Seeds of Sorrow (Immortal Realms Book 1)

The air was cold, the scent of rain blowing in off the ocean. The corpse lay crumpled at the bottom of the cliffs. From the lack of splatter, Draven could tell the body had been drained of all blood before being dumped below.

“You couldn’t bother to collect it?” Draven peered over at Travion, who stood beside him, hands on his hips as he looked down at the shore below.

Travion offered him a dry look. “Yes, because I have nothing better to do than fetch bodies myself.”

Pointing to Hannelore, Draven motioned down at the lifeless form. “Send two of your soldiers down to retrieve the body.” He stepped back from the edge and drew a hand through his hair.

“I thought we dealt with this at the border villages,” Travion growled.

“As did I.” But the vampires were upset, and it was an issue that clearly ran deeper than simply being unhappy feeding in the ways he had stipulated. He wasn’t certain what it was going to take to right the problems.

Draven watched Captain Hannelore and another harpy land before him, the limp body in their arms. Carefully, and with a reverence for the dead that only those who were already dead could have, they laid the man at their feet.

At the sight of the puncture holes in the man’s throat, he sighed. Draven had hoped perhaps this was something else.

“The child didn’t lie. Vampire,” Travion muttered at his side.

“It would appear so.” Draven found himself caught by something strange about the sight of the puncture holes. Uncertain what it was, he knelt, a hand slipping beneath the corpse’s head to angle it back, exposing the throat more plainly. Draven frowned. His thumb traced the outside of one hole, gently tugging on it to look at the edging of the wound.

“Do these holes look too clean to you?” he asked Hannelore, who unfurled her wings a little so that she could stoop down beside him.

“That’s odd . . . ” Her words trailed off in her own confusion.

“Too clean?” Travion asked from above him.

“Vampire teeth, while sharp, still tear the flesh when they pierce it. There is no tearing on these holes. Brushing his thumb over the holes, Draven sent a thrum of magic into them, and hissed when residual magic bit back. “This wasn’t a vampire.”

Draven dropped the head back to the ground and stood.

“Then what the hell—” Travion began.

“It was done through magic.” He studied his brother. “Do you have someone who opposes your rule? That might look to cause trouble here?”

Travion’s fingers ran along his short-cropped beard—which still showed signs of singeing from their battle with the chimera—as he glared down at the dead body as if it were to blame for all of his troubles. “Don’t we all?” He sighed. “And here I had hoped this was just further proof you were doing a terrible job in Andhera.”

Draven shot him a glower of his own, only to receive a shrug and a clap on the back in response.

“All hell is breaking loose, isn’t it, brother?”

“This one was left at the base of your castle, Travion. They wanted it to appear as if my people were attacking yours right beneath your nose. They are either looking to stir up issues between us or make one or both of us look incompetent.” Draven knew that his brother would never believe it was something Draven was doing on purpose. A bond had been forged between them in the pits of Ludari’s hell that could never be broken. Just as Draven would never willingly allow harm to come to Travion ever again, his younger brother could be just as fiercely protective of him.

“If I didn’t know Zryan was too busy with his head buried between another conquest’s thighs, I’d think he were trying to discredit us,” Travion muttered, mostly joking.

Draven snorted. “Too busy and too disinterested. He barely has a desire to rule his own kingdom, let alone the middle and dark realms as well.”

“If only it were so easy an answer.”

“You said there were more bodies along the coast?”

“Six in total.” Travion knelt, brushing his thumb along the wound to discover the bite of magic that resided within the flesh. “I will check the remainder and let you know what I find. Head back before the sun catches you.”

Draven nodded. “Inform me if you come across the culprit.”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

Leaving his brother, Draven returned to his soldiers. While he didn’t wish trouble on his brother’s head, he was pleased that for once, this hadn’t stemmed from his people.

Mynata was there in the hallway when Draven returned to Aasha, like a spider waiting expectantly on her web.

“Draven.” She paused as he shot her a look. “Your Grace,” she corrected herself, “welcome home.”

“Mynata.” Draven continued walking down the hall, the gray velvet cape clipped to his right shoulder flapping as he went.

“Speak with me? Please?” Her hand reached for his wrist to stop him.

Restraining a growl, Draven paused and turned his head to look down at her. “Now is not the time.”

“Please,” she pleaded.

He sighed but nodded, turning to look at her. “What?”

“Why?” she asked. “Why her?”

“Why who, Mynata?” Draven asked, irritated.

“Eden. You’ve always said that you would never take a bride. That you didn’t need a queen. Yet you’ve chosen someone from outside of Andhera. A mere youngling from Lucem . . . of all places.”

“Of all places?” Draven’s brow lifted. “It is where I came from myself.”

Mynata stepped closer to him. “But it’s not who you are. Not anymore.” Her dark brown eyes moved over his face, sizing up his lack of reaction.

“And it won’t always be who she is either.” He looked Mynata over, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe. “You were once a child of light. But look at you now.”

Mynata tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I also chose this land, as did my parents. Draven, she’s not what you need.” Her hand closed around his wrist once more, and he growled in warning at the touch.

“You know nothing of me.”

“But I do. I do know you. I’ve known you for centuries.” She stepped closer still, her hand sliding up his arm to rest on his elbow.

“Let me correct myself. You know nothing of what I need.”

“I do!” The volume of her voice rose, frustration lighting her eyes. “I am Andherian . . . I know this land, and I know its people.”

Draven pulled himself from her clutches and leaned down. “Let me be perfectly clear with you. Even if Eden were not here, you would still not be my choice of wife. We are not suited.”

Mynata took a step back, upset and hurt visible in her eyes.

“There is darkness in both of us, Mynata. I need someone to pull me out of the pits of this hell. Eden can do that. You cannot.”

“I can!” This time her voice was almost a shout. “I will do whatever it takes to prove that I am fit to be your queen!”

Draven’s head tipped slightly to the side, his eyes growing more intense as he studied her. “Mynata,” he rasped. “Did you have something to do with my blood ending up in Eden?” This time, it was Draven closing the distance between them.

Mynata stood firm, but her body trembled lightly. “Of course not,” she whispered.

Draven invaded her space, his form towering over her petite one. “Gruff would only have done what he did on the behest of someone familiar to him.”

The vampiress shook her head. “I would never overstep in that way. Surely you know that.”

“Once, I would have thought so. Yet now, everywhere I turn, you seem to be here in the halls. What prey are you hoping to catch in that web of yours, Mynata?”

Her dark eyes sparked. “I thought I had already made myself clear on that?”

Draven shook his head. “Go home, Mynata. I haven’t time to deal with this right now. I have also made myself clear on the matter.” He left her then, heading toward his study.

He hadn’t lied. He had far too much to deal with to be bothered with the petty idea of love that Mynata clung to with no encouragement on his part.

Seurat, wonderful at anticipating his master’s needs, was there waiting for him at the study door, a goblet of fresh blood in his hand. Taking it, Draven nodded his thanks and stepped into the room. With a swipe of his hand, the torches were lit on the walls and flames lit in the fireplace; he didn’t need the heat, but the crackle was a pleasant and comforting background noise.

“How did Midniva go, sire?”

“Not well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Draven sunk down into his seat, settling into the wingback chair with an appearance of exhaustion. Some days, he truly missed sleep.

“Seurat . . . Mynata has been in the castle a lot lately.” His eyes drifted up to the other man as he took a sip of blood.

“Yes, she has been. Ever since Lady Eden arrived.”

“She feels threatened.” Draven’s hand brushed over his face. “Keep an eye on her please. I think there is a chance she had something to do with my blood ending up in Eden, and I don’t trust that we’ve seen the end of it.”

“Of course, sire.” There was a worried look on Seurat’s face.

“What is it, Seurat?” Draven pressed.

“Nothing, sire . . . I just thought you should be aware that Captain Channon and Sir Tulok provided Lady Eden with a knife . . . ”

“A knife?” he asked.

“A small one.”

“A knife,” he repeated blandly. Draven wasn’t certain if it was a relief to know that she was armed or if he should fear the likelihood she would stab herself—or someone else—accidentally with it. “Are they teaching her how to use it?”

“It appears Sir Tulok thought it suitable, and Captain Channon did not dispute it.”

“Well . . . perhaps this means she will at least know how to hold it.”

The last thing he needed was to have to inform Zryan that Eden had lost several fingers in an attempt to wield a small blade.