Page 30
The words came from my mouth now, but it was King Roderic who said them yesterday, when my mother reminded the king that I existed. I wished she hadn’t, but it was to request that she spend the day with me instead of him. He denied the request.
“Father?” I said again.
The silhouette of a broad-shouldered man filled the narrow space. I froze and squinted. That looked like my father’s large-framed body, but I couldn’t be sure. Mother said this tunnel was abandoned, but not entirely forgotten.
Shaking again, I cursed myself for not taking the candle that sat on the table beside our bed. If only I had more light.
“Drak?” A familiar voice spoke, and all my muscles released along with the breath I held in my throat. His footsteps echoed, and he stepped close enough for me to make out the vague shape of his face and features. “What are you doing here? I said I’d come to you.”
“Forty-nine days—”
“I know, son.”
I frowned. “Why didn’t you come sooner?” I hadn’t even realized the anger welling up inside me until I saw his ragged beard and tired eyes. He looked dreadful and decades older than the last time I’d seen him, as if losing his wife and son had accelerated his aging, and for some inexplicable reason, it made me furious. He was living a life free from us while his wife served King Roderic, and I had no choice but to remain hidden in the shadows. And he didn’t have a few minutes to visit us at least once a week?
His warm hand pressed against my back, a familiar comfort that settled with a deep ache in my chest as he guided me back to the bedchambers. The candle cast odd shapes against the empty stone walls as we emerged from the fireplace.
Once inside, I shrugged him off and spun around. “Well? Why have you abandoned us here?”
He stroked his beard, a sigh forcing from his lips before he met my gaze. “Lower your voice, Drak.”
“No! I fucking hate this place.”
“Don’t curse, son—”
“Stop acting like I’m your son!” His weak attempts to calm me only made me clench my fists tighter. Tears threatened to well up, and the unwelcome sensation caused a pang of hatred. I was a man now. A man! Men don’t weep like the women King Roderic fed on.
My father’s pale blue eyes flashed. They matched mine, bent with a slight rage, fierce, and a little wet. “You are my son. Mine! Not King Roderic’s. Do you have any idea what it’s like to see him parade your mother around like he owns her? And him forcing you stay here too?” His voice died as he clawed his fingers through his oaky, overgrown hair. Mother liked it like that as long as he kept the sides of his head shaved. She’d braid the hair at the center of his head and let it hang there, thick and woven down his spine. Nobody else wore their hair like that, and it made him conspicuous, so when he wasn’t with her, he let it loose to fit in with the obedient people of Mara who didn’t dare dress like the warriors of the forgotten sagas.
I sucked in a breath and looked at my feet. “If it makes you feel any better, he doesn’t let me come out anymore.”
My father nodded. “Good, that’s good. You’re not his to toy with. Fucking Draugr can’t bear children, so I can’t imagine why he even pretends.”
“To keep them all a secret,” I said, almost embarrassed for him that he didn’t realize this. Nobody in Mara knew about the blood-sucking monsters who prowled their castle and reigned over them. Nobody outside the courtiers and the castle, anyway.
“Well, it works.” He sighed. “Nobody will even fucking believe me about what’s inside these walls.”
I tilted my chin up, facing him again. I was a man after all. “You’ve told the villagers?”
“I tried, but they’re too afraid to believe it.” He sighed again and rested a warm palm on my shoulder, his icy eyes reflecting my gaze. “I’m sorry, Drak, I didn’t have the money for a tart. And your father isn’t a thief.”
I nodded, biting back tears again. Those stupid, pathetic tears. Be. A. Damn. Man. My desire wasn’t for a treat, but for anything reminding me of home. I poured all my hope into that foolish tart, wishing it would taste like the world beyond these walls, not that we ever enjoyed luxuries from the market when we lived together as a family of farmers. Mother’s decision to sing for King Roderic stemmed from that single, overriding motivation.
Based on some ancient, fucked-up tradition that King Roderic called an exhibition, the king of Vylheim would occasionally invite peasant women into the castle to entertain him, and those who succeeded earned a lavish and comfortable life. Often, even their families benefited.
Now we knew why. It was to keep us quiet about the monsters that crawled through Vylheim. Although most resided in the castle, I believed many escaped at night, and some mingled with humans, which explained the missing villagers. Most called it a curse or blamed wild animals, or didn’t dare speak of it at all, but these disappearances happened in every village across Vylheim.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. His eyes glistened.
“It’s just a tart.”
“No,” he stated, kneeling before me. As he reached to touch my shoulder once more, I retreated. I regretted it when the hurt creased the corners of his eyes, but a man didn’t need his father to comfort him. He licked his lips and continued, “This is the last time I can visit.”
“What?” I wrenched back, stretching more distance between us. The back of my bare heel scraped against the rough wall, but I fixed my jaw and refused to yelp like a hurt dog. “You’ll abandon us here? Your own wife and son?”
“Drak—”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I flung my arm out toward the fireplace at my side. “You’re free out there while we’re stuck here like prisoners, and you won’t even visit?”
