Slaying the Vampire Conqueror

by Carissa Broadbent

Arachessen were not supposed to mourn the things we gave up in the name of our goddess—Acaeja, the Weaver of Fates, the Keeper of the Unknown, the Mother of Sorcery. We could not mourn the eyesight, the autonomy, the pieces of our flesh carved away in sacrifice. And no, we could not mourn the sex, either.

Threadwhispers were very useful. Communication that couldn’t be overheard, that could transcend sound the same way we transcended sight. It was a gift from the Weaver, one for which I was very grateful.

Sisters of the Arachessen are trained extensively in the magic of every god. From the time we were children, we were exposed to all magics, even when our bodies protested, even when it burned us or broke us.

It was not a sacrifice. It was an exchange: Close your eyes, child, and you will see an entire world.

Acaeja was the only exception—the only god who tolerated Nyaxia and the vampire society she had created.

Sylina. This is why I’m telling you this. Because you’re a committed Arachessen. A committed Sister of the threads. A committed daughter of the Weaver. And I know you have struggled with this. I think for reasons beyond those even you yourself understand.”

“You’d think that a child of your goddess would understand that the world looks awfully different depending on where you stand. Or maybe they took your eyes so you wouldn’t see that.”

“I have no love for your little cult, but I don’t intend to piss them off, either. Tell me where you’d like to be returned, and my second will escort you there. You’ll make it there safely. You have my word.”

“Is it really a sacrifice if it’s taken instead of offered?”

I jumped a little, startled, as he touched my cheek, the rough pad brushing a strand of my hair behind my ear. “You’re lucky,” he said, “that I have a soft spot for caged birds.”

“Beautiful. Mysterious. Dangerous. And an obvious, clear-as-the-fucking-moon mistake.”

I felt him. Not just my target—not just the stone, but him. Atrius. A presence so unusual I felt it from even this far. It was him I anchored myself to. I drew the thread tight, strong. I prayed it would hold enough to get us there. And I stepped through it.

The others in our group still lingered behind, occupying the last of Aaves’s men. “You want to wait for them?” I asked. He let out a low chuckle, like I’d just said something unintentionally amusing. “I don’t wait for anyone.” Then, “How many in there?” “The castle? Many.” “Too many?” I paused, realizing what he was asking: Too many for us?

We were told that there was nothing more dangerous than a storm. My darkest secret was that I had always struggled with this. Atrius and I left the gates of the castle wide open behind us, forging the way forward for his men to follow. But we didn’t wait. We fought our way through the castle. I would barely remember any of it later, because I was lost in the tumultuous seas I had so often been told to avoid—lost, and unashamed at how much I loved it.

I hated men like this. I hated men who used their power to gorge themselves. Hated men who thought it was acceptable to murder their own people as long as it gave them one more chance at hanging onto their golden toys. I hated the men who sent their own terrified people into a stampede to stop us. Hated the men who burned a little girl alive. I hated them all so much, and I loved that I felt that way. The Arachessen taught me that my emotions should always be a calm sea. But sometimes, those storms snuck up on me. And once the waves swallowed me, it was hard to find the surface.

For a moment he lifted the dagger with trembling hands, like he was considering using it as a weapon. Fool. I didn’t realize I’d laughed until Atrius glanced at me, like the sound made him see something he’d missed before.

“Atrius has an interesting moral code.”

Atrius believes he can’t rule this kingdom while also eating its subjects, which, I begrudgingly have to say, does make sense.”

The words were hurled with perfect aim, direct and deadly-sharp in their honesty. That didn’t surprise me—I knew Atrius could be cruel. What did surprise me was that they hurt when they landed,

But what gave me pause was beneath all of that—something intertwined with his presence, his threads, into the very core of his being. It was so intense it drew a gasp from my lips. A withering decay that seemed alive, like it was trying to push further into him. I sensed, too, the strain of holding it off—the exhaustion.

He let out a breath. “Time. I need time.”

“No,” he said. “They don’t need any more distractions.” “I’m a distraction? That’s very flattering. And here I thought you didn’t notice.” A beat. An odd expression crossed his face. Almost a smile, maybe—albeit from someone who had never witnessed one before. “I’m not the blind one,” he said.

I dozed off that night, my grip still loosening around Atrius’s presence. It’s nice not to sleep alone.

We evolve, but war is the same. It isn’t up to me to redefine that.” I knew this. Knew it was a downright laughable idea that a Bloodborn conqueror, of all people, would be the one to take some kind of moral high ground. And yet… why did some part of me think he would?

I’ve slaughtered demigods, he’d snarled at Aaves. Demigods. I wanted that story sometime.

“Hm,” he said. “To think I let such a dangerous creature sleep beside me every night.”

“I’m not hungry.” A beat. Then he said, “I’m supposed to make sure you eat. If you don’t, I’ll be the one in trouble for it.” My hand went to my chest, pressed over the strange twinge there.

Erekkus gave me a sad smile. “We’re used to saying goodbye to our own,” he said. “More than most vampires.”

“It’s impossible not to notice everything, with you.”

“Humans may believe that vampires don’t understand what powerlessness feels like. And for many, maybe that’s true. But those that follow me do. We understand loss. And we know that it is the worst kind of powerlessness.”

Because we lose the past so fast. We should cling to those who made us who we are. And because, if the one I considered my brother was alive, I would want someone to do the same for him.”

“The past is devouring you.” He let out an almost-laugh. “So bold of you, to talk to me that way.” Rough, scarred fingertips touched my face, the contrast between his skin and the touch so stark it made my heart stutter. His gaze lowered, lingering on my mouth. “Do you think I don’t see,” he said, voice low, “that the past is devouring you, too?”

He was alive, and broken, and familiar, and mysterious, and dangerous, and safe. And for one terrible moment, I wanted so fiercely, I forgot everything else.

But I was not thinking about plans or daggers or wars when I fell asleep in Atrius’s arms. I was thinking only of the words I’d said to him, but felt in my own heart: It’s been a week. You’re hurting. It had been. I was. But now, for the first time in eight days, I finally slept.

Surely I was hallucinating, to think that Atrius’s presence, forever unbreakable, forever solid, forever silent, was now screaming—screaming in utter terror. Over me. Ridiculous.

When you see the moon rise, he had said to me once, some might say there’s something more to it than coordinates in the sky. I’d thought he was just mocking me then. But right here, I understood it.

“I understand you. I’m just as broken. Just as angry. I hate them just as much. Nothing will make that alright. Nothing. Once I thought a goddess could. But I was wrong.”

“I live in dark stories. And I’ve been living in yours for nearly four months. If you’re going to invite me in, invite me.” I pushed against his chest, hard. “I already see you, Atrius. I’m not afraid.”

“She wanted a new kingdom conquered in her name,” he said. “I offered that to her, with my own life as collateral.”

“And now here we are,” he ground out, lip curling. “The innocents I was trying to protect, slaughtered. The warriors I was trying to save, now dying at the hand of a human tyrant. All for a goddess who spited us already. All in the name of blind fucking hope.”

“Tell me I’m a fool.” He was shaking with rage, so thick I could taste it in his exhale against my lips. I shook my head. “No.” He let out a choked breath, his forehead leaning against mine. “Tell me to stop.”

I didn’t want him to stop any of it.

I wanted Atrius to destroy the Pythora King. I wanted him to do it slowly, painfully, relishing revenge. I wanted him to let me help. I wanted him to save his people. I wanted him to earn Nyaxia’s respect. I wanted to burn it all down with him. I murmured, “No.”

Another wordless sound, a choked groan. “You shouldn’t be here.” This time he spoke against my mouth—not quite a kiss, but the promise of one. I whisper...

refused to let another soul wither under the Pythora King’s rule. And I refused to kill Atrius. I was no fool. I knew what this meant. When a Sister betrayed the Arachessen, she was carved into pieces and left throughout Glaea—damned to never be whole again, physically or spiritually.

Still, as I stood beside Atrius at the narrow gap between these jagged rocks, feeling my own mortality’s breath at the back of my neck, I found myself with a strange sensation: raw, genuine fear.

Time, Atrius had told me once, the first time I healed him. I just need time. I understood that now.

I would likely die soon. He would likely die soon. Both of us were being slowly strangled by those who had taken all our faith. We had no one to blame but ourselves.

Naro— I love you. I’m sorry for the ways I failed you. I forgive you for the ways you failed me. Maybe in the next life, it can be different. But if not, what I feel in this one remains the same. I love you.

“Promise me that you keep going,” I said. “Even if you lose me. Promise me that your only goal remains the Pythora King.” Silence. His concern grew stronger.