Crimson pact, p.14
Crimson Pact, page 14
“Majesty, I swear,” Maerri cried, flailing on her back.
“You swore undying allegiance to me. To my Empire!”
“My allegiance is to you.”
The king looked to Orras and Cila. The two leaders of his Nine Guard stood tall, awaiting a command from their king. Shujaa and Amina remained seated. “Steak her to a kitchen wall,” Akram commanded as if he simply asked for a drink. Maerri eyes widened. She begged through her gaze, as she had no ability to speak.
“Sire,” Orras and Cila said in unison before marching to Maerri. As the two warriors closed in, Akram released her neck. Maerri sucked in air as much as she could with every inhale. The king cleared a path for Cila and Orras to remove her from the table. They snatched her from the table. “No. Please!” Maerri begged as they drug her away. She flailed for freedom, but Orras and Cila were too strong for her. “Please, Highness! Please!” Maerri continued to plea.
Akram stared into the fire. Shujaa and Amina rose from their seats to join him. His queen stood on his left, with Amina to his right. Shujaa looped her arm into his. Akram’s mind wandered and questioned the true stability of his Empire. The king looked at his prime minister. “Apprehend the servants and any supplies,” Akram commanded.
“By Your will,” Amina responded before marching to notify the soldiers of the king’s command.
Akram broke away from his wife’s grasp, questioning the status of the Empire. He paced, and Shujaa watched, leaning against the table. “Do not concern yourself with her words. She is a traitor,” Shujaa said, causing Akram to halt and face her.
“We cannot oversee every piece of our Empire every hour,” Akram responded.
“We are feared in every land.”
“They fear the Nine Guard and our army. The further away we are, the less control we keep.”
Shujaa mulled over his words. Even she could no longer deny their veracity. She removed herself from the table. Akram’s thoughts went a step further as he tilted his gaze upward to Maerri’s painting. Two screams emanated from the kitchen into the dining room. He wondered how a once-loyal servant turned into a defector. And if this was only the beginning. Were their forces spread too thin? Was ruling a massive empire and fighting an eternal war too much for them to maintain? All questions he asked himself. Shujaa lived for battle despite her marriage to a diplomatic king. He investigated this matter with his new captor.
Akram and Shujaa beelined for the kitchen. The Monarch arrived, pleased to see that the king’s command was fulfilled. Maerri hung from the kitchen wall. Her feet dangled. Braid loosened. Strands of her hair blocked bits of her vision. Daggers impaled both wrists to the wall. Blood drained from her wrists. She was not high enough off the floor that Akram could not easily reach her. “Where is the rest of your family, Maerri?” Akram asked, standing face to face with her.
Loss of blood and pain from the blades in her wrists caused her to writhe and delay responses. Akram snarled, then gripped her chin. He resisted the urge to torture her. “Where are the other members of your house?!” Akram asked.
“They... are... gone,” Maerri answered.
“Where have they gone? Tell me, and I won’t burn your family’s home.”
“I don’t know.”
Akram released her jaw, then stepped back. Took a deep breath, then gritted his teeth. He reached out then ripped off both her dress and her undergarments. He turned to Orras, who held the kitchen knife in his hand. The king signaled for one knife. The leader of the Nine Guard handed one knife to him.
Akram rotated the utensil on both ends while looking down at it. Sharp and shiny, he stared into the reflection of his eyes. For more than millennia, he abstained from torturing his own kind. But with the state of his empire in question, he slowly carved an opening from Maerri’s side. She screamed the moment the blade pierced her flesh. “Where are the other members of your house?” Akram asked with a growl.
“I told them not to tell me!” Maerri answered, screaming and crying for mercy.
Akram paused her a moment. He snatched her jaw. The king and Maerri glared at one another. Impatience and worry bred Akram’s glare, while pain and disgust bred Maerri’s. They snarled at one another. With them nose to nose, Akram dug the knife into her other side. Drug it deeper along her flesh. Maerri did not scream. She grimaced and snarled, holding her glare onto her king. Akram stared back, frustrated by the silence.
Blood leaked from both sides. Maerri’s breaths gained weight. Akram released her chin. He realized she would no longer satisfy his appetite for screams through cutting her. He nodded, knowing that he would need another method of siphoning information out of her. The king marched back to the dining room. Maerri’s eyes follow him, wondering what he would do next while enjoying the reprieve.
Akram returned with a hot poker from the fireplace. Maerri looked down at it. The handle and stem were both the color of tar. However, the pointed end and hook were the color of ember. As Akram raised the end, she felt the heat. He pressed the burning hook against the center of Maerri’s chest. Her skin burned. Steam with a scent of rotting flesh entered the room. She fought the urge as her skin burned and heated her breasts. She grit her teeth hard enough for cracks to sprout.
As the poker slid down her torso, Akram pressed it into her further. A black streak of burnt flesh trailed the poker hook. Maerri cried out in pain. Tears built up in her eyes. Akram pierced her skin layers deep, but only so few as for her not to bleed out. Maerri roared in agony. Blood rushed to her eyes to her eyes. Both servants and soldiers heard her cry while outside. Flesh ripped and burned. Without fresh blood, her scars did not heal. Just before the hook arrived at her navel, the king retracted the poker.
Maerri wept and whimpered. Heavy burns with a cut stretched downward between her rib cage when light burns lived on her the inner part of her breasts. She shut her eyes as tears flowed down her face. Akram waited for her to open her eyes. Once she did, he waved the pokers right in front of her face. She saw the ember orange poker tips. She felt its fire. Worse was the smell of her own burning flesh. “Your king is losing his patience,” Akram said adamantly about knowing the location of her family.
“You are not my king!” Maerri yelled from her belly.
Rage exploded from inside Akram, but he kept to a stern demeanor. The others in his party nearly lashed out at her, but Akram raised his hand, calming them. He tapped the poker on the floor to temper his own fire. “I helped you keep and grow your lands. Gave you power,” Akram stated in a calm tone.
“Your taxation cut into my wealth. You took members of my family for your war with lycans,” Maerri replied with exhaustion and pain in her voice.
“I fight for the survival and dominance of our kind!”
“You fight for your blood-lusting queen. A war-mongering whore. You hated war. Now, you live for it.”
Shujaa stepped to her husband, seething and glaring at Maerri. The queen had ideas about how to murder her. Akram sensed her presence and knew what his queen desired, but he was not a killer of his own kind. A decree she followed upon their nuptials. Shujaa hoped Akram would make an exception. He looked at her with worry and determination. Shook his head. She scowled. Akram reverted his attention to a suffering Maerri. “Speak freely, Maerri,” Akram ordered curiously.
Maerri held her tongue. Akram impaled Maerri’s leg with the still-hot poker. She cried out. The king extracted the device. “Speak, or I burn this place to the ground. Every painting, bust, symbol of this house will be etched out of history,” Akram said with conviction.
“Your reign will soon end. Your subjects aren’t as loyal as you think. This empire will be left in tatters,” Maerri replied.
“My subjects fear my wrath, my will. They would not dare betray me as you did.”
“Several of us already have.”
Akram looked over to his party, concerned about the level of truth of her words. He paced in, angry and worried. The queen and others waited for his decree. Akram stopped once he decided on his next steps. “We must return to the castle immediately. We need to summon the covens to confirm their loyalty,” Akram commanded, then exited the kitchen.
“And her, Your Majesty?” Orras asked, referring to Maerri.
“Banish her to the mines across the ocean.”
“By Your will.”
Akram departed the kitchen. Shujaa and Amina trailed as Orras and Cila removed Maerri from the kitchen wall. They drug her away without covering her up.
The Monarch and their prime minister accessed their carriage. Shujaa and Amina sat across from Akram. They saw he was in deep thought.
TWYLA THOUGHT ABOUT the recent tale she had heard from Cila. A better understanding of the Nine Guard provided her with a new respect for them. Her disapproval for Orras remained. Cila saw the change in her visage. “I know a vampire in your position appreciates etiquette,” Cila said.
“Thank you, Commander,” Twyla replied.
“Your affection for that human is a weakness.”
“I have used it as a strength, as well.”
Cila nodded with a new respect for the priest’s apprentice. She raised her glass, then drank the remaining blood.
Chapter Eleven
The vampire’s jet soared towards Istanbul, Turkey. Terrus sat next to an open window. He stared out into the clouds. His mind was engulfed by thoughts of the worst-case scenario for this meeting with other covens. Cason sat away from him, hoping this conference would not result in bloodshed. The seven subordinate members of the Nine Guard congregated in silence. It was an awkward situation for them. They knew they had Cason to guide them, but Orras and Cila had their full trust.
The general noticed his fellow delegate in deep thought. He got up and moved across from Terrus. The priest glanced at the general as he took a seat. Terrus tried to resume a reflective stare, but he knew a conversation needed to occur. Cason leaned in, concerned about the future if there was to be a future. “You look just as concerned as I am,” Cason said.
“How could we not be? We might have to slaughter our own kind,” Terrus replied.
“Things were simpler with them here.”
“Because they made it that way.”
Terrus signaled for a stewardess to bring him some blood beignets. The stewardess returned with three beignets on a small bone china plate with napkins. “Thank you,” Terrus said to the server as she set them down on a small table between the two delegates. The server strutted away. Terrus offered a beignet to Cason. The general paused, then ultimately accepted the sustenance, knowing he may have to fight soon. “Thanks, Priest,” Cason said.
Cason bit into one. Sublime rushed his mind. The rich pastry provided him with a blissful reprieve from his worries. The two each finished their respective desserts. Cason nodded, appreciating a feel-good moment. They looked down at the third and final beignet, then at one another. Without words, they decided that neither one of them would consume it. Once the sweetness wore off, their duty was front and center. “Say, we stop this pack of mongrels from killing Zoya and Ammar. Then what?” Cason asked.
“The Monarch still hopes that they will serve our cause,” Terrus answered with a hint of uncertainty.
“By now, I suspect this pack has instituted the aid of another pack. Meaning the Crimson Pact has been invoked.”
“I know you and the Nine Guard think keeping them is babysitting, but they may become one of us at some point.”
Cason leaned back in his chair, thinking of how this would further alter their existence. While he appreciated immortality, he exhausted himself. Maybe it was all the fighting. Or maybe fighting without his queen. Either way, his life was a balance of both bitter and sweet. Cason was born a vampire. He commanded soldiers who were not. Resentment lived within his ranks and still does. Breaking down soldiers was a task he reveled in. The uniqueness and stubbornness of Zoya and Ammar complicated things, given his Monarch’s necessity for them. “I’m not sure if these two will be valuable here in the tangible,” Cason said.
“You could train them as soldiers,” Terrus replied, chuckling.
“The Monarch holds them in too high a regard to have them in my infantry.”
“Either way, we won’t cater to them as if they were lifelong guests.”
“Agreed.”
AFTER A FEW MORE HOURS of travel, the plane landed in Istanbul. The Delegation and their party exited the aircraft then entered a caravan of SUVs. The caravan drove off towards the Sultan Ahmed Mosque. Terrus and Cason sat in the backseat of the same vehicle. The journey was quiet. Terrus noticed Cason admiring the view. “First time in Istanbul, General?” Terrus asked.
“Last time I was here, I knew it as Constantinople,” Cason answered.
After an hour of driving, they arrived at the Sultan Ahmed Mosque or the Blue Mosque for tourists. The Delegation with their party found themselves inside the mosque, waiting. Cason paced as a member of the Nine Guard looked around for incomers. The pacing annoyed Terrus. “Calm yourself, General. This is a diplomatic mission,” Terrus said.
“Easy for you to say. You have yet to spill any blood. Lycan or otherwise. Let us hope this mission remains diplomatic,” Cason replied.
Terrus scowled at Cason. The sound of footsteps approaching increased in volume, coming from three different directions. The Nine Guard members and Cason gripped the hilt of their swords, ready to pull them. Terrus remained still in his demeanor and mind.
From the shadows, three vampires appeared. Each one dressed in formal regalia relevant to their country. Irshad hailed from Sudan, Hadeon flew in from Kyiv, Ukraine and Nura came from Saudi Arabia. All three of them were the leaders of their covens with their own respective armed security detail. Pleasance displayed on Terrus’ face. He signaled for Cason, and the Nine Guard members and extra soldiers released their grips on their hilts. “Greetings. Thank you for attending,” Terrus said, addressing Nura, Irshad, and Hadeon.
“You said you had an offer for us,” Hadeon replied.
“We do, but it requires a commitment.”
Nura, Irshad, and Hadeon all looked around at one another, confused about what the offer could be. They suspected what their price might be but wanted the information firsthand. “What is this offer?” Nura asked.
Terrus and Cason looked at one another. Neither one wanted to speak the words, but their duty called them to do so. The three house leaders grew impatient from the delay. Cason nodded somberly at Terrus, pushing the priest to make the offer. “We have an open seat on the Delegation,” Terrus announced.
The room went silent. A jolt of shock went through the coven leaders’ bodies and minds. Irshad sensed the opportunity, but he was also suspicious. Then he considered what would be the benefit of joining the Delegation. “Why would I want to be a member of the Delegation? My coven lives in peace and prosperity,” Irshad asked.
“But you don’t have the power of an Empire,” Terrus answered.
“Empire? You take orders from a pair of corpses?”
Terrus glared at Irshad. Nura stepped forward, smirking, cutting her eyes at Irshad. Even with the demise of the royal family, she understood the boost in power that would come from sitting on a seat in the Delegation. “What sort of commitment are you demanding, delegates?” Nura asked.
“Arms. We have a big lycan problem.”
“We all have a lycan problem.”
Terrus looked at Cason, but the general did not understand why. Cason wore confusion on his face. Terrus looked back to his audience to address them. “We are going to resurrect the Monarch,” Terrus announced.
Everyone in the room gasped and whispered amongst themselves. Terrus worried about making such an announcement. Rumors and innuendo compromised houses in the past. His words disrespected Hadeon. “I’m leaving. There’s no resurrecting them,” Hadeon said.
“We found a way,” Terrus replied.
Cason grit his teeth, upset, thinking that Terrus just played their biggest and maybe only bargaining chip. The general gripped and squeezed the pommel of his sword to gather his thoughts and not lash out at the priest. He addressed their guests. “It is true. We have the keys to resurrect them. And the keys are in danger. We need reinforcements. Your aid will grant you high standing with the court. To sit where Amina sat,” Cason declared.
“What happened to Amina?” Irshad asked.
“Mongrels.”
Unease dropped into the room. The coven leaders realized the position of Empirical Delegate was not a position away from the fray. While these three covens had their own run-ins with werewolves, their leader never got their hands dirty with a fight. They all saw fighting a war against werewolves as an unnecessary nuisance, as opposed to a lifelong directive. All three considered the choice between stagnant power with occasional run-ins or increased power with war as a daily task. Hadeon stepped forward with his initial bid in mind. “A third of my forces, plus full access to my primary home,” Hadeon offered.
“Is there another offer?” Terrus asked Nura and Irshad.
Irshad pondered on the matter. He wondered if there was a way to keep control of his house while having a foot in the door and maybe access to the Monarch. He prided himself on total control of his coven. Yet, the Empire possessed economic resources that he deemed infinite. They were just low on soldiers. “I reject your offer for Amina’s vacant seat,” Irshad announced to the Delegation and the other coven leaders. The announcement shocked them all.
“Well, that is disappointing,” Terrus replied.
“I will, however, support your cause for occasional audiences with the Monarch.”
Irshad approached Terrus and Cason. He offered his hand to them. Both Cason and Terrus shook his hand. “I will send you some soldiers. Where shall I send them?” Irshad asked.
“Romania,” Cason answered.
“I’ll send them right away.”
“Thank you.”
