Zack looked about to explode when Myra told him the Prince wanted to think on their proposal and requested another meeting in a week’s time. To her surprise, it was Andre who came to her defense. He spoke about the Prince being a reasonable man and said that he believed the Resistance could negotiate with him.
Zack had decided to invite Franka to the council, and Myra kept trying to catch the old woman’s eyes. Every time she did, Franka glared daggers at her. At the end, Zack agreed to wait, and Andre retired to the healing quarters, where Dr. Dubois would supervise his recovery.
After Zack dismissed the council, Myra hurried after Franka. “I need to speak to you,” she whispered. “Alone.”
Franka looked back and glared at her. Myra sighed. “I know you’re angry at me, and you have every right to be. I promised to help you get your revenge on the Prince, and I never did. But I won’t fail you next time.”
The old woman rolled her eyes. “Fine. Come with me.”
They reached an empty cellar. Myra lit a candle with one of the torches in the corridor, and they walked inside, closing the door behind them. Franka crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Speak.”
Myra could barely discern Franka’s silhouette in the darkness and saw nothing of her face. She took a deep breath. “I have a confession to make. The Prince was still in the cave when I got there. I let him get away.”
Franka snorted. “Why am I not surprised?”
“That’s not all,” Myra continued. “I promised the Prince to let Tristan escape. He never planned to negotiate with us in the first place.”
Franka was silent. Myra could see nothing of her expression in the darkness and waited in silence, her heart clenching. A weight formed inside her stomach, dragging her down. She felt as if she was about to throw up.
“Why are you telling me this?” Franka said at last. “You don’t expect me to justify your decision, do you? You know I’m the last person to do that.”
“But I do need you to justify my decision,” Myra said, voice shaking. “I’ve decided to betray the Prince. I won’t let Tristan escape. I’ll help keep him here, as a bargaining chip, and will use him to force the Prince to destroy the WeatherWizard. I need you to convince me I’m doing the right thing.”
Even in the murky darkness, she could see Franka throwing her hands in the air. “Why on earth would you need justification for that? It’s so obviously the right thing to do, I’ve no idea why we are even discussing this.”
“You don’t understand,” Myra said. “The Prince had the chance to hurt me and feed me to Tristan so they could both escape, but he didn’t do it. He allowed us to capture Tristan to spare me, and I promised him to let Tristan go. If I betray him now, then I’m worse than him. I’m worse than a vampire.”
She squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of Franka’s expression, but her eyes could not penetrate the darkness. “I’d lose what makes me human,” she continued. “What’s the point of winning if we lose our humanity? Then, even if we destroy the Wizard and win, the world will still be ruled by monsters. Only this time, the monsters will be us.”
Franka snorted. “Your self-absorption never fails to astound me.”
Myra raised the candle closer to the old woman’s face, trying to make out her features. “What do you mean?”
“If you betray His Evilness, people won’t lose their humanity,” Franka said. “Only you will. It’s called making a sacrifice. People of the Old World did it all the time.”
Franka grabbed the candle from Myra’s hand. Her blue eyes were pale under the flame, and wisps of white hair framed her wizened face. “Soldiers fought to protect their loved ones,” she continued. “And, suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder after all the horrors they had seen, many couldn’t reintegrate into society. But their people were safe. If you do this, perhaps you’ll indeed lose what you call your humanity. Perhaps you won’t feel like you belong with your community. But you’re doing this for your people.”
Tears came to Myra’s eyes, and she blinked them away. “Thank you,” she said softly. “This actually helps.”
Myra stood inside her cellar, holding Vlad’s book in her hands. Perhaps she had to burn it, like she had burnt that story long ago, to avoid the temptation to change her mind. But Vlad’s words drifted back to her. Do you know what kind of people, historically, burned books? No, no matter the final goal, burning books was never the answer. She simply had to stay strong.
She tucked the book underneath her blanket and laid down on the cot. Her mind reeled. This was it, then? She would betray Vlad and give up her humanity, but would hopefully give the Resistance a chance. A week from now, she would have to face Vlad and tell him her decision. But first, she had to face Tristan.
Her hand flew to the bite on her neck. She could still feel his teeth, piercing her skin. She felt her blood flowing inside his body as they became one being. And now she would face him, give him the chocolate Vlad had sent, and tell him she had no plans to help him escape.
Sleep came and went that night. Myra woke up over and over again and then drifted off once again, dreaming of blood.
“Get up! Now.”
Myra blinked, staring at Zack’s blurry face, illuminated by the torch he was carrying. “Zack, what’s happening?” she asked as she crawled out of her cot. “Is there an emergency?”
To her shock, he approached her and grabbed her by the collar. “Did you do it?”
She was fully awake now, but it did nothing to alleviate her confusion. “Did what? Zack, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
“Don’t tell me you had nothing to do with this,” he yelled. “Where is he?”
“Where is who? Zack, please, start from the beginning.”
He froze, looking at her carefully, his head tilted to the side. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” he asked and sighed when she shook her head. He released her collar and watched silently as Myra massaged her bruised neck. “The prisoner is gone.”