White Domnitor's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

Miguel stood on the highest terrace of the library, ready to recite the rite. He had the words. He had repeated Ali's sequence a hundred times. But doubt gnawed at him. One wrong syllable, and the sun would cook him from the inside. He kept hearing a different order in his head. Was it the fourth word or the fifth that came first? He could not be sure. And Ali had said the stone held only one dawn's power. There would be no second try tonight. Renfield watched from the doorway, hunched, arms crossed over his thin chest. He had led Miguel to the inventor. Now he looked ready to stop him. "You don't trust the words," he said. It was not a question. "Then wait. Ask him again." Ali appeared beside Renfield, orange robes bright against the dark stone. The old inventor had spent centuries chasing this exact rite. He did not look pleased. "He is right," Ali said. "You hesitate. Hesitation kills. Come down. We will drill the sequence until dawn." "There is no time," Miguel said. "The stone burns out. If I stop now, I waste it." He would rather risk his own flesh than lose the only power he had. "Miguel." Renfield stepped forward, welts pale on his skin. "I've watched Dracula's people die from bad magic. It's not fast. Don't." Miguel closed his eyes. He chose the order he trusted least, because trusting himself felt like the only path left. He spoke the words. He began to rise. White light poured from his skin, coiling around him in bright ropes. His long hair lifted. His red eyes flared like coals. The light climbed higher, brighter, until it shot up past the glowing domes and towers of the library. A white beacon stood over Walachia, visible for miles. Renfield shielded his eyes. Ali stared, mouth open. Neither had seen power like this from a single vampire. Then the light guttered. The ropes snapped loose. Miguel dropped to the stone, gasping. The stone in his hand was cold and dead, its silver glow gone. His skin was whole. No burn. The rite had simply failed. "Wrong order," Ali whispered. "The stone is empty. That power will not return." Miguel pushed himself up. He was alive. But he had lost his one dawn for nothing. Renfield was not looking at him. He was looking out over the city. Below, lamps flared in windows. Figures gathered on the bridges and cobblestones, faces turned upward. Dracula's court had seen the beacon. Every clan in Walachia had seen it. "They know now," Renfield said. "They know the son of Dracula is working secret magic in the sky." Miguel looked at the crowd forming below. He had wanted a quiet path to the sun. Instead he had lit himself up for the whole kingdom to see. His secret was gone. Now he would have to answer for it.