Chapter 10

Bothersome. Unwarranted reaction.
Program malfunction?
Checking...
All systems normal.
Strange. Bothersome.

There was noise. Sound, as if underwater. Muted.
“Stay with me, Ceres! Don't go to sleep.”
If she noticed the new nickname, Denisovich made no mention. Marek shook her, the blood staining her clothes and the rusted metal floor of the sandtruck.
“Come on, Denisovich!” Marek's mind raced, despite a growing pain in the back of his head. He alighted on ways to keep her conscious.
“Tell me...what do you miss most about the Sapphire City?”
Denisovich blinked several times, her mouth finding it difficult to form words.
“Music,” she finally exhaled,” There's no music here. My mother played beautifully, all sorts of instruments. My father said it was all she was good for. When she died, he sold all her beautiful...the piano I miss the most, she...shee...Even Pyotr said...he knew how bothered I...and he never stood up to Father, never, save...this really hurts, Mercer.”
“I'm not Mercer,” Marek corrected, not for the first time. His headache was getting worse. Despite her innate regenerative powers, Marek knew Denisovich could not heal fast enough to keep from losing all her precious lifeblood. He felt her go limp in his arms, all color gone from her skin.
“Cerastes! Lacrymosa Cerastes!”
Golden eyes flittered open, then closed again. Marek swore, Ziro counted, for the thirty-fourth time in mere minutes. His first string of invectives had lasted as long as his breath did. The android quickly scanned the surroundings, pale eyes rarely blinking beneath bangs of auburn waves. A collection of rubble...rocks? structures?...grew nearer, and Ziro sped between them, attempting to gain cover.
“Why are we stopping?” Marek roared, as Ziro exited the sandruck.
“This vehicle was poorly constructed. There is no chance to outrun them. Lady Denisovich must be tended to.”
Marek swore, thirty-five. His head was throbbing; nothing made sense. There were gaps in his memory, his usually quick mind was sluggish. How to benefit from this situation...One thing was certain, leaving the daughter of Denisovich to die would be his death, regardless of any intervention by the Adjudicator. The android was an enigma as well, yet refused to cooperate with the neophyte. Biding time seemed the only option. The Thyestrians—NIL's take them—were getting closer. Some of the dumber ones (and who really credited Thyestrians with great intelligence?) may pass them by but eventually they'd be spotted, the moon a betraying brightness in the barren sky. He lowered his voice while addressing the android currently pressing its hand against the wound, blood pouring over fingers without ceasing.
“I can't take all of them on, Ziro. Even Ceres here couldn't, even with her stupid sword, not without superpowers.” He paused. “Do you have a self-destruct?”
The withering look he received in response made him chuckle, despite the tension. Suddenly, Ziro stiffened, its voice flat as it spoke without looking at him.
“Marek, go over to the rocks and tell me how far they are.”
Off-put by the android's chill tone, Marek nevertheless did as told. Holding Denisovich's long knife in one hand, and the metal rod, still stained with her blood, in the other, he peeked around the rubble.
“Looks to be a few hundred yards,” he guessed, as loud as he dared. He heard the sound of decompression, air rapidly released. When he glanced behind, Ziro had something in its hand. It looked very similar to a LiqNit cylinder, but it was all black with archaic markings over it. Pre-Outbreak, Pre-Adjudicator's War even. Before he could voice a question, the android had jammed the sharp end deep in the unconscious Denisovich's chest. A strangled cry ripped unbidden from his throat as he scrambled over to them, no longer interested in the death on wheels which was still bearing down on them.
“What have you done? What are you doing?” Marek demanded as the last of the container's contents emptied into Denisovich's torso. A thought was nagging at his mind, something important, but it was impossible to grasp.
“Saving you,” Ziro answered simply, though its voice betrayed a sense of urgency. It looked up at him, eyes deep and empty.
“She's a Pureblood who's fed recently. Her system should be strong enough to handle it.”
“Should be? Handle what?”
The pain in his head was becoming blinding. Ziro moved in and out of focus and the world was unsteady. Questions rose and ebbed in his mind, feasting on one another. He took a step back, missed and stumbled to the ground. He raised himself to hands and knees, heaving.
“Why am I sick?” he murmured to himself. Despite not being addressed, Ziro responded.
“You were a human a few hours ago. Now you're not. Your body is recreating the Change.”
Marek groaned, clutching his chest.
“I don't understand.”
“You were a human. Lady Denisovich bit you. I presume you drank of her blood and became a vampire yourself.”
Finally, he collapsed onto his back, his whole body aching.
“But I was always a vampire,” he whispered to the sky.
His vision was darkening and now the ground was vibrating with the weight of motorized engines. He felt a shadow move over his face. There were noises, the sound of scuffling. He thought he heard cries, but could not be sure they were not his own. Marek's mind was spiraling, grasp of reality slipping. A flash of silver here, the feeling of something warm on his face. A dripping sound. Rain?
A moment, an eternity passed. Silence. He felt a weightlessness, then a thud. Finally, he fought no longer and dipped into oblivion.

~~

Alix recognized the smile. Tavian glided through questions (some barely veiled accusations) with the grace and delicacy of a swallow. She wandered the Feasting Hall, seemingly without interest in her surroundings, murmuring greetings to those she came near. The noise had died down, not a single concern or problem had gone unanswered.
Tavian had dressed down for the briefing, his thick coat a sable black, double buttoned in the style of the Enforcers. No gold buttons shone at his breast or cuff. He went uncharacteristically unadorned save an opalescent stone on one ear. By contrast, Alix was a storm of reds and purples, tones fading into each other in a manner defying straightforward visual explanation. The silk shifted over her curves, offering tantalizing promises. More than one male Patrician had lost interest in the discussion in favor of studying the Châtelaine. For her part, Alix ceaselessly cataloged responses. None were surprising. The smaller families were reluctant to contribute forces to the 'training exercise', especially at a comparable rate as the largest families.
Lord Epirus had proved the most vocal, a cry for fairness and all but outright stating this was nothing more than an attempt to assimilate his house into the Justinian holdings. The room had gone preternaturally quiet, a few nobles moving away from the incensed Patrician. Tavian had simply given his impish smile, assuring Epirus and even guaranteeing the House holdings for the duration of the exercise. Briefly the Adjudicator met Alix's glance, pregnant with meaning. She mentally filed a note to look into Epirus' agricultural holdings.
Peasants should know better than to stand toe to toe with kings, she mused. Epirus' wealth stemmed solely from a monopoly on certain enriched vegetables. One catastrophic crop failure...the humans would suffer, of course, but such an occasion would allow Daren Sevren and his family to gain a firm foothold in the market. Sevren controlled a smaller production house outside one of the more affluent port cities. Such an increase in demand for his goods could potentially propel his name to the Order of Tables, making him a noble, if he played the circumstances correctly. More importantly, Sevren was a client of House Justininan, while Lord Epirus had Gregorii Denisovich as a patron. Alix smiled, her eyes dark below heavy lids. Tavian had set it up perfectly.
Speaking of which...while she'd expected Lord Denisovich to go along with the Adjudicator's plan, at least by appearances, she'd expected some kind of barbed question, something to undermine Tavian in front of the Patricians. Yet the argent-haired noble had proven to be nothing but smiles and supportive compliments. A disturbing development.

~~

The coolness was a comfort, a welcome change from the oppressive heat of the World Above. The two figures leaned heavily against the wall. There was no light, even their highly keen vision picked up little, but no matter; they could find their way home by feel. At the first outpost, they called for runners to deliver message of their return and by the fourth outpost, the whole den knew and was gathered in the Great Hall. As they staggered into the low artificial light, they were bombarded with questions.
“Aenor, where are the others?”
“Were there many?”
“Where are you injured?”
“Was it a new weapon, Elissa?”
“Enough!” a voice barked, silencing all. Members of House Thyestes moved aside for the Alpha. She was not particularly large...several members of her house were taller or broader. Nothing about her appearance bespoke her significance. Her hair was a tawny shade of brown, worn long as was their style, beaded through with bones and the occasional stone gem. Her eyes, though, violet and menacing, brooked no disrespect. She scanned the two haggard figures from head to foot, without sympathy.
“Why have you returned alone, Elissa, Aenor? Where are your siblings?”
The two glanced at each other. Elissa spoke first.
“They're dead, Rozresa-mother. We only barely escaped.”
“An ambush?” her voice was short and sharp.
“Not exactly,” Aenor replied, a hand still pressed against his shoulder. She stared at them in exasperation.
“Well? Out with it!” she roared, fangs glowing in the soft unnatural light. Aenor shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting around, but finding no comfort. The Alpha clenched her fists, claws biting into palms.
Finally, Elissa blurted, “It was just one. We swear, we didn't know! She seemed weak, tired. She got away for a moment with two others and the second squad went after her. By the time we'd caught up, most of them were down. We gathered the rest and...she just came out of nowhere. We...we...”
Elissa's voice cracked and she sunk to the rocky ground, whole body shaking.
Aenor looked Rozresa in the eye, and she saw the wildness barely contained.
“She was a monster, Alpha. There was nothing we could do.”
The rest of the Hall gave stunned silence, but Rozresa looked merely contemplative.
“Well,” she answered at length, a smile both feral and cruel lighting her face, “We have our own monsters.”

~~

A multitude of voices, humming—singing? She couldn't tell. There were so many.
She held perfectly still, feeling the slightest movement would shatter her. Everywhere she looked there was death. Broken bodies and severed limbs lay strewn about the ground like some morbid art experiment. Some looked literally torn apart. Even when she looked down at herself. She was covered in blood, it stained her arms and chest and legs. She put a hand to her neck.
“Lady Denisovich?” a quiet voice broke the stillness. She turned, saw ero standing by the unconscious Marek in the back of the sandtruck.
“It's almost dawn, ma'am. We need to get him away from the light.”
“Ziro?” Denisovich asked, voice small, her eyes brimming with rarely felt tears.
“Yes, lady?”
“I can't feel my heartbeat.”