Lothaire (Immortals After Dark #12)(5)

No one answered.

“Father!”

Mortals in the distance gave shouts as they neared.

“Papa?” She swayed on her feet, her expression . . . lost. “I know I sensed him and others.”

So had Lothaire. Immortals of great power had been here. Why not rescue their princess?

Crimson tears slid down her beautiful face as she dropped to her knees. “We were so close.” The proud Ivana began to dig into the snow, using her claws to stab through the permanent layers of ice.

Even as her claws tore off and her fingers began to bleed she continued digging. “How low I’ve been brought, Lothaire. When you remember me, recall not this.”

With each handful of ice, a hole grew. “You are the son of a king, the grandson of a king. Do not ever forget that!” When the skin on her fingertips began to peel away, he tried to help her, but she slapped his hands, seeming nigh maddened. Finally, she pulled him into the small pit she’d made. “Come. Hide here.”

“I must make it deeper, Mother. There’s not enough room.”

She whispered, “There’s room enough. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

His eyes widened. She meant to fight them? “Trace from here alone,” he said, though he knew she was probably too weak even for that.

“Never! Now, what are your vows to me?”

“Mother, I—”

She snapped her fangs, her irises gone black. “Your vows!”

“Take the life of Stefanovich. Seize his throne.”

“Whom will you trust?”

“None but your father and my queen.”

More tears dropped. “No, your queen alone, Lothaire. Serghei and the Daci forsook us this day.”

“Why?”

“I led these mortals too close.” She gave a sob. “He chose the kingdom’s precious secrecy—over our lives. I am to pay for my brashness, for my lack of cunning. They make an example of me.”

Panic flared within Lothaire. “How will I find you? What do I do?”

“Once the humans are gone, my family will come for you. If not, you’ll do whatever it takes to survive. Remember all I’ve taught you.” She shoved her sleeve up her arm. “Drink, Lothaire.”

“Now?” He shook his head in confusion. “You cannot lose blood.”

“Obey me!” She bit into her wrist. “Lean your head back and part your lips.”

Unwillingly, he did, and she raised her arm over his upturned face, above his mouth. Her blood was rich, quickly warding off the chill.

She made him drink till the stream had ebbed to a trickle, till ice had formed on the wound. “Now listen. I will lead them away from you, distract them. They will take me—”

“Nooo!” he howled.

“Lothaire, listen! When they capture me, the need to protect me will rise up within you. You must ignore it and remain here. Ignore your instinct and rely on cold reason. As I failed to do with Stefanovich. As I failed to do a thousand times. Vow this!”

“You want me to hide? To not defend you against those creatures?” Embarrassing tears welled.

“Yes, this is precisely what I want. Son, your mind is the brightest I’ve ever encountered. Use it. Do not repeat my mistakes!” She gripped his chin. “You’ve one last vow to give me. A vow to the Lore that you will not leave this spot until the mortals are gone.”

To the Lore? ’Twas an unbreakable vow! He wanted to rail, to deny her this. How could he not defend her?

She raised her chin. “Lothaire, I . . . beg you for this.”

A proud princess of the Daci begging one like me? His lips parted in shock. Words tumbled from them. “I vow it to the Lore.”

“Very good.” She pressed a cool kiss to his brow. “I want you never, never to be brought this low again.” Over his frantic protests, she began to bury him in the snow. “Become the king you were born to be.”

“Mother, please! H-how can you do this?”

“Because you are my son. My heart. I will do whatever it takes to protect you.” They met gazes. “Lothaire, anything that was worthy in me began with you.”

He refused to believe this would be the last time he saw her, refused to tell his mother how much he loved her—

She whispered, “I know,” then cocooned him in snow.

Warmed by her blood, he lay huddled, quaking with fear for her. His eyes darted, seeing nothing.

Had she swept to her feet, sprinting back in the mortals’ direction? In time, he heard her struggles from a distance, could feel the vibrations of a number of footfalls. What must be dozens of humans surrounded her. He clenched his fists, battling his frenzied yearning to save her.

Yet Lothaire was powerless—bound by his vow and undermined by his weakness.

His stifled yells of frustration turned to scalding tears when he heard the clanking of chains, her muffled screams.

The guttural sounds of men.

He’d been raised in Helvita under the wicked reign of Stefanovich; Lothaire knew what those mortals were doing to her.

As he fought not to vomit the precious blood she’d gifted him, he resolved that he would become one of the Fallen, preying on other creatures for strength.

He might grow mad with bloodlust; never would he be helpless again. . . .