Secret History of Elizabeth Tudor, Vampire Slayer (28 page)

The magus, who appears no worse than shaken by his sojourn in the vampire court, assures me that my request is granted, the Lady Blanche will call upon me. He has gleaned nothing more of use. I thank him for his diligence all the same and send him on his way. He goes most willingly, I hope to contemplate the wages of involving his Queen in such dire matters without winning her permission first.

The evening wears on and eventually winds down. I scarcely notice what fills the intervening hours apart from more of the tedium that seems my royal lot. Although to be fair, were I not engaged in such strange and otherworldly matters, I would no doubt enjoy the amusements that surround me.

At long last, I am snug abed, watching as the door closes behind Kat, who, her smile tells me, assumes that I am about to hie off down the passage to Robin’s rooms. Would that I were. Instead, I am on my feet again instantly, throwing on such clothes as I can manage while striving despite my awkward fumblings to look my best when I meet the beauteous Lady Blanche.

Wrapped in my warmest cloak, I take the passage but go right by Robin’s rooms. He is not there in any case, being busy diverting Cecil and the ever-lurking Walsingham. Hurrying, I make my way through the winter garden and from there to the long, low wing of the palace that my father had constructed to accommodate
the sporting activities he pursued before failing health robbed him of their enjoyment.

Since my awakening, and most especially as my power has grown, all my senses have sharpened. I can see as readily by night as I can by day. Whereas I would once have stumbled or risked becoming lost, I proceed without hindrance. Twice, I hear the far-off approach of patrolling guards and conceal myself until they have passed. The air smells of frost and the river, of wood smoke and the distinctive odor of London, which some describe as sour or fetid but which I find has a curious appeal, carrying as it does the evidence of a human presence ever striving to make more of itself.

The tennis courts, open to the sky to allow for sufficient light and air, are filled with shadows and the mournful whistle of the wind. I skirt past them quickly and, going around the bowling alleys, hurry across the archery yard. All are deserted at this hour, but by day my nobles congregate here to vie against one another in every manner of contest. I encourage their competitiveness, preferring that they exert it against each other lest they be tempted to turn it on me.

Near the far end of the wing, close by the river, is the cock-fighting pit. I have been here only a handful of times for the sport, such as it is, holds no appeal for me. If I wish to see an animal bloodied, I will hunt it down myself, galloping over miles of fields and streams, vaulting fences and walls, until in a rush of victory it is brought to bay. No venison tastes sweeter than that seasoned with one’s own sweat.

Yet there is no denying the popularity of cockfighting for my lords and more than a few of my ladies. They flock to it, betting on their favorite birds with even more enthusiasm than they bring to the gaming tables. Several hundred of them can fit into the circular arena open to the sky and surrounded by tiers of
wooden seats. At the center is a flat, sandy floor where the birds have at each other, pecking and slashing with razor-sharp beaks and claws until one or both are too wounded to continue. The sand is clean and well raked, yet I fancy I catch a whiff of the blood spilled here and imagine the dead birds carried away by their disappointed owners.

I walk out upon the sand, directly beneath the open roof, and stare up at the wisps of clouds floating across the glory that is the stars. The wind dies down; a hush settles over the night. I wait, pacing, looking up from time to time, all the while wondering if Dee misunderstood or if I have. Is Blanche coming? Can she find me?

At length, when my feet have begun to ache from the cold despite my fur-lined boots and my patience has worn thin, I curse under my breath. What game is Mordred playing that he thinks to toy with me?

“Damn the miserable bastard.”

That faint sound from above and behind me … is it a laugh? I turn so swiftly that my cloak flows out as a black wing behind me and stare up into the highest reaches of the bleachers.

Blanche is not there; instead, she is higher still, perched on the very edge where the curving wall meets the open space above the arena, between the poles from which banners fly by day. She is wearing the same white silk gown that caresses her body with the addition of a strand of pearls so opulent as to take my breath away, and she looks well amused. The cold does not appear to touch her.

“Don’t let Mordred hear you call him that,” she says. “Even after so long, he remains sensitive about his birthright.”

I start to sag with relief that she has come but catch myself and straighten my shoulders resolutely.

“Descend, that we may talk face-to-face.”

She looks at me mockingly but comes away from the wall and floats down, alighting a few feet in front of me. Her black hair flutters down the full length of her back. I have never seen more perfect skin, as white as the moon, or eyes more filled with secrets.

“As Your Majesty wills. I am instructed to answer all your questions fully and honestly. Will that satisfy you?”

Did Mordred truly send her with such orders? If so, his confidence gives me pause. Rather than reveal my unease, I reply, “I can ask for nothing more.”

“Then begin. What is it you wish to know?”

I have lured Blanche here for the sole purpose of slaying her. Yet I hesitate to do so too precipitously. She may be the best chance I have to learn about Mordred and his kind.

“Why did you become what you are? Was it forced upon you?”

She raises a perfectly arched brow. “Forced? I pleaded with my dear lord to grant me so great a boon. I swore to him that he would not be disappointed and I have kept my vow. That is why I am here now and only for that reason.”

“Had you no care for your soul? No desire to stand in the light of the Almighty and know His grace?”

Blanche sighs and the world seems to sigh with her. I tell myself that it is only the wind picking up again.

“The same Almighty who, despite my most anguished prayers, declined to spare any of my family even to the tiniest child? Is that the God of whom you speak?”

“Death comes for all mortals.” It is a feeble answer even to my own ears.

Blanche does not spare me her scorn. “My family, of proud and noble lineage as I told you, rose in rebellion against a mad king intent on bringing ruin to this land. For that crime we paid the highest price. Only I escaped.”

I have known my own days of terror and imprisonment when the sword of death swung so close as to leave my skin feeling scraped. All the same, I can think of only one reason why she would have made so dire a choice.

“You wanted Mordred’s help to claim your revenge.”

She twines a length of the pearls around her fingers and smiles. “Oh, yes, bright Queen, I did! The mere thought of it sustained me through the darkest hours when my very sanity hung in the balance. It gave me the strength to call out, not to the god who had forsaken all those I loved but to the power I sensed in the darkness itself. Power that redeemed me and made all things possible.”

“But not the vengeance you sought. I know the history of this kingdom. Henry’s son, Edward, redeemed his father’s throne. He and his dynasty ruled this realm until my own supplanted them.”

“And you think that means I lost? How foolish you are! I watched them one by one grow old and wither and die. I was witness to their disappointments, their fears, their tragedies. I saw them weep and curse and try to bargain with their god who listened no more to them than he had to me. And all the while I remained as I am now—young, strong, beautiful, awaiting the day when my own kind will rule in the place of you weak mortals.”

“Don’t you mean when you will rule at Mordred’s side?” I saw how she looked at him in the hall at Southwark Manor. She had the proprietary air of a woman who has staked her claim, whether a man, vampire or otherwise, has the sense to recognize it.

“After three hundred years,” I continue, “surely you deserve nothing less. Haven’t you served him all that time, helping him step by step toward the power he has craved for
so long? Yet now he wants to toss you aside and put me in your place.”

I am trying to provoke her, perhaps to justify what I must do. In that instant, it appears that I have succeeded. A dark flush of color spreads over her skin as her eyes glitter dangerously.

But I underestimate Blanche at my peril. The centuries have taught her patience. A moment later, she is once again in control of herself.

“Whatever my lord Mordred commands, I obey.”

Would that I had servants so steadfast in their loyalty.

“Convince me then,” I challenge. “Tell me why I should give up all I hold dear and join with him.”

She looks at me with scornful pity. “Give up what? The constant danger that surrounds you? The certain knowledge that like every mortal you will grow old, your body betraying you more and more with each passing year until you wither and die? That is, of course, if you manage to avoid assassination or execution. You are what—twenty-five years old now? I give you no more than two chances in ten of seeing thirty.”

Her calculation of the odds against me is chilling, all the more so because I cannot refute them.

“If it pleases God to take me, I will find my reward in the life to come.”

That is, of course, the appropriately pious response, never mind whether I really believe it.

Blanche shakes her head as though I am so great a fool as scarcely to be endured. “You have a chance to live far beyond the scant span of days allotted by your jealous god. You can bring peace and security to your people while pursuing all that interests you—art, music, natural philosophy, the pleasures of the flesh, all are yours for the taking. And you can do it in perfect
health and beauty, never growing old, never dying. How could any person with a claim to sanity reject that?”

“You paint such an idyllic picture, yet surely it is incomplete.”

A frown creases her alabaster brow. She leaves off her play with the pearls as both her hands drop to her sides. “What do you mean?”

“What of your need to feed upon humans? You drug them into a stupor to facilitate your use of them. Some few become like you, but I presume that is only possible for those chosen by Lord Mordred?”

When she nods, I continue, “The rest, whether they die or not, are robbed of the spark of life that is most essential to their humanity. Does that not trouble you at all?”

Apparently not as it seems the question has never occurred to the Lady Blanche. She looks puzzled by it.

“They live,” she says. “What else matters?”

“The quality of their lives is so greatly diminished as to scarcely be life at all, but I perceive that is not a concern for you. Perhaps like Mordred you have forgotten what it means to be human. Let us go on then. What are the thralls?”

Since first becoming aware of the existence of those beings, I have been troubled by them. Not vampires, yet seemingly not human either, they hint at something amiss in Blanche’s paradise.

“They are servants, nothing more. I marvel that you notice them.”

“Servants whose faces are never seen and who never speak. Where do they come from?”

She shakes her head in disgust. “That does not concern you! How weak is your mind to be drawn in so meaningless a direction
when Lord Mordred offers you so much. Do you truly still not understand all that can be yours?”

The moon casts long shadows over the tiers of seats surrounding us. I turn away and close my eyes, imagining the crowd, feverish with excitement, roaring for blood. Blanche has nothing more to tell me. It is time.

“I had another purpose in asking that you come here,” I say, and turn back to her. In the instant that I do so, her mouth pulls in a taut smile as her eyes go flat and hard.

“Did you, Slayer? What could that possibly be?”

She knows. I cannot be certain how or why, but whereas my ruse duped Mordred, it has not fooled Blanche. Yet she does nothing.

Not so myself. In the quickening of a breath, I seize my chance and hurl a bolt of light directly at her. The air between us ripples. Before my horrified gaze, the light slows, leaving Blanche ample time to step away from it.

Yet she does not, or at least not fully. She allows it to just slightly graze her, severing the strand of pearls, which shower down onto the ground, and rending her garment to expose pure white skin gashed by scintillating fragments of light.

Pain contorts her face but fades too swiftly. Before I can overcome my surprise and gather myself for a second blow, Blanche strikes.

The blackness that comes from her is as deep and suffocating as that I experienced from Mordred. I must call on all my will to hold it back and even then only just manage to do so. She, on the other hand, seems to have strength in reserve.

“I know your kind,” Blanche says, “far better than my lord Mordred ever can. I know how treacherous and scheming you are, the lengths to which you go to hold on to the only power you are capable of understanding. Did you truly think that I
would come into the presence of a Slayer without being prepared to defend myself?

Defend and more, for even as she speaks, the darkness thickens. I gasp for breath, my heart pounding and will from deep within myself a strike of such power as I have never unleashed before. The light flows from me as a spear cleaving the night, aimed directly at its target.

Blanche avoids it easily and rises into the sky, hovering above me.

“Fool,” she taunts. “In striking at me, you have done exactly as I hoped you would. Now that I bear your mark, I may return to my lord with proof of my loyalty and your treachery. He will understand that I had no choice but to end your pitiful life. I will reign at his side while you rot in the ground, unlamented and forgotten.”

Clearly, the thought gives her great pleasure for she is smiling as she prepares to unleash what I do not doubt will be my death blow.