Blood Genesis Page 2

  She shuddered beneath the awesome breadth of this knowledge.

  And then, just like that, the clouds became mist.

  The mist became a veil.

  And the veil became a garment, a timeworn dress with intricate embroidery and familiar linen skirts.

  And Jessenia Groza was back in the musty dungeon, shivering on a cold, barren floor. Only, this time, she had something she hadn’t possessed before: She had an understanding of the past, knowledge of the future, and a reason to survive one more night. No matter what it took, she had to awaken Timaos. She had to make him understand her vision. She had to force him to change his mind, to do whatever it took to appease his captors…to live to save the child.

  Though the taste of it would be bitter on his tongue, her lover had to go along with her execution. Although he could not—he dared not—shed a single drop of her blood, he had to apologize for opposing Prince Jaegar and convince the heartless prince that he had come to see the light—or the darkness, as the case may be.

  Jessenia was the last remaining female of a once-noble race.

  Her sacrifice would be the completion.

  And then, the Curse would come.

  Timaos Silivasi had to survive.

  two

  Prince Jaegar Demir stormed into his royal bedchamber in a rage, seething from the frustration of the day and cursing the celestial gods, the wizard Fabian, his misguided, self-righteous brother Jadon—hell, anyone he could think of.

  Le-a sacrificat pe toate!

  He had sacrificed them all!

  All but Jessenia Groza.

  And that was only because Timaos Silivasi had helped her fake her death, staged a phony funeral and burial, and hidden her in his cellar for the last six months! But Jaegar had her now, and she would certainly die on the morrow, her first-blood consumed by both him and the high priest.

  Yet and still, the celestial gods withheld their ultimate favor—infinite, immortal power. They still failed to acknowledge his greatness or to bow down to his genius, to name him as one of the divine.

  He spat on the floor, uncaring that the spittle festooned rare, expensive marble.

  Sure, the dark lords, those shadowed twins of the celestial gods, had rewarded him with ever-increasing power. They had bestowed countless favors on all the kingdom’s males, including Prince Jadon’s misguided rebels, but what did the celestial deities expect him to do? Hunt down the traitorous wizard Fabian, the renegade fool who had escaped into the Transylvanian Alps with Jaegar’s royal sisters, leading both of them to a certain death by the elements, the animals, or starvation? Apologize for Fabian’s insolence as if it were his own? True, the celestial deities had never actually spoken to Prince Jaegar, so he could only surmise or intuit what the gods truly wanted. Still, the wizard had ultimately denied Jaegar and his loyalists the pleasure—and the necessity—of such pure, royal, virginal blood as a final offering, and in doing so he had also denied the gods.

  Jaegar kicked a lavishly upholstered chair, sending it careening across the opulent room.

  A final offering.

  The words still made his blood boil.

  Only six months earlier, Jaegar had truly believed—he had been utterly convinced—that all the females in the kingdom were gone, sacrificed, all save his two royal sisters. After all, their queen mother had just died the previous month from a winter’s fever, and Jaegar had insisted that his entire band of loyalists publicly mourn her loss. Although Prince Jadon, in all of his misguided compassion, still swore she had died from a broken heart—she had been devastated by Jaegar’s “wicked betrayal”—Jaegar knew he had done right by the monarch. While he may not have respected her gender, he had certainly respected her royal blood.

  He snorted at the memory, a cross between a snarl and a laugh. The idea that he had somehow killed his own mother was utterly absurd. He had not betrayed his lineage or his celestial origins—he had only, ever, sought to make them complete. He had simply come to understand his inherent birthright, to be worshipped beside the gods, and the fact that females were mere vessels, meant to be purified, utilized, and sacrificed on a male’s behalf, was simply the natural order of things. It’s not as if he would have actually slit the throat of the woman who gave him life, murdered the royal queen—or would he?

  He shrugged.

  It was of no matter now.

  Queen Jade’s death, while tragic and untimely, had been fortuitous in the end. Prince Jaegar had never been forced to make such a daring decision.

  But he had chosen to offer his pure-blood sisters in what he believed, at the time, would be the definitive sacrifice, and he had been willing to let the chips fall where they may—his father and his brother could be damned. But that was before Fabian Antonescu had interfered with his plans, spoiling his masterful climax. Just how the wizard had done it, Jaegar still couldn’t comprehend. He should not have been able to move so freely about the castle. Thunderstorm or no, he should not have gone undetected on that fateful night.

  He sighed.

  The girls were food for the crows now, and he did not have the resources or the inclination to search 155 miles of the southern Carpathians for what little was left of their bodies. However, he did have his sisters to thank for the discovery of Jessenia, for surely now, Jessenia’s still-beating heart was all that stood between him, the men, and their ultimate goal of divine elevation, being worshipped beside the gods.

  Surely the celestial deities would reward him tomorrow.

  Prince Jaegar bit down on his bottom lip and shook his head, causing a thick curtain of raven-black hair to fall forward into his eyes. After Ciopori and Vanya had vanished—after Fabian had unknowingly exiled them to their meaningless deaths—Jaegar had anxiously awaited his final due. He had stayed up all night, pacing back and forth in the bitter cold, circling the sacrificial stone along the eastern hillside of the castle’s tallest battlements like a hungry wolf. He couldn’t count the times he had glanced at the dark, ominous sky or squinted to make out a shooting star, a streaming comet, something—anything—that heralded a sign from the gods: acknowledgment that he had been strong enough, brave enough, and determined enough to sacrifice them all.

  As far as he had known then, there were none left.

  Each magical heart, each feminine soul, each precious offering had been surrendered to the gods in an exquisite ritual of death, one by one, given in exchange for absolute power. With his sisters gone, the kingdom had been cleansed.

  Surely his reward would be forthcoming…

  Yet and still, it hadn’t come.

  The skies had not changed. The earth had not shifted. The males had remained powerful but unchanged.

  Something had remained unfinished.

  And that’s when Jaegar had ordered a district-wide accounting of the kingdom.

  The following morning, he had commanded his generals to exhume the bodies of the slain, to check each record of birth against each record of death. Whether they died by natural causes or unnatural sacrifice, his officers were ordered to account for every female descendant of their race, to enumerate every single entry from the last recorded census. The process had taken nearly six months, but it had inevitably led to a solitary, empty crypt—a grave that should have entombed Jessenia Groza’s body. And that discovery had led to Timaos Silivasi and the dark, hidden cellar beneath his kitchen pantry where Jessenia was being kept, quietly and comfortably, still alive and well, residing beneath the ancestral Silivasi home.

  Jaegar clenched his fists in agitation.

  To think, he could have sacrificed his precious sisters in vain, believing them to be the very last, the ultimate, when all along, Jessenia had remained…

  But now—at long last—he truly did have the definitive remaining female, and she was indeed the last living woman of their race, the only girl alive in the kingdom. Following the sunrise sacrifice on the morrow, the long-awaited glory would soon be his. And even as he dealt with Jessenia, he was resigned to deal wi
th his father, the king, once and for all.

  Nothing would stand in his way.

  Just then, there were three heavy knocks on the solid oak door of his chamber; the handle was wrenched to the side, and the heavy panel swung open with a clatter. No one would have the audacity to approach the prince so boldly, let alone enter his living quarters, save one being of seemingly equal status: his twin brother, Jadon.

  Jaegar immediately ascended the stairs beneath his sleeping dais in order to gain a tactical advantage. He spun around to face the door as he took a seat on the soft, overstuffed mattress, waiting to regale his visitor.

  Jadon approached far more cautiously than he had entered. “Prince,” he said, by way of greeting.

  Jaegar smirked and answered in kind. “Prince.”

  Jadon took a slow, deep breath before proceeding, which usually meant he had something important to say and was weighing his words carefully. “How is our father today, Jaegar? How does the king fair?” His undue emphasis on the word king was as loaded as it was unnecessary. Jaegar knew quite well that Sakarias Demir was still the king of their realm, at least for a few more hours. Nonetheless, His Majesty was not a Jaegar-loyalist. He did not support his son’s lofty quest, and he would not come around in time. In fact, Jaegar had been all but forced to usurp the king’s royal army, making each male to a soldier his own loyal charge, and that meant the king was now expendable. “He eats and breathes and sleeps, brother,” Jaegar replied glibly. In other words, he’s still alive…for now.

  Jadon’s top lip twitched in an involuntary display of anger, causing Jaegar to stiffen: He did not care to have the same argument again, to quarrel over the future role of the existing king in the new male empire. As it stood, Jaegar did not believe Sakarias Demir had a role to play; whereas, Jadon still hoped for a return to the old ways. He resented the imprisonment of King Sakarias by Prince Jaegar; he resented what he considered nothing less than a traitorous coup, and he would have freed the monarch himself if he’d had the strength or the following to do so. But as it stood, Jadon’s house of loyalists could not overthrow Jaegar’s army, and Jadon’s democratic philosophies—however noble, well argued, and impossible to comprehend—could not hold up against the momentum of Jaegar’s movement, the supremacy of his bloodthirsty religion, or the alluring promise of domination over the realm. The males’ collective hunger for dominion, their slow rise to personal and mystical power, had swept through the kingdom like a wildfire across a dry prairie. More appropriately, it had covered the land like a tidal wave, rising unchallenged from the depths of a great ocean and covering the shores in one powerful, effortless surge.

  Jadon, on the other hand, commanded a deep but placid lake. He made impressive waves here and there, but they remained largely ineffective.

  “I fear we are going to come to physical blows over this issue one day,” Jadon said, his deep, resonant voice ripe with intention.

  Jaegar shot back a look of subtle regard. So his twin did retain his backbone—that was good to know. “Aye,” he said, “I fear we just might—once the final sacrifice is over.” He stood up then, no longer feeling comfortable in such a vulnerable position. He paced back and forth across the dais, eyeing his royal bedchamber whimsically. He swept the back of his fingers along the soft, gold-and-ivory coverlet, admiring the expensive fabric; he used his toe to trace a thin marble vein along the pale, tiled floor, observing it circumspectly; and he glanced upward at the enormous crystal chandelier hanging directly above the bed, as if it were a fascinating new discovery.

  The behavior was meant to infuriate and dismiss.

  It was Jaegar’s way of saying, your objections and your warnings are as trivial to me as this lavish décor. Yes, I see it—or hear it, as the case may be—but I hardly pay it any mind.

  He then made an elaborate show of sighing, his broad, muscular shoulders rising and falling from the effort, before crossing his arms over his chest. He did not want to engage in hand-to-hand combat with his twin.

  Not now.

  Not here.

  Not without his army.

  And not if he didn’t have to.

  He tried to soften his voice. “We may very well come to blows one day, dear brother, but that is not my wish.” He met his gaze directly. “My prince, I would have never seen such discord grow between us, not when we are—”

  Jadon threw up his hand in a curt gesture of dismissal. “Save it for your minions, Jaegar, those who still hang on your every word. I would rather just speak honestly, if you don’t mind.”

  Jaegar’s hackles rose. “Do not dare to silence me, brother,” he warned. “You would do well to remember where you are and who you are with.” He took a deep breath, reaching for a more even temperament. “You sought an audience with me. You are standing in my bedchamber. You may very well have objections, but I have control over the kingdom’s army.” He leveled a cautionary gaze at Jadon and held it a couple seconds longer than necessary. “Remember who you’re speaking to, brother. And remember who is keeping our father alive.”

  Jadon’s dark, placid eyes flashed with unspoken fury, even as he slowly nodded in compliance, squelching his simmering rage. “Forgive me, Prince Jaegar.” He somehow managed to speak each word with subtly obscured mockery. “I do get rather passionate about these issues.” If poison could have materialized as a hidden snake from his tongue, it would have slithered along the floor, glided up the dais, and sank its seeking fangs into Jaegar’s royal throat—such was the venom beneath Jadon’s words. But as it stood, Prince Jadon withdrew his challenge and further acquiesced, averting his eyes in feigned respect. “You see, it’s just that I’ve heard it all before.” His voice remained steady and congenial as he pressed on. “We are brothers, twins of royal blood—pure blood, if you will. And like you, I am a male, and my birthright is to rule at your side, to share in equal dominion over all the creatures that roam our planet, including our own celestial kind.” He cocked his eyebrows and squared his jaw. “Am I close?”

  Jaegar bit his tongue.

  At least the soft-hearted ass had been listening.

  He turned on his heel, rounded the majestic bed, and made his way to the ornate nightstand, where he raised a golden goblet, took a deep gulp of wine, and then sat down on the mattress, angling his body to face his sibling. He swept his right hand in a wide arc. “By all means, continue, brother.”

  Jadon declined his head in a parody of a bow. “Perhaps it is petty of me to speak on behalf of our women”—once again, he mocked Jaegar with his deliberately soft words—“although I should point out that there is only one woman left to speak of at this juncture.” He raised his chin and met Jaegar’s gaze head-on, his own expression absent of provocation. “As you have so often pointed out, despite the fact that our women are—were—the keepers of our magic, the vessels of our secrets, the ones bestowed with our most enchanted, generational knowledge, they are, after all, only women and easily exchanged with their human counterparts in our beds. We can still father heirs.” He smiled, revealing only a bare hint of teeth. “Such as those heirs might be.”

  Jaegar nodded, even as he plastered a fabricated smile on his own face—Jadon was not the only one who could pretend to be pleasant while smoldering inside, and Jaegar was not about to give his twin the satisfaction of a reaction. Rather, he reclined on the bed, crossed his feet at the ankles, and linked his arms behind his head, sinking deep into the golden brocade pillow. And then he simply waited for his twin to continue.

  “And last but not least,” Jadon said, ignoring the cheeky display, “it is useless at this point to grieve over the loss of our sisters, or our royal queen mother; after all, princes—nay, future kings—were born and bred to carry a heavy yoke, and ours has been heavier than most. But our cause remains—what is the word you like to use?—ah yes, divine.” He paused, just long enough to draw a needed breath. “And we will reap our due harvest in the end.” Jadon extended his bow to the waist, as if he were a mere bard completin
g a performance for the king. “Did I leave anything out, dear brother?”

  Jaegar’s nostrils flared as he sucked in air in a flustered attempt to restrain his temper: Jadon had always possessed the most infuriating manner of wielding his tongue like a sword while keeping it sheathed in its scabbard. He could slice someone open without dampening his smile. He could injure with his tone without modulating his voice. He could cut one to the quick while still remaining agreeable. One way or another, Jadon always made his point.

  “Indeed, you have left something out,” Jaegar replied, forcing his own voice to remain affable.

  Jadon cocked his eyebrows. “And what would that be?”

  “Brotherhood,” Jaegar said. “Loyalty and comradery.”

  Despite his superior self-control, Jadon laughed.

  “Do not jest,” Jaegar snapped. “’Tis not funny in the least.” He rose up on the bed, braced the bulk of his weight on his arms, and glared at his brother in challenge. And then he quit pretending—this was no longer a game. “You are my brother, Jadon Demir. Flesh of my flesh. Blood of my blood. We shared our mother’s womb for nine long months. And despite this unfathomable weakness, your compassion for all things beneath you—for all creatures that will never be your equal—you are still one of the most intelligent, talented, and insightful men I know. You are a better strategist than myself; you are a better tactician than my generals; and you are the only male left in this kingdom who carries pure, royal blood in his veins, save our father, of course. But his time has passed.” He curled his lips into a defiant smirk, daring the prince to interrupt. “I would have you by my side, Jadon. And moreover, I would not see our kingdom torn in half, divided by civil war”—he sat fully upright then and leaned forward—“a war you cannot and will not win.” He narrowed his gaze, and this time, he regarded his brother with esteem, if not outright respect. “And if I know you—and I believe I do—you will not stand back and watch as all of your loyalists are slaughtered unnecessarily. You will not send them to their premature deaths by forcing them to wage a battle that has already been lost. And for what gain? Jessenia Groza is the last. As you so eloquently put it, soon we will reap the harvest we have planted.” His voice grew thick with conviction. “Stand with me, brother. Let us bury our past grievances, even as we bury this last female…together. United, we will be the most powerful monarchy that ever lived. Soon we will be as great as the gods.”