Even Immortals Can Be Killed – an excerpt of Sunrise and Nightfall
by Kimberly Kinrade & Dmytry Karpov
[image error]He’ll risk everything to save her life.
She’ll sacrifice it all to save his soul.
Danika Star will die soon, her visions have foretold this, and they are never wrong.
Andriy Zorin will live forever, but not without a price.
They never expected to fall in love, especially with each other, but fate had other plans.
To save the woman he loves, Andriy must defy the rulers of his kind and make her immortal.
But even immortals can be killed.
Set during the early Renaissance in Venice, Italy under the threat of the Inquisition, Sunrise & Nightfall is a story about love, death, immortality and the power of redemption.
***
Sample Excerpts!
*unedited and not necessarily the order they will appear in final novel
***
Outside of Venice, Italy
Andriy Zorin
17 May 1522
One year ago today I lost my heart and gained my soul, because she chose to believe that anyone could be redeemed from their past, no matter how bloody. I have stayed busy in that year, rebuilding what had been lost, creating the life she would have wanted for me—for all of us. Her memory weighs heavy on me always, but I have, to date, stayed ahead of the grief, if by only a half-step, until today.
Today I take pause to grieve and remember and tell the story of the woman who changed the world. Her name will not be written in books of history, but it will be forever carved into my soul. Her stack of letters, written in her final days, sit unopened by this journal, waiting for me to find the courage to read them.
She hasn’t come to me since that night, but I feel her always. Her story mustn’t be forgotten, and I will make sure it’s not. This is my story, and her story. Our story, and the world’s story. It is the story of every being who walks the night or basks in the sun.
The pain is still so raw, the loss fresh, that once I open this first letter, I know I too will be ripped open once again, exposed to the pain anew. Why then do I torture myself in this way? Because with the pain comes the love and the joy of cherished memories, moments too sweet to let rot from fear.
She would have wanted me to move on, to live fully, and so I shall try, if only for her.
***
Venice, Italy
Danika Star
17 May 1521
Death stalks us all, in one form or another. Most fear the death of the body, but this is the cycle of life, a natural progression to a new reality. It is not to be feared. But humans act rashly to avoid the unknown, and in so doing often make deals with the devil, sacrificing their very soul for a longer taste of life—a sweetness that inevitably turns bitter.
When the first vision took me, I had no fear. My own death would bring about something greater than any one life.
When the second vision took me, I knew the worst kind of fear, and I knew that I only had a short time to alter the path he had chosen, to save his soul before he could no longer be redeemed.
I write this now as I near the end, in hopes that this story, our story, will live on as a reminder to him… and to others… that no one is past redemption and forgiveness, and to show that death is not the end, merely the beginning of a new kind of journey.
***
Venice, Italy
Danika Star
20 October 1519
The chill of late fall settled in my bones as I hurried through the empty streets of Venice. A dark cloak made of thick wool protected me from the cold, and from prying eyes bent on keeping women in their place. Philip kept pace with me, acting as an unorthodox chaperon for our illicit midnight rendezvous. We had little time to complete our mission. Within a few hours, the air would fill with the scent of fresh bread, as the baker prepared for the start of his day. Street urchins would stake their territories in anticipation of a hot meal. The world, so quiet now, would slowly awaken, greeted by the sunrise, by the promise of a new start.
And I had to be back before any of this happened, or all of our lives would be forfeit.
Tension vibrated through Philip’s stocky form, his green eyes creased in worry. “This is far too risky, Danika. We should have waited for her at the manor.”
A dark tendril of curl fell out from my hooded cloak as I jerked my head to scan the streets. The force with which I set it in its place pulled a few strands loose at the scalp. “My vision left no room for caution. She’s in danger and we must find her.”
Sinister forces brewed in the underbelly of the city, though neither my visions nor our network of sources had given shape to the ominous weight I felt. We’d been lucky so far, in as much as we could call it luck. Venice still remained a haven for the Gifted and Nephilim alike, a place we could all live in peace. But that peace would soon be shattered, I feared.
We walked without fire to light our way in order to stay hidden in the shadows. But Philip’s kind ruled the shadows. Though not of the Court of Nightfall, having been born Nephilim and not turned by blood magic, he still possessed heightened senses that enabled him to walk as if in full day. The Daywalkers of the Court of Sunrise had all the power of their Nightwalking kin, with fewer weaknesses.
I stayed close to him and wrapped myself in my own magic to avoid tripping on the uneven dirt roads and pebbled paths.
It seemed to take longer than it actually did to arrive at The Four Bridges Inn, which ironically was not located near any bridges. The Inn Keeper, a grizzled man of unknown years named Giovani, greeted us at the back door with a hushed voice and nervous glances over our shoulders.
A thick accent turned his words into puzzles to decipher. “She be here, but you not be taking her any time soon.”
I shivered as a gust of wind blew past me. “We must. Already we have pushed the timetable for this. Where is she?”
The map of time that was his face creased in an extraordinary display of tunnels and ridges when he frowned. “She be with the horses.”
Philip flashed his sharp incisor teeth and the glow of golden white wings shimmered behind his back. Giovani gasped and cowered into his kitchen, allowing us entrance. Philip pierced him with a stare. “You are well paid to aid our friends who travel to Venice. How dare you treat even one of them like livestock.”
Nephilim rarely showed their wings, and though they still remained hidden in a thin veil of nearly transparent magic, it was enough to remind Giovani that we took our charge’s health and safety very seriously.
A wave of nausea swept through me and I bent at my waist and clutched my stomach. “I need to see her. Now!”
Philip steadied me and carried our bags as Giovani ushered us to the barn. Sweat dripped from his round face despite the temperature outside, and I began to suspect him of more than just neglecting our charge. Philip and I exchanged a glance and he nodded once, sharply. We would have to be on our guard with him, and we might have to find a new rendezvous spot, if this one had been compromised.
The smell of manure and moldy hay assaulted us as we entered the dimly lit barn. At the sight of Giovani, a white stallion to our right neighed and bucked at the wooden beams imprisoning him. Festering sores from what looked like lashes across his flanks oozed illness and his eyes clouded with fever. The Inn Keeper backed away, fear on his face when I turned to him, power lighting up my eyes. “Get out of here now. If I ever hear of you abusing animal or human again, my friends will be paying you a visit. Are we clear?”
He nodded and scuttled from site and Philip pulled me along. “Danika, I know your heart is big, but we’re running out of time.”
I shook him off and approached the horse. “This won’t take much time or power. I can’t leave him here like this, dying and in pain.”
The horse eyed me with suspicion, then sniffed the air. I allowed a tendril of my power to float free, surrounding the fearful beast. He whimpered and bent his body until he lay on the foul smelling hay. “There, there. It’s going to be okay. I’m going to help you.”
Once he had calmed, I entered the pen and lay hands on him, summoning the power of water to cleanse his wounds, and earth to regenerate and heal him. Swirls of green and blue light warmed my hands and reached out to the illness infecting the horse. I pulled the pain and sickness into me, holding it in my hands and releasing it into the earth to be transmuted into something pure.
Wound knit together and healthy flesh replaced that which was damaged. His eyes cleared and he pulled himself to standing, huffing and neighing in pleasure. I rubbed my hands over his body and kissed his nose. “Would you like to come home with me?” His head nudged mine and I smiled.
The wail of a woman in pain pulled me from the moment. Philip reached for me. “She needs you now.”
I left the stall with a silent promise to the horse that I would not forget him and joined Philip as we followed the screams deeper into the barn.
In one corner, laying on her own coat, a woman heavy with child cried out as another contraction wracked her body in pain. I bent down, pushing her thick dark hair out of her face. “We’re here. You’re going to be okay.”
She clenched her teeth through the pain as she spoke. “S’il vous plaît. Aide-moi.”
My French was limited, but I knew she plead for help. “Oui. We’ll help you.” I looked up at Philip. “I need clean cloth, hot water and my bag.”
He dropped my bag next to me and left to get the other items I needed. “I hope you can understand me. I’m going to give you a tonic to help ease the pain. I need you to swallow it all, okay?”
She nodded. “I speak… some.”
I reached for my bag and pulled out a vial that I gave to her. She drank it all and within a moment sighed in relief as the blend of herbs and magic relaxed her body. “Good. Where is your husband? I was told there would be two of you.”
Her large eyes filled with tears. “Jean-Paul. Mort.”
“Dead. He died?”
She nodded. “Killed. They found us. The… how you say? Man who hunts us?”
“The Inquisitor?”
“Oui! The Inquisitor, he found us. Jean-Paul died to save me and le bébé.” She cried out with another contraction, this one less painful with the tonic. When it eased she reached for my hand. “Le bébé, he is special. Of the sun, comprenez-vous?”
Her pain, emotional and physical, flowed into me and I struggled to contain it, to send it back to the earth. “Yes, I understand. He is a Daywalker. Your husband, he was Nephilim of the Court of Sunrise?”
She slumped into my arms, her face a mix of emotion. Relief that I understood, fear and pain for what had passed and what was to come.
My magic swirled around me and I shared with her my power. “What is your name?”
Her eyes glowed with the light settling into her. “Lisette.”
“Lisette, I have friends at Court. They will help you and your son, do you understand?”
She nodded.
Philip arrived at that moment, a bucket of steaming water and a handful of linens that looked like they could use a good wash, but we didn’t have a lot of options.
I thanked him and held his eyes as I spoke to Lisette. “This is Philip of the Court of Sunrise. He will be able to initiate your son upon birth and make sure he receives all of the rights and privileges associated with being a Daywalker.”
Philip nodded, sadness in his eyes as he too pieced together what the woman had lost at the hands of those who sought to persecute anyone different. He bent and held her hand. “It would be my honor to do so, if it pleases you.”
She cried and squeezed his hand. “Oui, s’il vous plaît. Je vous remercie beaucoup.”
Philip’s eyes clouded with tears, and I knew he was thinking about his sister’s birth, and how he had to perform the same rights for her after their mother had died in childbirth. It must be a Nephilim who performs the rights, for a child of Sunrise to come into their power and place properly, and Philip’s father hadn’t been Nephilim, so that task was left to a young and scared Philip who had just lost his mother.
Lisette cried out again and I felt the child drawing near. “It’s time. Lisette, I need you to push.”
I positioned myself to receive the child and instructed Philip to hold her from behind. “When the next contraction hits, push with everything in you.”
She screamed and pushed. Blood poured out of her and she became pale and listless. My power searched for the problem. “The baby is coming out the wrong way, feet first. There’s a tear. She’s bleeding out.” My heart raced as I used my hands to manipulate the child, trying to turn him in the right direction. Lisette’s cries exploded around us, the pain near unbearable.
I couldn’t extricate my hands to help her. “Philip, I have another vial of tonic in my bag, give it to her.”
As he did, her body relaxed a fraction and I used my power to repair the damage, but if I couldn’t turn the baby around, it wouldn’t make a difference.
Tears streamed down her face. My hands stayed steady but my heart dropped to my gut as I fought to keep her alive and save the baby living in her womb. I couldn’t let this woman lose her husband and child on the same day.
My power, slightly drained from healing the horse, now rushed out of me, leaving me feeling empty and exhausted. I sought more source, pulling from the earth, the sky, the water, sucking it in only to empty it into Lisette and her child.
Philip looked up at me, eyes wide in concern. “Danika, I can hear her heart slowing. She’s dying.”
“I know, but I won’t let it happen.” My heart cracked and I fought my own tears. So much hate and pain in this world. All of it unnecessary. She could have lived a happy life with Jean-Paul and her baby, and instead they had to run from their home and life because of fear and prejudice. So many killed, and for what?
I couldn’t think of that right now. Had to focus. Finally, the baby turned, head positioned to exit the birth canal. I sent her more of my power, what little I had left. “Lisette, we’re almost there. Be strong. Push!”
I felt her draw on her own inner strength and bare down again. The baby’s head crested. “Push again!” And with that last push, the baby dropped into my hands, bloody and wriggling. I worked fast, sending more power to Lisette to repair the damage left from the birth while I cleaned off the child and cleared out his mouth and nose.
Once wrapped in the cleanest cloth I could find in the pile, I placed him in her arms. “Your son. He’s perfect.”
She wept and kissed him as I cleaned her up, then she passed him to Philip.
A golden glow of power surrounded him and the child as he spoke the ancient words to initiate the boy into their court. This would allow him to grow into his own powers as he aged, rather than having them thrust upon him all at once, without any way of controlling them. As he reached puberty he would come into his full power with his wings. It also gave the child a place within their society. He would never be alone, helpless in a world that didn’t understand or want him. I wished other Gifted had such rituals and community. Too often those like me never understood who or what they were and died alone and often violently at the hands of those who feared them.
As Lisette healed, she regained her color and strength and eagerly reached for her child when Philip completed the initiation. “Merci. Thank you for saving me and my son. He is also Jean-Paul, for his father.”
My head spun from exhaustion and too much use of power, but I smiled and packed up my bag. “That’s a lovely name. Rest here and we’ll see about getting you a room until you’re fit to travel.”
Philip nodded and left to speak to Giovani while I cleaned up the mess of childbirth as best I could with rags and hot water. I shrugged out of my coat and laid it over Lisette and her son. “You two need to stay warm.” She nodded and dozed into a half-sleep while nursing her baby.
An unexpected surge of bittersweet longing clung to my heart as I watched mother and son. I would never know that kind of bond, never have children of my own. I thought I’d come to accept that. Being a midwife I often delivered babies and witnesses the joy of that connection, but it had become harder, knowing what I would have to do to save the man in my vision… and to save so many others. I didn’t regret my destiny, but I wondered what a softer path in life would have felt like.
I shook myself out of my own wallowing and leaned against a pile of hay to rest my eyes and regain some of my own power, but was startled out of my sleep when Philip charged in and called for me. “Danika, get Lisette and the baby out of here. We’ve been betrayed.”
***
If I hadn’t been so distracted by the mission and the injured horse, I would have followed my instincts about Giovani. But, it was too late now. I nudged Lisette awake and reached for the baby to help her up. “We have to go now. It’s not safe. I’m sorry.”
I swayed as I stood, but clothed the child in my arms and steadied myself. It would take us too long to get back to the manor by foot. The white horse neighed and I smiled and walked over to him. “Will you help us?”
He neighed again and I took that as a yes. “We will have to ride together. I’ve healed your tears, so it shouldn’t hurt too much. Will you be okay?”
She nodded and I handed her baby back to her while I prepared the horse for riding. He stayed calm and even got on his knees to allow Lisette on, as if he knew she needed to be handled with care. I insisted she keep my jacket and slid in front of her, ignoring the deep cold of the night air as she and the child pressed against my back.
Though it had felt like hours, it was still dark outside. Near the Inn, sounds of fighting gave me pause. Philip glowed in golden lights, his wings fully visible to anyone who watched as he took on the five thugs Giovani had summonsed to help capture us.
Philip looked up and saw us waiting. “Run! The Inquisitor is coming to Venice and there’s a reward for any Gifted. Go!”
So that was why the Inn Keeper had suddenly turned on us. Greed. My heart sank as I contemplated the ramifications of the Inquisition finding its way to here. We had been safe before, but this changed everything. Where would we send those in exile? What would become of them, of us all?
I galloped through the quiet streets, worry weighing heavy on me for Philip and for our city and our charges.
We made good time, the sun sending out its first tentative rays of light as the horse slowed to a stop in front of Philip’s estate. A beautiful red-head swung open the front door, just as I slid off the horse and helped Lisette and her child down. She ran to me, as much as she could with her own child growing in her, and hugged me hard. “I’ve been worried out of my mind.” Her green eyes scanned the lane that lead to her brother’s home. “Where’s Philip? Is he okay?”
“He should be joining us soon. Giovani betrayed us and your brother had to fight off some thugs. They shouldn’t pose much of a challenge against him though.” I hugged her again. “It’s good to see you. We need to get them to bed.” I stood back to introduce our new friends. “This is Lisette and her son Jean-Paul.”
Lisette curtsied. “Bonjour.”
I held the reigns on the horse. “Lisette, this is Elizabeth . She’s Philip’s sister and my dearest friend. She’ll take good care of you and your baby.”
Elizabeth frowned. “You look exhausted. You need to come in and rest.”
I shook my head. “I can’t. You know I can’t. I’m already late and my brother is going to be angry as it is.”
She sighed, a guilty expression flashing over her face before it disappeared. “Well, he did send a message asking about you. But honestly, Danika, Darius is an overbearing ass. You don’t have to do what he says. You’re so much more powerful than him!”
“In our hidden world, perhaps, but not in the regular world. To them I’m just his widowed sister who is forced to work as a mid-wife, while he is the great and rising physician to the wealthy.” We’d had this conversation too many times to count, but Elizabeth never gave up.
Her eyes narrowed, and I knew what would come next. “Marry Philip. You know he’d have you in a heartbeat if you but gave him the slightest indication you wanted him in that way. Then we’d be real sisters and we could live here together and do the work we were meant to do.”
I would have given almost anything to live that reality, but it wasn’t to be, and Elizabeth, who believed the world could be anything we chose it to be, would never understand. “I have to go. I’ll see you soon.”
I draped my leg over the horse and left my friend behind as she ushered the new mother and babe into her home. The pull of their lives, of that home and the safety and freedom it would afford me was strong. But I didn’t love Philip in that way, and knew that I never would. Even still, our friendship and deep caring might have been enough, if not for the other who waited for me in the near future. My heart strings had already bound to his, site unseen, and I couldn’t change the course of our destiny, I could only hope to shape it enough to save at least one of us from a fate worse than physical death.
***
Disagreeable Things
Andriy Zorin
21 October 1519
“What is the city but the people?”
—William Shakespeare, Coriolanus
Venice stank. Like most cities, it stank of the people that populated it. The smell of dung and dead things spilled from the canals—appropriate, in a way. The canals were, after all, the roads of Venice. Roads had horse shit. The canals had people shit.
They had barges too, packed with goods by day and festive drunks by night, and Gondolas. The boats, sharp and flat like blades of grass, streaked through the water, carrying ladies who enticed the men with their flesh, and Gondoliers who recited poetry old and new. Even when the streets were empty—but of course, they were never empty—winged lions and griffins listened on, forever etched in stone by the meticulous hand of an artist. Some statues had been forged from bronze, others stolen. They say the Horses of Saint Mark came from Constantinople. The armies of Venice sacked the city during the fourth crusade and dragged the horses back to their city, placing them on the terrace of the façade of the Basilica, where they forever graze. The city had statues and boats and colors and foods as various as the seasons. And this season, the fall wind touched everything with a slight chill, like the air from a window in a stuffy room. It was quiet nice.
It didn’t make up for the shit.
I rubbed my nose and walked across Piazza San Marco, a town square so unlike the winding streets of Venice and so full of human. Before me stood Saint Mark’s Basilica at nightfall. Seldom did a Venetian vessel return from the Orient, without adding to the Basilica clumps of some ancient building, as if it were a castle made from sand and not from stone. Lead-covered domes topped the chapel, and marble carvings and columns, older than the structure itself, covered the interior brick walls. Four roman emperors, the Tetrachs, held each other in the south west corner. Five round-arched portals led the way inside. Frozen in stride, the Horses of Saint Mark looked down upon me with their old eyes, as if saying, “You do not belong here. You are not wanted.” They were right. But when anyone other than me is right, they are wrong. I entered the house of god. The Nephilim Tribunal lay within.
“They will not want to see you.” Ezio strode beside me and clutched his coat. Only nerves drove a man to hold things so close. Only nerves turned a man’s fingers bone-white. “We should go back to the country, maybe Florence, no?”
I shook my head, still walking. “The election is here, not in Florence.”
“That’s the problem, my friend.”
“If you wish, you may wait for me out here.” I gestured at the interior dome and the mosaic above.
Ezio harrumphed. “You know that’ll never do, my friend. Wherever you go, I follow.”
“And I’m glad to have you with me.” I clapped him on the shoulder and walked behind the columns on either side of the inner dome.
The choir lofts were empty at this late hour, and only two men walked upon the floor, whispering prayers to their god, heads clutched in their arms. As they wandered out of sight, I traced my hands down the wall and found a loose piece of stone. With a hard push, it sunk in, and a stone door opened, revealing stairs going down under the Bascilia. They led to the Tribunal.
“I have a bad feeling, my friend,” Ezio whispered.
I grinned and descended the stairs. “Let’s hope it goes away then. You wouldn’t want to lose your appetite. I hear the feast tonight will be… how would you say it? Fantastic.”
“What feast?” Ezio followed me, each step a heavy thud, as if he carried a burden on his shoulders.
I suppose I was a burden. “Prince Dante is getting married tonight.”
“And we’ve been invited?”
I smiled my secret smile. “Not exactly.”
“But we’re still going to go.”
“You know me too well.”
We arrived in the Under Dome. Here, not murals, but paintings draped the walls, and torchlight told their tales. At the end of the hall, three doors stood under marble arches, all a different kind of color.
Obsidian, darker than the night sky, plated the archway on the right, and sapphire banners hung from its teeth-like spires. Black steps rolled out from the doorway, swathed in sheen, yet the door itself devoured all light, as if the mouth of a gluttonous beast. The air hummed, and it seemed to growl at me.
The archway to the left glittered. It was gold, all of it, as if an empire had melted down its wealth and poured it over the auburn door. Crimson banners guarded the way inside. The Court of Sunrise kept their riches within.
Color split the central archway, lathering the left side in gold, casting the right side in black. The banners followed form, red on the left, blue on the right. It was beautiful. It was The Court of Twilight and seat of the High King.
Sunrise, Twilight, Nightfall. I would rule them all.
We approached the center door, and a figure, leaning against the wall, covered in armor both gold and black like its charge, shifted the spear on its shoulder. It spoke with a woman’s voice, full of honey and subtlety, like a Goddess. “Why have you come here?”
I decided to call it a she, and she deserved a bow. “My lady, I am Andriy Zorin, heir of Erebus, son of Nightfall. I am here to claim my seat on the Tribunal.”
She-Goddess snickered and unclasped the chainmail over her mouth. The dark red lips—she had to be of Sunrise—made a pleasant sight, and I started to notice the curves of her armor, woman’s curves. “Call me The Watcher. The last man to call me a lady died a very unpleasant death.”
“How unfortunate.”
“For him.”
I imagined The Watcher drive a spear into a man’s gut and rend it free, spilling bits of intestines on the marble, and my own stomach clutched as if in defense. “Did the man try to get past you?”
She puckered her lips as she paused, and my hands got a little hotter. If the rest of her body matched that mouth, she was beautiful indeed. “He tried to court me.”
I made a note to never court The Watcher. “May we pass?”
She shook her head and pushed off the wall, speaking with an edge not directed at me. “Prince Dante is receiving his trial.”
“And you can’t interrupt such a momentous occasion. I completely understand.” I creased my eyes and softened my voice, as if sharing words between friends. “However, it would be a shame if Dante was elected. There are such better candidates.”
Even more anger filled her words. “I agree. Tiberius should win, but the old fool isn’t even running. So Dante will win almost uncontested, and he has no respect for the old ways.”
“No respect.”
“The pig thinks he can have anything he wants.”
“Anything he wants.”
“He should have never have even been made Lord of Sunrise.”
No one had told me that little detail. “It is frowned upon for a Lord to seek the Twilight Throne.”
“Exactly. They say he communes with the church, you know, and The Pope.”
More news. I rubbed my chin and said nothing.
“If he’s elected, our entire faith will go to the mud.”
I used my soft voice, laced with passion, again. “Our faith is stronger than that. Isn’t that right Ezio?”
He jumped, as if from sleep, and raised a weary fist halfway in the air. “Yes. Our faith is stronger.”
“Stronger!” I roared.
The Watcher shook her head. “What is it with you? Please be quite. There’s a ceremony going on in there.”
“My apologies. I just get so invigorated.” My hands waved back and forth as if in real shame. I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t remember the last time I had. “How much longer are the proceedings?”
The Watcher sighed and slouched back against the wall. “Hours. And I’m here on ceremony, not for actual protection.”
“A waste of skill, though not of beauty.”
The Watcher frowned. I forgot: don’t court The Watcher. So I did my shameful act again.
The frown faded. “You can wait.”
“Thank you. I understand. You can’t let us in.”
“No.”
“But you’re not here for protection.”
“No.”
“Only on ceremony.”
“Yes.”
“So if we were to… ”
A smile crept on The Watcher’s lips and a gleam entered her eyes. “I think I’m going to take a nap.” She slouched lower on the wall and lowered her head.
And we walked on through.
***
The Throne Room reflected its exterior, torn in half by two factions and their colors. The first floor stretched long and wide, covered in a black and gold carpet, lined with suits of armor on either side. The second and third floors held balconies from which you could view the hall. Members of the Tribunal used it while making judgments. Those pleading, or on trail, used the first floor and seemed puny amidst the vast hall. At the far side, a circle engraved with glyphs and cycles of the moon marked the carpets end and the place where the elected High King would ascend to the throne. No other way could The Twilight Throne be reached. It had been carved from obsidian and gold fused together, with a base like giant rock, and the mixture hung suspended in midair, a shimmer of white heat around it. If a Nephilim flew close by, their wings would burn off. Some say, they’d never grow back.
Unless, you were the High King. Then you’d stand within the circle of glyphs, the Moon Dial, and a path of stairs would rise toward the throne. The white heat would not touch you. The seat would not graze you. And you… you would rule all of Nephilim.
***
I would be king. No matter what The Watcher thought, Prince Dante would not go uncontested.
He rested on one knee at the center of the hall, no doubt accepting the trial he would have to perform to prove his worth. Whatever it was, the Tribunal spoke of it no longer. Instead, they turned their gaze to me.
A voice like parchment, thin and old, drifted from a second balcony. “Who comes here?”
In this hall, hundreds of feet below ground, the air squeezed around me and drained my lungs, leaving the smell of smoke behind. My muscles tightened. A hint of sweat touched my brow. I was about as deep in a city as you could be. At least it didn’t smell so bad.
I put on my biggest smile and sauntered to the center of the room. As my face reached the light, gasps dropped from the balconies.
“Count Zorin.” The old man spoke again, and I could see him now, above me. Tiberius. Pale skin, full of lines and grooves like wet bred, clung to his hollow eyes. Whatever hair he once had on his head, had transferred to his beard, which ran past his waist and twisted in thick, rope-like cords. Black robes veiled his body, though by the looks of his veined hands, it was a slim thing, worn away by age. Not many Nephilim showed long years, but those who did often displayed cunning and intelligence. They had sought out immortality at their old age, and they had found it. Tiberius had not only found it, but become the Lord of Nightfall as well.
I flung my hands on my hips. “I have returned, my Lord. Please, show me to my council-seat.”
Tiberius’ face betrayed no emotion. Not when he didn’t want it to. Then… he laughed. “You dare claim a seat among us, whelp? Your father would weep in his grave.”
I clenched my teeth. “My father would want me to have what’s mine… my Lord, or so I would believe. I am his heir, and thus the heir to his seat on this court.”
“He would disagree with you, if he were here. You are a disgrace to his name.”
His words started a fire in my veins. “Do you presume to know my father’s mind, Tiberius? Was it not he, who taught you our ways, who supported you in joining this court? I trust you simply misspoke.”
The laughter left his face, leaving no emotion. “Yes, thank you, Count Zorin. I only meant to offer opinion on the matter. After so many years away from court, I do not think you will enjoy it.”
“That is for me to decide.”
Tiberius raised a goblet to his purple lips and sipped. “Yes, but now is not the time to decide anything. A trial is being bestowed.” He gestured at Prince Dante, who now stood on his feet, but had not spoken. The man grinned.
I rolled my eyes and raised my hands at the balconies. “Now is the time. As my father’s heir, I qualify for election and ask to be trialed as well.”
Whispers filled the hall as members of the court debated with their attendants. Ezio groaned behind me, and Tiberius raised his goblet, regaining silence. “You have not yet been inducted into the Tribunal. To run for election would be improper.”
“I agree,” said a voice, and then more echoed the call.
I grit my teeth. The Tribunal followed tradition and rules like dogma, but perhaps their hatred for me surpassed even their need for order.
Prince Dante lifted his hand. “My Lords, as a member of this court, I say let him be trialed.”
“I agree with the Lord of Sunrise.” A man with golden curls, Antonio, tapped an equally golden cup. He was Dante’s brother, and his words slurred from drink. “Let him be trialed, and let fate decide if he is worthy.”
Other members nodded their approval. They liked this Prince Dante, and so I hated him.
“So be it.” Tiberius stuck his cup against the balcony like a gavel. “Are you ready to accept your trial, Andriy Zorin?”
I nodded and thanked the fates for my luck.
“Then kneel.”
I fell on one knee, the sweat dripping off me.
“Show your faith to this council and its people. Earn ascension and prove a king. Will you accept judgment?”
“I will.”
“Then your trial shall be thus. A Grand Inquisitor is arriving in Venice tonight. His mission, as we know it, is to eradicate the Unsired and Wingless within the city. Rid us of him, and you shall have proven yourself worthy. Do you accept your trial?”
My knees wobbled, and I stared at Tiberius. “A Grand Inquisitor? This is suicide.”
“This is your trial. You may refuse. There is no dishonor in that.”
“There is no honor in this trial. One does not simply kill an Inquisitor.”
“One worthy to be High King will find a way.” He grinned, no doubt to kindle my rage. It worked.
“I accept my trial. May the Inquisitor shudder in his sleep, for I will see him in his grave.” I stood.
Tiberius nodded. “So be it. Now, venture forth and prove your worth.”
I bowed and walked away. No ceremonial claps followed me out the door, only Ezio grumbling about Inquisitors and trials. He was right to complain. To kill an Inquisitor and live would be impossible.
But Tiberius never said kill.
Still, not killing meant talking, and I preferred the former. As we rounded up the stairs, the rage inside me boiled and with it hunger. I wished to blast the steam at Tiberius, who doomed me with his trial, and Dante, who thought he could beat me at this game. That’s all it was, after all—a game to see who should be king. And they dealt me a losing hand. I wanted to cut theirs off. If they’d been there, I would have.
But instead, the stone door opened, and a portly man gazed at me, draped in the white garbs of a priest. “Who are you, my son?”
“The devil, Father.” I showed my face, and the old man dropped his scepter. He’d caught me in a bad mood. More’s the pity. Venice stank of the people that populated it. One less person made it smell a little better.
***
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