Parasite Soul (22 page)

Best, perhaps. But Tiera had to know. Her father would
likely spin her a tale, then post multiple guards. Tiera might never
learn the truth. If she was serious about putting her past in its place,
there was only one choice to be considered.

Unable to see the steps, she descended with the utmost care.
The stone was cold and repulsively clammy beneath her feet and the walls, along
which she trailed her fingers, were slick with mold. Accustomed to silk
sheets and plush carpeting, Tiera had never before found herself in such
repugnant circumstances; she felt she would have to bathe for weeks to rid
herself of the sensation of griminess and the unpleasant smell of mildew.
Would the stairway ever end? The light, such as it was, crept closer only
reluctantly, and Tiera’s sense of claustrophobia heightened with every
step. She imagined all manner of horrors slithering and scuttling in the
slime: spiders and centipedes; those horrible clicking beetles which spat
acid. Worse, she could nearly feel the breath of the assassin on the back
of neck as he stalked her in the consuming darkness.

As a result, when her feet eventually touched the flagstones of the
floor below, the princess had worked herself into a state of near panic.
Only pure obstinate determination drew her toward the dim but strengthening
light. She found herself in a damp passage with a scattering of straw
lining the floor, possibly for grip. In the distance, she heard shuffling
noises, clinking as of chains, and the squeaking of rats. Shivering,
Tiera wrapped the tatters of her composure about herself and padded along the
corridor, muck squelching between her toes. One twist in the passage
stood between her and the origin of the light, but she hesitated only a moment
before rounding it.

A torch glimmered feebly on an oozing wall. Rivulets of filthy
water traced paths through ill-fitted stones into a channel which had been cut
into the floor. The smell of decay was overpowering. Somewhat
incongruously, at the center of this wretched chamber, a large four-poster bed
shared space with a rocking chair and a spilling bookcase on a broad section of
stained carpeting. Off to the side, a mahogany table perched on the
flagstones, littered with platters, cutlery, and a flagon. A stewpot crouched
on stubby legs nearby. Seated at the table, cradling his head and
whimpering softly, was a man.

Tiera forgot to breathe. The man wore a metal mask, covering
all features but his mouth and chin. It had been clamped to his head with
bolts – but there was no mistaking the rich wealth of hair which curled down
and around his shoulders, the long-fingered, almost effeminate hands which
extended from the worn sleeves of his oversized but unmistakably royal robe,
nor the golden beard which snaked out from beneath the mask, crooking to the
right.

“
Merequio
,” she breathed.

Her brother lifted his head; literally, with both hands. With
a sick rush of horror, she remembered, in that moment of finality when he’d
breathed his last, the terrible snap of his neck. This creature, whether
or not it was truly her brother, inhabited a body damaged beyond repair.

A pair of sad, mad, familiar eyes locked with hers from behind
rectangular slits. Her heart both danced and plummeted
simultaneously. Previously, she would have given anything for this
moment. Long had she dreamt of reuniting with the only soul in Cannevish
she’d ever cared about. But this… what she saw in front of her; what was
this nightmare? A revenant, some netherworld horror sent to tease and
torment her by cruelly dangling her hopes before her?

“Merequio,” she said again, more gruffly. If this was some
trick, she was determined not to allow it to sway her judgment. At the
back of her mind, she knew it was not: what demon would attempt to
deceive her by projecting such an avatar of ruin? Had her brother
appeared to her hale and hearty, her suspicions would have swollen to almost
insurmountable proportions, but this… this, she was almost sure, was no
deception. What dark magic had resurrected Merequio, she did not know,
but here he was, a shadow of his former self but alive.

“Tiera,” her brother returned in a voice cavernous enough to startle
her. “You should not see me like this.”

“I should not see you at all,” Tiera returned, suddenly cold.
“You died outside Seveston. I saw you die, and I saw your body…” She
quivered slightly but mastered her emotions and continued in a steady
voice. “I attended your funeral. And yet here you are.
Explain that, brother.”

“Not my doing. Father.” Merequio started to laugh, a thin,
hysterical laugh which continued for a distressingly long time before he
managed to reign it in with a small hiccup. “I would have stayed
dead. Better than way. No. Don’t come forward.” He
kicked out one thin leg to show her the manacle clamped about his ankle.
A length of chain snaked out behind him, attached to a bracket on the
wall. “Don’t come within reach.”

Tiera froze mid-stride and held her ground. “You would harm
me?”

Merequio shook his head, again with his hands. “No.” The
word escaped as a moan. “Not willingly. But I am hungry, always
hungry, so
hungry
…” he trailed off.

Tiera blinked with sudden realization. “You’re a vampire!”

“I have been gifted a vampire soul.” His chuckle rattled
harshly in his throat. “The price for returning, I am told. But I
did not… I did not wish to return. Not like this.”

Tiera swallowed thickly, but maintained a brisk businesslike
tone. “I find it hard to believe father would have this done to
you. To what end?”

An edge of hysteria crept back into Merequio’s laughter. “He
loved me, dear sister! You never did understand that concept did
you? He wanted me alive. You know father. He would go to any
end to have his way.”

I understand the concept of love
, Tiera thought,
stung. Instead she waved a dismissive hand. “But look at you.
He can’t possibly have wanted… that.”

Bitterness crept into Merequio’s tone. “Oh, I’m sure he
imagined a different result. For what little good it does me.”

“So he’s kept you here all these years.” It was Tiera’s turn
to sound bitter. “Without telling me.”

“And what would he tell you, dear sister? That your brother
and a vampire were sharing a body in the cellars, that he was feeding them
pigs
…”
Merequio spat the word. “…along with the occasional prisoner?
Stewed, as they deem civilized, when this body demands raw, warm, gushing
blood? That they would ever remain in chains because he didn’t have the
stones to undo the damage he’d done? Is that what you imagined he would
tell you?”

“I could have handled the truth,” Tiera responded stiffly. “I
should have been informed. I…” Her voice threatened to break.
“I missed you terribly.”

Merequio released his head to spread his arms wide. It struck
the table top with a resounding thud. The platters and cutlery bounced
and rattled.

“Then by all means, dear sister! Come and give your long lost
brother a hug!”

“Thank you, I don’t think I shall.” Tiera needed time to
think. Long-buried emotions churned within her breast, many of them
nearly alien to her, and she needed time to sort them out.

“Very wise,” Merequio spoke directly into the tabletop.
“Because I would rip off your limbs and suck the blood from them.”

Tiera’s lip trembled. “You were kind to me when I was a
child.”

“I was alive then.” Her brother raised his wobbling head once
again, this time cupping his chin with only one hand.

“So if I were to free you,” Tiera jangled the key ring. “You
would show your appreciation by killing me?”

Merequio’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. He stroked his crooked
beard with his free hand. A tense moment passed before he spoke again.

“Well, perhaps not,” he admitted. “If I had my pick of
morsels, I would have no need to. And I
have
missed you, dear
sister. I’ve thought of you often. I’ve wondered what sort of woman
the flailing little nuisance I remember had grown up to be.”

“And what sort of woman am I?”

“More than likely a nuisance still,” Merequio laughed.

Tiera couldn’t help herself; she laughed as well. She could
hardly believe these events were transpiring, but this was her brother - or
some remnant of him – of that she was sure. Even if he meant her harm,
she couldn’t help but to feel that some portion of the cold void within her had
just been splashed with a droplet of warmth.

“This has been a strange morning,” she said at length.

“It’s been a strange decade,” Merequio rejoined.

“I will set you free,” she continued after some consideration, “Upon
your word that you will not harm me.”

A flicker of greed flitted across narrow, shadowed eyes. “You would
trust to that word?”

“I would not trust the vampire. But I would trust my brother.”

Merequio tilted his head with finger and thumb. Silence filled
the chamber for a time. The torch sputtered anxiously, in danger of going
out. Tiera, none too happy with the idea of being trapped in the dark
with the creature, held her breath and tried not to betray any sign of
nervousness. At length her brother spoke.

“The one I share myself with would devour you, but he craves
freedom. You know I have never wished you harm. Therefore we
promise not to hurt you if you set us free.”

Tiera released a lingering sigh. She was about to step forward
when a creak from above startled her. She spun around as the stairwell
flooded with flickering light. Multiple footfalls sounded on the stairs.
Merequio made a curious hissing, spitting noise. Moments later, flanked
by two soldiers, King Minus stood in the chamber, and for a fleeting moment,
his stern facade dropped and he looked aghast.

“Tiera!” he sputtered, hastily reassembling the royal mask.
“What have you done?”

“What have
I
done?” Tiera demanded, disbelieving. A
fiery core of rage kindled inside her. “Well, for starters
father
,
I didn’t resurrect my dead son and chain him in the basement for ten years,
without telling his own sister that he still lived.”

Minus recoiled, but only slightly. “And how, do you imagine
that I could convey such information to you without encouraging the very
judgment to which you are now subjecting me?”

“I will inherit the kingdom one day,” Tiera snapped. “I
deserve to know…”

Her father overrode her. “Your husband will inherit the
kingdom,” he corrected sternly. His voice softened slightly. “I
thought you were dead, Tiera. I have just learned that all the men in
your wing have been killed, without trace or mark. Say that this was not
your doing.”

Tiera snorted. “How could it possibly be my doing? And
to what purpose?”

“Perhaps to win you a clear path into your brother’s chambers?”
Minus asked shrewdly.

“I only took advantage.”

The king gestured to his men. “Escort the princess back to her
chambers. Triple her guard, and…”

“No!” Tiera shouted, pointing her rusty sword in his
direction. The anger within was growing exponentially. “No, I go
nowhere until I have some answers. I am owed an explanation.”

Merequio chuckled. Tiera expected her father to repeat his
order, but to her surprise, he nodded slowly.

“A reasonable demand. I will answer your questions. Make
them quick.”

This was a window of opportunity rarely afforded her; Tiera
determined to make the most of it. “How did this…” she indicated her
brother. “Come about?”

Her father coughed into a gloved fist. “In the town of
Vanyon’s Parade, there was rumored to be a witch, a necromancer of sorts.
She hides her talents and will act only through intermediaries, but I had heard
a great deal about her skill, so I…”

“So you entrusted your son’s body to men you did not know to ferry
to a witch who might not have existed?”

“Merequio could not have been any
more
dead. I saw more
hope than harm.” Her father’s brow creased. “At any rate, she
turned out to be authentic. Her talents do indeed allow her to rejuvenate
the dead. As you have seen there is a price.”

“But why?” Tiera didn’t like the pleading edge her voice had
taken. That her father could have fallen prey to such madness…!

“All things come at a price, daughter.”

“Yes. A vampire soul. But that isn’t what I meant.
Why… why would you do this to my brother?”

King Minus took a moment to consider. Brother and sister alike
transfixed him with their gazes.

“I was arrogant,” he admitted at length. “Merequio is of the
House of Minus. Of royal blood. I understood the risks, but I
confess… I was certain a prince of Minus could resist the influence of the
creature within. As you can see, Merequio was weak.”

“Weak?” Tiera sputtered. “He was dead!”

“Father is a fool,” her brother said calmly from behind her.
“He always was. When mother died…” Here his voice took on an enigmatic
edge and he smiled darkly for no reason that Tiera could ascertain. “… he
attempted the same procedure.”