Amon's King

Amon smiled at those words.

"What you said reminds me of Richard Plantagenet. When I met him, he was not yet a king, but the Duke of Aquitaine. He was the same age as your king then, La Rochefoucauld—only eleven, newly betrothed to Alice, the French king's princess. He was the king's third son, and everyone said he could never become king. But the moment I saw him, I knew that red-haired child would become a lion, just as you said."

"And the future unfolded exactly as history has shown you," Amon continued. "He killed his father, killed his elder brother, killed his younger brother, then picked up the crown with bloodstained hands and set it upon his own head.

"He plundered Messina in Sicily, seized Cyprus, captured Acre, dealt Saladin's army a crushing blow at Arsuf, recovered Jaffa, Ashkelon, and Darum, and stationed his troops at Beth Nuba, only twelve miles from Jerusalem.

"Twice in succession, once at Verneuil and once at Fréteval, he defeated Philip, King of France. He captured Philip's royal choir and seized countless horses, tents, jewels, and documents.

"He built Gaillard Castle on the Seine River. You can still see it now."

"My God, my God," the duke murmured. "You speak as though you saw all of it with your own eyes."

"Ah, if you were to visit the castles of Aquitaine, you would see me—on the tapestries, in the illustrations of books, in written records.

"When he forced Tancred, King of Sicily, to pay twenty thousand pounds of gold as ransom for Messina, I stood at his side.

"When he decided in Cyprus to make the beautiful Berengaria his queen, I was the one who witnessed their union.

"When he could almost see Jerusalem, when he was on the verge of retaking the Holy City, it was also I who wrote to John, thousands of miles away, and had him raise a rebellion.

"In the end, when he was struck by an arrow at Châlus Castle in Limousin and was close to death, I asked whether he would forsake his faith and embrace the darkness. He refused—but even so, Duke, I loved that child from the bottom of my heart." The vampire suddenly leaned forward and took out a reliquary the size of a baby's palm. He opened it for the duke to see. Though the light here was bright enough, the duke could make out only a shriveled, blackened mass. It was difficult to say what it was. His nose caught the heavy scent of musk and myrrh, a fragrance he seemed to have smelled somewhere before, yet could not recall no matter how hard he tried.

"After he died, three knights followed his instructions and sent his heart, head, and body to three separate places for burial. His body was buried at the feet of his father, Henry II, as an act of repentance. His head remained in Aquitaine, and his heart was sent to his queen, Berengaria. But I kept his heart. As you can see, I used secret arts to press every drop of blood from it, filled and preserved it with spices, shrank it down, and carried it with me."

Duke La Rochefoucauld's eyes widened, and he could barely speak. "But that violates the secret arts!" he cried, losing his composure. "That was a king—a great king! You cannot turn a king, not even someone who might become a king, into one of the bloodkin!"

"Tzimisce has never needed to follow any old rules or conventions." The Prince of Tzimisce shook the reliquary in his hand. "La Rochefoucauld, you disappoint me. I had thought that on this vast stage, you would offer me a dazzling performance... but no, Duke, nothing at all. You, and Prince of Condé as well, reek even more rotten and foul than Nosferatu—stagnant with the stench of death."

"You see, I once had a king," Amon said. "But in the end, I still lost that child. Now I still want a king—a being destined, from the moment he is still swaddled in infancy, to rule an entire nation. You know, to this day, I still have no heir to my liking. I want an heir. Perhaps he will suit me even better than Richard did." As he spoke, Amon could practically be described as brimming with interest. Perhaps at first he had merely threatened the duke because of his incompetence, but now, this new idea had stirred him into excitement despite himself.

In contrast to the vampire's calm composure, Duke La Rochefoucauld was terrified. When he had come here, the worst outcome he had imagined was no more than losing Amon's favor. He had never considered that, to Amon, he too was merely a human—a "thing" that, in a vampire's eyes, amounted to nothing more than a tool or food.

It was hardly strange for the duke to think so. People of this age had always believed that those of noble rank deserved special treatment, regardless of whether they had reached the end of the road or committed atrocities beyond measure. Even after a king had been sent to the guillotine, they stubbornly believed bloodline and birth to be superior to talent and wisdom. Only now did he truly feel fear, because all the things he had always relied upon had suddenly ceased to work.

If not for the final thread of reason preserving the duke's bearing, perhaps he truly would have died here tonight, like those lowly people he had never deigned to notice.

"But if you do this," the duke cried softly, "he will hate you."

Amon cast him a sidelong glance. The duke's foreboding had not been wrong. Once a new thought seized this mad Prince of the bloodkin, La Rochefoucauld, the human he had once appreciated, immediately became dull and tasteless.

"You would think that," Amon said teasingly, "because you are still human, Duke. Besides, I do not care whether my child hates me. What I need is an heir, not a lover."

"Of course." The vampire stretched out a hand and pressed it onto the duke's shoulder. "Not now. Your fear has come too early, my friend. As you said, perhaps his soul has already revealed a captivating radiance, but his body is still far too young. We must wait. Time will polish him into something better, just as it did my Richard. Which means, Duke, your task has become more urgent. Tell me, have you encountered difficulties? Perhaps I should have someone else complete this work..."

"No, no, no, Your Highness, no," the duke said urgently. "I already have a way." Fear of death abruptly set his sluggish mind spinning at full speed. In truth, he had considered this on the way here, but quickly rejected it himself, because it was too dangerous for him. But now he stood at the edge of a cliff, liable to fall at any moment, and he could no longer afford to care about that.

"What sort of way?"

"I will seek refuge with Mazarin," the duke said. "I will find a way to persuade the cardinal to arrest Duke of Condé and the others as quickly as possible. Once he is in prison, with his reputation, status, and even his life in another's hands, he will no longer be as stubborn as he is now."

"That does not sound like a bad idea," Amon said. "But if it is exposed, you may be executed as a traitor. Or Mazarin may be unwilling to shelter you, and you will still be unable to escape death."

So this was not my original plan, the duke thought bitterly.

"Then go," Amon said. "Do not forget, what I expect is a spectacle splendid enough to satisfy me... Wait."

Duke La Rochefoucauld stopped. "Do not forget your reward," Amon said. He clapped his hands, and a youth entered carrying a silver goblet filled with black medicine. Amon slit open his wrist with a fingernail and let his blood drip into it. Only three drops fell, but as soon as they entered the medicine, it immediately turned a deep, vivid scarlet. Though the duke's fright had yet to subside, greed still appeared on his face at the sight of that cup.

His hand trembling, he took the goblet and drained it in one swallow, then bowed to Amon once more.