Page 187 of Castings & Curses

While Cristian was off gaining glory fighting by the side of the Voivode of Wallachia, Vlad Dracula, Mirea had been caring for his own father, Claudiu, who’d lost everything when Darius Lazar ruthlessly undercut him in every aspect of business. Whether it be wheat, linen, or wine, every sale fell through as Darius stole the business away, building his empire at the cost of Claudiu’s sanity. Eventually, his family destitute, and driven by desperation, Mirea had honed his skills at gambling and learned that drunken soldiers and arrogant nobles were easy to cheat, and easy to beat. He was good at it too.

Good enough to finally start taking back from Darius Lazar that which meant the most to him: his precious land.

Mirea’s revenge would not stop now that Darius Lazar had died, of course. The son was as great a greedy fool as his father had been, not even satisfied with a mortal life. When Mirea had heard rumors that Cristian had become a vampire, at first, he’d been bemused, then…concerned. For a strong vampire could wreak havoc amongst his villages and people. A vengeful vampire could destroy the one thing Mirea truly cared about: his wife and children. Finally, a whisper of jealousy had slithered through Mirea as he thought of himself aging, failing, dying, while Lazar carried on, undoubtedly amassing more wealth and territory than Mirea ever could.

Leaving the light and music of the village behind, Mirea kicked his horse into a gallop along a shadowed path in the woods toward the bog where few ventured. Populated by vipers and fearsome creatures, it was rumored to be haunted. Even if those tales were mere fancies, there were very real patches of soft ground in which he and his horse could flounder and sink to a dreadful suffocating death, with no one around to hear Mirea’s cries for help. Nevertheless, he put spurs to flank and urged his mount to lengthen his stride.

The moon was high, and the time was short. His spies had told him where to find the hide-covered hut.

At last, he saw it, and standing beside it, a tall, gaunt figure holding a sputtering torch whose flame only made his pale, drawn face more ghastly. Mirea dismounted, tied his horse’s reins tightly to a fallen tree, and approached. The pale being beckoned him in through a door hung with strings of animal bones.

Mirea turned to the silent figure, his hand resting on the hilt of his silver sword. “I desire the gift of eternal life.”

The vampire’s slight smile sent a chill down Mirea’s spine, and he murmured, “I can grant you all that you desire and more. But know this—such gifts come with a price, a heavy burden that you must bear.”

In answer, Mirea tore the collar of his shirt and bared his throat to him.

There was no price too high for revenge against Cristian Lazar.

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