5 THE FATA MORGANA

They burned the dead Reaper a short distance from where Meridian Keep still smoldered. It was a new Alurian policy, Riones had told Remy. No one who had fallen to a vampire’s bite was allowed burial within Elouve’s graveyards, fearing a repeat of the chaos when the Night Empress had attacked the city. “Don’t want anyone else rising from their graves,” the marquess said sadly, watching as the body of his comrade was consigned to kindling. “Seems like all we’ve been doing lately is attending funerals.”

“How have you been faring?”

“Work has kept me busy, and there’s been much of it. Curse Feiron, by the way. The man was so busy playing lackey to Astonbury over the years that he let all the paperwork pile up for me to worry over. Did you know that there were thousands of missing children from both Aluria and Kerenai, and Feiron neglected to act upon it? I have you to thank for this, too, by the way.”

“Pardon?”

Riones grinned. “I know you were offered the position—I was expecting that, given what you had to go through for it. Imagine my surprise when they presented the job to me instead. Your father said little, but I’d suspected you turned it down.” He sighed. “That said, even with all this piddling paperwork, I must admit I am enjoying hammering the Reapers into better shape using policy rather than field training.”

Remy smiled. “I am unsuited to the role. Yours is a well-deserved promotion.” He glanced back at the castle, or what was left of it.

“The good Light, Pendergast—what was that creature? Was it truly the Night Empress? I have never seen a vampire that could manifest such wings!”

Remy hadn’t either. The looks of shock on both Xiaodan’s and Malekh’s faces when they had beheld her new form told him that their encounters with such kindred were few and far between.

“Are you certain?” Lord Valenbonne demanded of Malekh, clearly agitated. “There is no other foul evolution that your kindred ever undergoes to produce… that?”

“None that I am aware of,” Malekh muttered, almost to himself. “The First of the Vampires was said to have borne wings, but they resembled an eagle’s rather than a bat’s.”

“It wasn’t the damn tree’s doing.” Valenbonne spat on the floor. “No one from the Second Court ever sprouted bloody wings!” He turned. “I want a dozen more scouts surveying the area. If either the Night Empress or her coven are sighted, they are to report to me immediately. I want this region secured. Little use in protecting that if we do not root out the rest still hiding in Aluria.”

“We will take our leave as well,” Malekh said. “I need to return to my court and make my own preparations.”

Xiaodan was still awake and alert. Unlike the others, who persisted in distancing themselves from the smoking rubble, she perched atop the sole remaining wall, looking about with a contemplative gaze.

“I don’t know,” she said when Remy approached her, before he could even voice his questions out loud. “I could be wrong, but it felt like she took a bit of the sunbringer into herself. She had none of my tolerance for it, and it weakened her.” She glanced ruefully down at her hands. “The light that sparked between us—that was not my doing. I’m beginning to believe that, had I brought the full force of the sun on her at Elouve, we would both be dead. It must be what Lilith did to kill the Night King.” She shivered at the thought. The shadows under her eyes were darker, and there was a faint tremor in her limbs as she shifted. “But I hesitated, and that might have saved my life. And now, I am sorry to have put you all in danger. Again.”

“I chose to be here.” Remy looked down as Xiaodan had reached out to take his hand. “She tried to use me to kill you. She used me to…” He choked before he could say Naji’s name. “Let’s go back to Malekh’s court, wherever it is. We’ll need his beautiful mind for this.”

She managed a faint laugh. “If you thought Chànggē Shuĭ was impressive, wait until you see the Fata Morgana. It’s rather well suited for Malekh.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

Lord Valenbonne approached Remy only just as the army was ready to depart for the northern border. “Seems like recent events have not dulled your association with these court vampires.” He said it conversationally, as if he were discussing something as trite as the weather. “I trust that you’ve told them little else of Alurian politics.”

“Of course not,” Remy lied.

Valenbonne smiled like he didn’t believe him. “As the Third Court king intends to make haste for his court, I’ll be sending word to you there. You remember our usual signals?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I presume Lord Malekh and Lady Song are still adamant about meeting the other surviving courts to discuss their next steps against the First. The Sixth Court leader has proven tractable, at least. They have offered to defend the eastern borders. Keep a close eye on these clans. Learn who among them will be steadfast, and who must be cut down with the Night Empress.”

Valenbonne chuckled. “It’s not too late for you to join us as we move to finish securing Hallifax’s territory, my boy. It should be easy enough to stamp out the rest of the vampire rebellions while their mistress still licks at her wounds, and Yost’s vials have been effective with the mutations there. Hallifax will forfeit those lands soon enough, and we can add them to Aluria once we have ended the unrest. Queen Ophelia is impressed with you, my boy. There would be title and prestige awaiting you, but none of that, should you continue to travel with these vampires, even if they are court leaders. You could be the lord of more territories, far more than as the next Lord Valenbonne—”

“Armiger,” Remy said, unable to stop himself. “Not lord.”

“What absurd nonsense are you spouting again? You are a lord, and that is far more—”

“And this, Father, is why I know that everything you say is engineered to benefit yourself first and foremost. If you cannot even allow me the dignity to be called a title of my own choosing that impacts you little, then you will not care to do more. I will remain with the court nobles.”

“Are you still frustrated that I sought to use your blood without permission?” Valenbonne gestured at Grimesworthy, at the other horrifying creatures waiting patiently for their master’s next orders. “This was always your problem, Remington: your inability to see what is good for the kingdom. Aluria has benefited from our work, and she shall continue to do so in years to come. You should be pleased.”

“Pleased?” Remy was shouting, and he no longer cared about the way heads turned in their direction, hearing his every word. “Did you think I would be pleased when you forced me to wield Breaker at seven years old, mocked for my every mistake? When you abandoned me in those caves to take the queen’s ear before Astonbury could? To whore me out to every willing woman in the ton to find the secrets he was unwilling to provide you with? For all your talk of sacrifice and of seeing to the safety of Aluria, you neglect to mention that it was I you were constantly sacrificing!”

“You dare speak to me this way?” Valenbonne snapped. “I protected you from those who conspired against us! I taught you everything you needed to ensure your survival, and this is how you repay my goodwill?”

“The same goodwill that you showed Mother?” He broke my heart, the Night Empress had whispered to him. Remy didn’t trust her, but he believed the pain in her voice.

Valenbonne’s face was red with rage. He took a step toward him, but just as quickly, Malekh stood next to Remy. “We are ready to depart,” he said calmly, as if he had heard nothing untoward between them. “Lord Valenbonne, we shall be taking our leave.”

“We are indebted to you for your help, Lord Malekh.” The Marquess of Riones did not move quite as quickly as the vampire lord, but it was not for wont of trying, and he was slightly breathless by the time he reached the older man’s side. “A Reaper’s work is never done, as they say. Should you require any assistance from us in turn, I am sure that Queen Ophelia would be most pleased to hear from you.”

“I would be glad to establish more frequent communications with Her Majesty as soon as we are settled back at my court.” Lord Malekh bowed to him and then to Valenbonne. He gave what he likely thought was a light tug at Remy’s arm, nearly yanking him off his feet. “Let us go, Pendergast.”

Remy gave Riones a quick nod and turned. He ignored his father completely but felt the man’s eyes on him the rest of the way back to their carriage, where Xiaodan and the helhests waited.

---

XIAODAN HAD tried her best to stay awake but succumbed to exhaustion only minutes after they had left the Alurian army behind. Malekh sat inside the coach with them, allowing the helhests to select their route. Xiaodan’s head was on his lap this time, and the unassuming way the man was saying nothing was making Remy itch.

“I should not have lost my temper,” he finally blurted out, too impatient to let Malekh broach the topic first. “He’s the commander of the army now, and all he can think about is how we haven’t rebounded from the years when Astonbury was in charge—”

“He’s refused to call you Armiger all this time?”

Remy hesitated. “Yes. He said that it was a frivolous fancy, and that I would grow out of it soon enough. When I did not, he’d taken to calling me Lord deliberately, as if daring me to contest him. Today was the first time I pushed back.”

“Seems to me that everyone else needed to hear it, then.”

Remy glanced at him, startled.

“But perhaps I am biased. I am no stranger to turning against my own sire. I know the strength that requires, to challenge someone to whom you feel beholden but who has hurt you nonetheless. And it took me far longer to stand up for myself than it took you.”

“I must be hearing things,” Remy said hoarsely. “Is it the hunger talking? I have not seen you eat since we started—um, other than what you took from me.”

“Eugenie was kind enough to supply me with blood to refresh myself with. But it would be best to prepare yourself once we arrive at my holdings, though. There are a few in my court who were excellent chefs when they were human, and you shall be needing sustenance soon enough.”

Remy stared at him, but Malekh kept his gaze on Xiaodan’s sleeping face. “The furniture I keep at the Morgana,” the lord added languidly after a significant pause, “is far sturdier than that at the Rocksplen inn,” and this time it was Remy who jerked his eyes away, flushing.

“I shouldn’t have yelled,” he muttered. “I don’t know what came over me, doing that in front of the other Reapers—”

“You are dealing with the possibility that there is more to your mother than even we know, if her wings are any indication. Your father is weathering the same shock, hence his attempts to take forceful control of the situation, and of you.”

“What do you mean by that? Is my mother more than just kindred?”

“There is little to say there that is not speculation on my part,” Malekh said slowly. “Once more information is at hand, you will be the first to know.”

“Somehow, it feels all the more worrying when you say it that way.”

“In any case, I have taken samples of the bloodwood sap. We may learn more of its origins once we return to the Morgana and my laboratory.”

It was a relief to finally spot the Third Court castle when it loomed into view—and then Remy did a double take, goggling at the sight. Where Chànggē Shuĭ had been a beautiful albeit abandoned cluster of Qing-ye architecture surrounded by obsidian towers, Malekh’s domain was an overly detailed monstrosity that would not have been out of place in some of the self-indulgent, overwritten gothic fiction that Remy still enjoyed. It looked exactly like the type of dark citadel villains cowered within; imposing black towers devoid of light stood starkly against gray skies, and Remy thought the stench of decay and blood could thrive here from ambiance alone. It looked far too large, like a city of near-Elouvian proportions.

As their carriage approached, the sides of the fortress folded out, revealing more secreted within. The outer walls lowered unexpectedly, each one like its own drawbridge, as if the castle was unfurling in all directions. The result was not unlike layers of onion slowly peeling away, though Remy did not think that Malekh would welcome the comparison.

No. Not quite an onion. The fortress wore its multilayered walls like armor. It would be highly effective against anyone attempting a siege against the Third Court castle.

Remy hadn’t even noticed until the fog lifted high enough that the Fata Morgana was situated in the middle of a lake, and they would need to traverse a narrow bridge to reach the castle—another mechanical device fashioned by complicated cogs and wheels that rose up from beneath the water’s surface to permit them passage, and would no doubt slide back into its depths once they had crossed. Remy was no expert, but he thought it was a tempered combination of silver and steel, possibly the same combination Aluria used to manufacture fire lances: some strong alloy that could withstand immersion underwater without fear of rust, much like his Breaker.

“Her Majesty would kill to make off with your bridge,” he said, impressed. “Silver is a rare enough resource, and I’m surprised no one’s tried to poach it from you.”

“Some have tried,” Malekh said darkly as they made it past the crossing. It promptly folded up behind them and sludged back into the waters.

The real castle past the lowered walls was still just as black and as brooding as its exterior—because of course Malekh would strive for a symmetry of design. What annoyed Remy, however slightly, was the absence of any grinding mechanical noises expected of something of this size and scale. The whole place functioned like a well-oiled machine, dutifully tended to forestall any breaks in the mechanism, and while he was used to Malekh being hyper-efficient, it was staggering to think of the energy and labor required for their maintenance.

The inhabitants of the castle were not what Remy had envisioned, either. Waiting for them by the entrance was a motherly-looking woman, stout and pleasant, with a farmer’s wife’s air about her. With her were several youths still too young for Remy to determine if they had the ageless appearance that outed a vampire heritage.

“We’ve been waiting for you since this morning, milord,” she chided Malekh. “Carmen was in such a state, fearing that you’d run into some fresh trouble.”

“Was that why you chose to raise the outer wards?”

“I had no way of asking your leave to do so, but you’ve always said that we must make snap decisions in times of uncertainty. And Graf and Solis have been reporting unusual sightings of vampires in the area. We thought it best to err on the side of caution. Something did happen, didn’t it?”

“A bloodwood at Meridian Keep, and the Night Empress in repose within.”

The woman winced. “The Second Court’s old lair isn’t all that far. I shudder to think that she would be so close. Did you kill her?”

“Not yet.”

“More’s the shame.” The woman peered at Remy and smiled. “And is this the young Reaper you wrote would be visiting us? Hello, dear one. My name is Agatha. Quite a pleasure to meet you,”

“The same, ma’am,” Remy said carefully, “though I can’t say most vampires would be delighted at the chance.”

“Nonsense. All are welcomed here at the Morgana. It would be hypocritical of us to turn anyone away.”

“He doesn’t really look like much, after hearing all that about him,” one of the youths said, examining Remy critically. “Reckon I can take him out in a fight.”

Another beside him snorted. “You ain’t good enough to beat me yet, so don’t be shouting your mouth off elsewhere, Renzo. I can take him on better than you can.”

“Renzo! Barnabas!” Agatha said sharply. “Begging your pardon, Armiger Pendergast. These boys are a trial even on good days, and they’ve been chomping at the bit to catch sight of their first Reaper. You’re a rarity here, as you say, but I will ensure they and the other children don’t bother you much.”

“It’s no trouble, milady,” Remy said, smiling. “I know what it’s like to be a wayward youth myself.”

“I have rooms ready for you. A beautiful view of Lake Reidwele below us, and a bit of the Galeos Sea out on the horizon. Sanlea is quite pleased to hear that another human has arrived. She used to be the head chef for King Arsentil, you know. The best in all of Lusenig, she’d always boasted, though I imagine those places have long been forgotten now, as was the king.”

Malekh left them briefly to take Xiaodan from the carriage, while the other boys trotted off obediently to see to the helhests’ needs. Agatha sighed heavily upon spotting the sleeping Fourth Court heiress.

“The poor mistress,” she said sadly. “Can you cure what ails her, milord?”

“I will,” Malekh said with quiet confidence. “In time. Has anything of note transpired while we were away, the intrusion of other kindred in our lands besides?”

Here the woman fidgeted. “Well, Lady Fanglei of the Sixth has been sending us letters as of late, and has been quite persistent in demanding an answer.”

“Have you responded?”

“No, milord. I thought it more prudent to await your arrival.”

“Good. Continue to give her no reply. Pendergast, come with us.”

Remy gave the woman an awkward bow, then followed Malekh. As he had thought, the Fata Morgana’s interior was built to be as forbidding as it had looked from the outside. The windows were small, the walls made of rougher but sturdy material, and he was unsure if they were painted black or if the color was natural.

But all of that was offset by the furniture. Like the pieces at Chànggē Shuĭ, they were comfortable and well used. There had been attempts to introduce white, silky curtains in some of the rooms they passed. Some even had tasteful floral patterns, and Remy was certain that Malekh’s input had not been asked for there.

There were vases in every room containing different varieties of flowers that added color to the walls. Where portraits of austere-looking ancestors would have hung within the long hallways like they had at Loxley House, there were bright landscape paintings depicting happier scenes: children playing, horses cantering merrily across fields, farmers tending to their crops. The chairs, slightly worn but not in any terrible state of disrepair, came in practically every size and shape.

Where Chànggē Shuĭ had been sparsely inhabited, the people living here were enough to make up a good-sized town. There were soldiers sparring in the courtyard who stood to attention and smartly saluted Malekh when he and Remy passed. There were workers and craftsmen in abundance, carting wood, hard metals, and other resources to and fro, and Remy spotted a forge near one of the gatehouses, large enough to have satisfied even Elke.

There were vampires that could have passed for ordinary townsfolk. Remy would not have known they were kindred if not for the sudden hint of fang whenever one laughed, which they often did. They wore clothes better made than in other villages he’d been to and were busy mending outfits, selling wares from stalls, or standing about, engaged in animated conversation.

There were children; so, so many children. Remy did not think that they were vampires, but they ran freely among the kindred without fear, laughing as they played games on the cobblestones.

“You’re liable to catch flies or worse with your mouth open like that,” Malekh noted calmly. They were climbing up a third set of stairs, leading to the upper floor where Remy suspected Malekh and Xiaodan’s chambers lay, but he kept glancing out the windows at the people below.

“Your castle’s facade is exactly how I imagined it would be. But the rest…” Remy waved a hand around vaguely, “I never thought your home would be so… cheerful. Or brimming with people who look rather ordinary. I mean, I shouldn’t have been so surprised.”

“How so?”

“Xiaodan said your castle resembled you, and she was right. You pass yourself off as cold, but in truth, you’re kind. Generous enough to allow all these people in.”

Malekh stopped walking, and Remy yelped when he bumped into him. The vampire lord stared down at him, expression unreadable.

“That wasn’t meant to offend,” Remy added quickly, but couldn’t help an, “I know how prickly you can get when anyone so much as implies you have emotions just like the rest of us.”

The man gazed at him for a minute longer, then turned abruptly to resume his walk without responding. Remy followed him into a room he immediately recognized as a laboratory—one larger and much more fully equipped than what the Third Court king had overseen at Chànggē Shuĭ.

Men and women in pristine white coats immediately dropped what they had been working on, and lined up to greet Malekh.

“My lord!” One man stepped forward, a ginger-haired youth with bright green eyes and a nervous, excitable air who did not look all that older than Remy and was unquestionably not kindred. “You’re back! Given all the reports we’d heard, we were worried that—” he faltered, eyes moving down to the figure Malekh carried. “Has Lady Xiaodan overspent herself again, milord?”

“As is her penchant, yes.”

The others were already moving, practiced and sure. By the time Malekh had laid Xiaodan gently down on one of the feather beds at the far side of the room, they were already strapping odd devices on her arms and hands. One had placed a small, gelatinous-looking bag on a small table beside the sleeping girl and was sliding a needle connected to it through a long tube into her skin. All worked with a familiar measure that told Remy they were used to treating Xiaodan.

“You would do well to rest yourself, milord,” the redheaded man told Malekh. “I can tell that you’ve traveled long without much sustenance of your own.”

“I can spare a few more hours.”

“Be that as it may, you must take the time while milady is asleep to see to your own needs. Farfair and Daskell should be back soon with fresh blood for everyone.”

“I have more than enough on hand.”

“I don’t see a—” The doctor’s eyes flicked to Remy, and a sudden blush turned his face as scarlet as his hair. He swooped down so low that his head practically touched his knees. “Ah, b-begging your pardon. You must be the young Reaper Pendergast. Spencer’s the name, but I go by Speck for the most part.” He gestured at the others. “Beatrix, Tinsley, Roald, Wits, and Yusuf. We oversee the laboratory in his lordship’s absence. I meant no insult—”

“None taken,” Remy said quickly. “And thank you for taking care of Xiaodan. She’s always been a little headstrong.”

Speck swallowed a sudden spurt of laughter. “That she is. She has given us no end to worry whenever she—” He flushed again. “Not that it’s not within her right, knowing the responsibilities she takes on, on our behalf.”

“Find me again, should her condition change,” Malekh said, sparing the young doctor any further embarrassment. “You are right. It would do me good to recuperate so that Xiaodan will have little fault to find in my own condition once she wakes.”

Another of the physicians, Wits, nodded happily. “Leave her to us, milord,” she said. “She’ll be up and about in no time.”

They all looked too busy tending to Xiaodan to be further acquainted, so Remy bowed low and followed Malekh out of the room. The Summer Lord said nothing else, stepping back into the hallway, walking some ways along it before stopping at the only other door that Remy could see along the corridor, opening it to reveal a large private chamber waiting within—no doubt the man’s personal quarters, one he shared with his fiancée.

“Should I look for Agatha?” Remy asked, not without a trace of self-consciousness. “She mentioned rooms being prepared for me, and I shouldn’t be imposing when—”

He was yanked forward without warning into the room with Malekh as the latter closed the door shut behind them. “You still talk too much,” the Third Court ruler said, and just as quickly, Remy found himself pressed against the wall, Malekh’s mouth on his.

“I thought you were angry about my opinions of your castle,” he gasped out once he finally came up for air.

“If you thought that was enough to make me angry at you, then why did you talk incessantly for days?”

“To get your attention.”

“You have it. Will you turn me down?”

Remy watched the slight tightening of his mouth, the rigid way he held himself as if bracing for rejection.

I’m not okay, Remy thought. Xiaodan isn’t okay, and no matter how hard he tries to pretend otherwise, neither is Malekh.

“I won’t,” he whispered.