Page 145 of Dragon Slayer

In an instant, all his loose-limbed contentedness evaporated. He straightened. “What? Mother, you know that you–”

She silenced him with a hand. She turned to him, and that was when he saw that her dress was – unconventional. The bodice was supported by a tightly-laced leather corset, worn on the outside, one designed to cover and support her breasts, rather than flaunt their curves. The skirt was split down the middle, revealing a man’s breeches and riding boots worn beneath. Bracers pretty enough to be decorative encased her wrists, but were certainly functional. Her hair was braided tight, out of the way.

“With the exception of Cicero, Fenrir, and Helga, all of your men think your father was married to the princess. They don’t know who I am – nor who I amto you. For all my faults, I certainly don’t look my age.” Bitter smile. “They will think I am your lover.”

His stomach turned, and he made a face.

“They will. Rumors can’t hurt me – I’m only a mistress.Wasonly a mistress.”

“Mother–”

“No, listen. I loved your father dearly, but I was of little practical use to him. You are a man, and I respect that, but you are also short on men at the moment.” She lifted her chin. “I am tired of being a pretty girl kept in a tower. I want to fight. Icanfight. Let me serve you in that way.”

He stared at her, helpless.

Her voice cracked. “I don’t want to be left behind anymore, Vlad, locked up in my own skirts, weeping over my family. What good are an immortal’s powers if I never use them? Let me fight with you. Let me help you get Val back. Please.”

What could he say? “They’ll know you’re a woman.”

She smiled, grim. “Let them know. I’m not worried aboutthat.”

The sound reached both of them at the same time, faint, but growing closer, and they turned to the window. Nothing but a smudge against the coming dawn, a lone rider approached from the city, hoofbeats a sharp tattoo against the hard-packed ground of the road.

“A messenger,” Eira said.

Vlad drew himself upright and pushed his shoulders back. “Well, let’s see which coward finally decided to reply to me.” And he went to fetch his boots.

~*~

“‘My dear Lord Dracula,’” Vlad read aloud for the room to hear. “‘Allow me first to offer my deep and sincere condolences on the loss of your father, and of your brother. They were men of scant honor, but doubtless you loved them.

“‘If your letter is to be believed, then it would appear that you’ve taken control of the palace at Tîrgoviste. I commend your cunning and bravery; it is no mean feat, especially given that you are only a boy of seventeen. But I must inform you that, here and now, such foolishness ends. Being that I am of far superior arms and number, a trained veteran to your green youth, it would be extremely ill-advised for you to pursue the course on which you’ve set yourself.

“‘You are hereby ordered to present yourself to me as soon as possible, so that you may explain your actions – this vile, ungentlemanly usurpation of power – and so that you may explain what you have done with the governor of Transylvania, His Grace John Hunyadi.’”

The parchment quivered in his grip before he forced his hands to still. The study was silent save the call of birds beyond the open window, and the snapping of the fire on the grate.

Cicero, teeth bared throughout the reading, went now blank-faced with surprise. “Your grace…did the letter notcomefrom John Hunyadi?”

“It’s signed by the Transylvanian vice-governor, Nicolae Ocna,” Vlad said, passing the letter to his Familiar.

“Obviously, you can’t go to meet with him,” Eira said. “It’s a trap.”

“Obviously,” Vlad echoed. “But what the hell’s happened to Hunyadi?” He looked at the surrounding faces in turn. “Do any of you know?”

Fenrir shrugged. “I’ve been in the dungeon, lad.”

Leave it to Fen not to lean on formality; it was refreshing, given all the titles thrown at him lately.

“We’ve heard nothing here,” Eira said. She looked startled, disturbed.

“The lad,” Fenrir said. “The messenger.”

Vlad said, “Right.” He shouted toward the door, “Malik Bey!”

The door opened and the janissary entered, polished and composed as ever. “Yes, your grace?”

“Bring the boy. The messenger. I wish to question him.”

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