measures.” With great trepidation, Darius raises a hand and places it on his brother’s shoulder. “You know I’m torn, and you know exactly why. I believe there’s a life for our people beyond this prophecy. I’m willing to stake my life and my throne on it. But I won’t force anyone to bend to my will.”
It’s as good a speech as I’ve heard in a long time, but I’m pretty biased. I don’t imagine vamp bro will be as quick to let vamp boy slide as I normally am.
To my happy surprise, Emerus reaches a hand up and clasps his brother’s. The two share a moment, perhaps trading thoughts back and forth, perhaps just embracing the mutual respect they have for one another. I don’t get anything concrete through my shared thoughts with Darius, only a strong sense of adoration.
“We must duel,” Emerus says, his words throwing ice water on the tender moment.
“I know,” Darius says back, his response nearly knocking the wind out of me.
What? Why? I fling my questions into Darius’ mind without a care for whatever other thoughts he’s dealing with. We’ve all nearly died too many times already to be waltzing into an extra, avoidable fight.
Emerus stares at me with a penetrating gaze. It’s immediately clear he was privy to my thought exchange with Darius. “If I may be so bold… please stay out of this.”
With that, he turns to face the throngs of vampires, all anxiously awaiting word from someone who will claim to be their leader.
“You need a trustworthy king. Darius and I will fight for that title. To the Pit!”
The crowd breaks into a strange, guttural chant as the brothers turn and walk back toward the center of the city.
Since day is night and death is life for vampires, it makes sense that up is also down. The Pit stands at the highest point in Vaemor, with long columns rising from the buildings below to support the open-air arena. There’s no raked seating like in a normal stadium--everyone just forms a circle, crowding around and elbowing through to get a better view of the spectacle.
I don’t want to watch. I think, all things considered, this is a stupid plan. If Darius dies, the vampires will try to make quick work of me and my child. If he lives, there’s no reason to assume that will turn him into a respected leader. It feels like a lose-lose.
Zev and Rune stand as close to me as possible, each holding an arm and standing their ground to make sure we don’t get trampled by the restless vampires behind us. We walked close behind Darius and Emerus on the way over so now we have front-row seats, but that means we’ve got hundreds of vampires pushing at our backs.
I never liked mosh pits.
I keep my wand at the ready, trying to think of the spells I’ve learned and which would be best for stopping angry throngs of vampires coming from all directions. So far I’m drawing a blank.
Darius and Emerus have shed their cloaks and tunics. Their matching chiseled frames are a sight for sore eyes, but my mind and body are a little too weary to care about sexy visuals. I have to figure out how this is going to end, because I don’t think Darius is looking that far ahead.
All this work tricking me and Timót to keep us alive, and now he might throw it all away because he’s so goddamn alpha.
The look in his eyes is one I haven’t seen before. As he stands opposite his brother, both with their hands clasped in a prayer position, there’s a devoutness in his aura. He might not put stock in the prophecy, but he still believes in some of the vampire ways and traditions.
Like fighting one’s brother to the death to pick a new king.
I’d admire his steadfastness if it wasn’t so stupid.
There has to be another way, I say into his mind.
Perhaps, he says back. If you know what it is, please let me know.
I’m in no mood for sarcasm, but I can’t fault him the attitude. There isn’t an easy answer to any of our problems, and asking the guy on the verge of battle to come up with an alternate plan isn’t really fair.
A female vampire stands on the opposite side of the Pit from us, carrying a blood-red pillow that supports the crown. It looks made of pure gold with rubies embedded like blood drops around the base and pointed spikes framing it.
I turn to Zev, hoping to get a little peace of mind. “Is Darius the better fighter?”
Zev’s green eyes bounce between the royal vampire brothers, sizing them up before he answers.
“I think they’re fairly equal.”
Not exactly what I wanted to hear.
“It comes down to motivation,” Zev continues. “Darius fights for you and your child, Emerus for his kingdom. It should be an impressive match.”
Impressive match? I’m sorry, are we at a sporting event, or does the existence of all things hang in the balance of who wins or loses this fight? These paranormal princes seem to take cataclysmic events in stride and it’s making me feel insane.
Fortunately, sweet Rune has a better hold on how emotions work. His touch pours calming energy into my veins, quieting the disturbed sensation I get from Darius’ blood.
“I think Darius has something his brother lacks,” the fae whispers to me. “Breaking his bond with you over the last day was a fate worse than death for him. I don’t think he’s ready to lose you again.”
I take a little bit of comfort in that, though my confidence still wanes a bit.