The Vampire & Her Witch

Maela’s heart pounded in her chest as she found herself face to face with an assassin for the first time in more than twenty years, but unlike the last time, nothing she’d been taught would save her now.

There were no guards waiting nearby to hear her cry. She had no knights, no soldiers, not even a lady-in-waiting or sister from the convent who could run for help. The knife at her waist was sharp and serviceable, but she had no confidence in landing a killing blow. The most she could do, the most she’d been taught to do, was to strike and struggle enough that she could buy time for her protectors to arrive.

Protectors she’d left behind when she shed the title of Countess to live a quiet life in the convent.

”Let me go,” Maela hissed, pulling the knife from its sheath, even though the chances it would hurt Marcel were very slim. ”I will cut you, even if Ashlynn sent you,” she added, hoping against hope that her daughter hadn’t been forced into alliances with unreliable men who might take advantage of her if she failed to go along with their plans.

It would be all too easy for Marcel to return to Ashlynn claiming he’d failed to reach her in time or inventing some other excuse to explain away her death, keeping his own position close to power while disposing of someone who might become an impediment to whatever his own ambitions were...

”I’m not here to force you, your Majesty,” Marcel said playfully, as if he didn’t feel the least bit threatened by the knife that hovered just inches from his waist. ”But I need you to understand how few options you really have,” he added, gently wrapping the fingers of her hand around the pendant before letting go of her hand and stepping back a full pace.

”The way the Kingdom and the Church think,” the assassin said, spreading his hands wide as though he were helpless. ”Your brother is already involved, just by virtue of being Ashlynn’s uncle. He doesn’t get a choice in the matter.”

”Right now, the choice we have is whether or not we allow him to be surprised,” Marcel explained. ”And if we can offer protection to him and his family as well. That charm isn’t a great ward,” he said, pointing at the pendant in her hand. ”Sir Ollie crafted several of them for the knights who helped your daughter capture Lothian Manor. It can stop an assassin’s blade once or twice and give you a moment to escape, but that’s all.”

”Could it protect me from you?” Maela asked, stretching her arm out to level the knife at Marcel, keeping the point aimed at his chest in case he rushed her again. ”Would it stop your blades?”

”No,” the assassin said, chuckling lightly and shaking his head. ”In a few years, young Ollie might be able to craft a ward that could block even me, but he only joined your daughter’s coven at the start of winter. He still has much to learn to stop someone like me.”

”It will ward off the flames of the Inquisition though, if only for a moment or two,” Marcel added. ”I brought as many as I could for your brother and his family,” the assassin claimed, tapping the pouch at his waist. ”And other things to keep him safe as well. Whether he joins your daughter’s empire or not, at least let me deliver this much to him.”

”I don’t care for being manipulated, Mister Marcel,” Maela said sharply as she put away the knife. It was a gamble, and not the sort of wager she ever wanted to make, but without anyone who could help her, she felt like she had very few options. If she played along, however, at least long enough to reach her brother’s manor and his knights, her options expanded considerably.

”I don’t like being manipulated,” she repeated. ”And I like being coerced even less, especially by someone my daughter claimed that I could trust,” she said, watching to see if her rebuke drew any reaction from the young dandy. His face, however, remained calm and composed, as if he had everything under control, which forced Maela to try a different approach.

”If this ’charm’ is the product of witchcraft,” Maela said, looking at the wooden pendant in her hand. ”Then wearing it is proof of guilt in the eyes of the Inquisition. It’s little better than tossing a drowning man a noose to tie around his own neck. It brings as much danger as it may prevent.”

”Again, the danger is already there, your Majesty,” Marcel said, shaking his head at Maela. ”Jocelynn and Eleanor thought they’d be safe from the Inquisition because they’d done nothing wrong. The only ’proof’ against them was the delusions of a madman, but in the hands of the Inquisition, those delusions were proof enough to torture your daughter and condemn her cousin.”

”I know you don’t like being forced,” Marcel said with a sad, nostalgic look. ”Ashlynn didn’t either when she first escaped from Owain. She learned to trust us until she had enough power to stand on her own. Now, I’m asking you to do the same.”

”You’re used to getting your way, aren’t you?” Maela said bitterly as she felt every argument she could grasp crumbling beneath her fingers. ”You don’t fight fair, either,” she added as she fought to suppress the urge to ask him what he knew about Jocelynn and how Eleanor had died.

Just hearing that she’d been tortured, combined with Ashlynn’s comments that Jocelynn’s spirit had been battered, was almost enough for her to push her worries aside in order to race back to her daughter’s side... She never should have left in the first place, and the guilt of that thought cut more deeply than any assassin’s blade.

But giving in wasn’t in her nature, and rushing in blind might only lead her to a noose of her own.

”I use the tools that work, your Majesty,” Marcel said, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. ”It brings me no joy to use them against you. But time is precious, and we’re wasting it here.”

”Fine,” Maela said, tucking the pendant into the pouch at her waist rather than putting it on. ”Then we’ll talk in the carriage on the way to meet my brother. Ashlynn said you’d have answers for me,” Maela added, giving the assassin a pointed look. ”And I expect you to be forthcoming.”

”Of course,” Marcel said, bowing with an even more elaborate flourish. ”Your wish is my command...”