Corrupted blood lord

The woman gave him one chance.

Teclos decided not to waste it.

"I was Luther Vael’thorr’s thrall."

Nothing moved on the hill.

The distant lights of Veyron’s city flickered below them, small and harmless from this far away. Wind moved through the grass and tugged at the broken chain hanging from Teclos’s hand.

The vampire stared at him.

Then she laughed.

It was not a pleasant sound.

"You expect me to believe Luther allowed one of his thralls to wander across Tessania alone?"

"He didn’t allow anything."

"Yet here you are."

"Yes."

"And the pact?"

"Gone."

Her amusement disappeared.

Teclos felt the pressure around her deepen again.

"Pacts do not simply disappear."

"I noticed."

She crossed the distance between them before he could blink.

One moment she stood several paces away. The next, her fingers were wrapped around his throat.

Teclos’s darkness rose on instinct.

A black blade formed beside her ribs.

She did not even look at it.

"Dismiss that."

"No."

Her grip tightened.

The blade pressed against her coat, but Teclos could already tell it would not reach anything vital before she crushed his neck.

Still, he held it there.

The woman studied his face.

"You don’t know when to be afraid."

"I know."

"Then act like it."

"You’re the one asking questions."

For a second, he thought she might kill him out of irritation alone.

Instead, she shoved him backward.

Teclos slid across the grass, boots cutting two lines through the earth before he stopped.

"Show me," she said.

"Show you what?"

"The pact."

"It’s gone."

"Something remains after a bond is severed. A scar. A stain. Vael’thorr bindings are particularly difficult to hide."

Teclos straightened his collar.

"And how do you plan to see it?"

Her gaze settled on his chest.

He understood.

"No."

"Then we are finished."

Mana gathered around her hand.

Teclos glanced toward the city.

He could flee.

Perhaps.

If he opened a rift before she reached him and if she could not follow through the darkness. Both were generous assumptions.

He unfastened the upper part of his coat.

The woman approached more slowly this time.

"If you try to put a new pact on me," he said, "I’ll take your arm."

She looked at him as though he had threatened to empty the sea with a cup.

"Stand still."

Two cold fingers touched the center of his chest.

Teclos felt her mana enter him.

It did not push through his channels like a spell. It moved beneath them, searching through old wounds and places that had healed incorrectly. His darkness recoiled from it, gathering around his heart.

The woman’s expression changed.

Her fingers remained against him.

"What did this?"

"The Church poured something into me."

"What?"

"Purple. Painful. I didn’t ask for its name."

She ignored the answer and sent her mana deeper.

Teclos’s jaw tightened.

For an instant, he felt Luther again.

Not the vampire himself, but the memory of the chain. Commands carved into his thoughts. The pull behind his ribs whenever Luther summoned him. The certainty that refusal would end in agony.

Then something colder moved beneath the scar.

The woman withdrew her hand.

Teclos fastened his coat.

"Well?"

"The pact was not severed."

He stared at her.

"It’s gone."

"Yes."

"That sounds severed."

"It was consumed."

Teclos stopped adjusting the clasp.

The woman looked at his chest as though she could still see through it.

"Something ate through the bond and everything attached to it. There should be fragments left behind. There are none."

"The Church’s fluid."

"Perhaps."

She did not sound convinced.

Teclos slipped the broken amulet into his coat.

Her gaze snapped to his hand.

"Give that back."

"It’s broken."

"It is still mine."

He tossed it to her.

She caught the stone and examined the snapped chain. A thin crack ran through the center of the pendant. Whatever magic had hidden her true form had gone completely silent.

"Can it be repaired?" Teclos asked.

"Yes."

"How difficult?"

"For you?"

She looked up.

"Very."

"That wasn’t the question."

"It requires someone capable of working with blood-bound enchantments. A common jeweler will ruin it."

"Then we find someone better."

"We?"

"You want it repaired."

"I also want everyone who saw me dead."

Teclos exhaled.

"We’re back to that."

"They saw my face."

"They saw a woman standing in the ruins of a tavern."

"They will describe me."

"To whom?"

"Anyone who pays."

"That can be handled."

Her eyes narrowed.

"You intend to threaten an entire street?"

"I intend to make sure no one agrees on what they saw."

She glanced toward the city.

"There were guards."

"And drunks. Mercenaries. Tavern workers. Half of them were choking on your mana."

"They saw enough."

"Then give them too much."

The woman looked back at him.

Teclos continued.

"By morning, one witness says you had white hair. Another remembers scars across your face. Someone else swears you were an elf, or a mage wearing an illusion, or the man from the bar after a transformation spell went wrong."

"That is your plan?"

"It’s better than leaving thirty bodies in the street."

"I can leave no bodies."

"And that would be less suspicious?"

She said nothing.

Teclos took that as permission to continue.

"The city already thinks I destroy buildings whenever I get bored. The tavern won’t surprise anyone. The stranger can become a shape-changing fugitive. You escaped after your disguise broke. No name, no house, no reason for anyone important to care."

"You make it sound simple."

"It is simple. It just isn’t quick."

"How long?"

"Give me until dawn."

"You have two hours."

Teclos looked toward the paling edge of the sky.

"That isn’t until dawn."

"I know."

He almost smiled.

"Wait here."

"No."

"You can’t return looking like that."

Her killing intent sharpened.

Teclos raised one hand.

"That was not an insult."

"You should learn to speak more carefully."

"You should have worn a stronger chain."

The ground cracked beneath her foot.

Teclos opened a rift before she decided to answer.

"Two hours," she repeated.

Then he stepped into the darkness.

—

The city gates were still open.

Teclos emerged in an alley near the southern district and reached the Black Thread’s cellar within minutes.

Harven was awake.

He sat behind the old gambling table with three ledgers open around him and a cup of untouched tea beside his elbow. Maela stood near the wall, speaking quietly with one of her tavern girls.

Both stopped when Teclos entered.

Harven looked at the blood on his clothes.

"I heard about the tavern."

"It collapsed."

"I heard that as well."

Maela dismissed the girl and looked him over.

"Where’s the man you were fighting?"

"Not a man."

Harven rubbed at his forehead.

"Of course not."

Teclos placed both hands on the table.

"How many witnesses?"

"To the transformation?" Maela asked.

He looked at her.

"So the story reached you already."

"The story reached half the district. Depending on who tells it, you fought a disguised assassin, a demon, or your secret wife."

Teclos stared at her.

Maela lifted one shoulder.

"I didn’t invent that one."

"Kill it."

"The rumor?"

"Yes."

Harven picked up his pen.

"What do you want people saying instead?"

"That the stranger used a transformation artifact. It broke during the fight."

"That part is true," Teclos said.

Harven paused.

"Should I be worried about how much of it is true?"

"No."

"That usually means yes."

Teclos pointed toward the ledgers.

"I want different descriptions in every district. Pale hair in the north. Burn scars near the market. Pointed ears at the western gate. Make the stranger older in one version and younger in another."

Maela understood first.

"You want the witnesses buried beneath everyone else’s story."

"Yes."

"What about those who were there?"

"Pay the tavern workers. The innkeeper gets enough to rebuild. Find the guards who arrived and learn who writes their report."

Harven turned a page.

"That will be Captain Ors."

"Can he be bought?"

"Not cheaply."

"Can he be embarrassed?"

Maela smiled.

"He visits a married woman above my western laundry."

"Then he saw a shape-changing criminal and nothing more."

Harven wrote the captain’s name.

"And the mercenaries?"

"They started the fight," Teclos said. "Remind them of that."

"Gently?"

"No."

Maela left before he finished speaking.

Neri came down the stairs a few minutes later, still pulling on one boot.

"What happened?"

"Work."

The boy looked disappointed by the answer.

Teclos placed a small pouch of coins on the table.

"Wake Brann. I want beggars at every gate repeating different descriptions before the morning traffic arrives."

"How different?"

"Enough that no one can draw the same face twice."

Neri took the pouch.

"Was she pretty?"

Harven stopped writing.

Teclos looked at the boy.

"Go."

Neri grinned and ran upstairs.

Harven waited until his footsteps faded.

"She, then."

"Write faster."

"Right."

The Black Thread moved.

Messages left the cellar through children, servants, and men who looked too drunk to remember their own names. Maela’s people reached the witnesses first. The innkeeper accepted enough coin to replace the tavern and decided the woman had possessed silver hair. His serving girl remembered black hair and a missing eye.

Captain Ors amended the guard report before sunrise.

The fugitive became an unidentified shapeshifter whose appearance could not be confirmed due to unstable transformation magic.

By the time the eastern gate opened, three different sketches were already being passed between bored guards.

None resembled the same woman.

Teclos read the final report over Harven’s shoulder.

"It will hold," Harven said.

"For how long?"

"Until something more interesting happens."

"In this city?"

Harven closed the ledger.

"By lunch."

—

Teclos returned to the hill with a dark cloak, a hood, and a strip of black cloth long enough to cover the lower half of a face.

The woman was not where he had left her.

He sensed her behind him just before she spoke.

"You took too long."

Teclos did not turn.

"I had forty minutes left."

"You used thirty-nine."

"Then I was early."

She stepped around him and took the cloak.

The broken amulet remained in her hand.

"What did you do?"

"Paid people. Threatened others. Changed the guard report."

"And the witnesses?"

"Alive."

Her expression cooled.

Teclos handed her several pages copied from the reports.

She read them in silence.

One described a white-haired elf with a scar across her mouth. Another claimed the stranger had transformed into an elderly witch. The official report avoided any description beyond female, possibly, and warned that the subject’s appearance could not be trusted.

The woman lowered the pages.

"This city’s guards are incompetent."

"They’re practical."

"They lied."

"They were paid to remember differently."

She folded the pages once.

"And you control all of these people?"

"Not all."

"How many?"

"Enough."

The answer did not satisfy her, but she stopped asking.

She pulled the cloak around herself and raised the hood.

Teclos looked toward the broken amulet.

"I know an enchanter through the count’s court."

"You will not take this to Veyron."

"I didn’t say I would."

"You said through his court."

"People who work for nobles also work for money."

She studied him again.

"What do you want?"

"There it is."

"What?"

"The sensible question."

Her eyes hardened.

Teclos continued before she attacked him for the comment.

"You thought I belonged to your father. You recognized my darkness."

"I recognized something similar."

"And you knew I wasn’t Vael’thorr."

"That much was obvious."

"I want to know why."

"No."

"I also want information on Luther."

"No."

Teclos nodded.

"Then repair the amulet yourself."

The woman’s fangs appeared.

"You are becoming irritating again."

"You were less irritating as a man."

Her hand closed around the front of his coat.

Teclos did not resist.

They stood close enough that he could see the faint red around her pupils and the dust still caught in her dark hair.

"You are alive," she said quietly, "because I have not decided what you are."

"I’m useful."

"That remains to be seen."

"You needed thirty witnesses dead two hours ago. Now none of them can agree on the color of your hair."

Her grip loosened slightly.

Teclos noticed.

"So we trade," he said. "I repair the amulet. You answer a few questions."

"One question."

"Three."

"One."

"Two."

She released him.

"One now. Another if the amulet works."

Teclos considered pushing further.

He decided he enjoyed having an unbroken throat.

"Why did you assume I served your father?"

The woman looked toward the city.

For several seconds, he thought she might refuse anyway.

"Your darkness carries a familiar scent."

"Scent?"

"Not one a human would notice."

"I’m not human."

"You are close enough."

Teclos frowned.

She continued before he could argue.

"It resembles the mana used by my house. Not exactly. Yours is less refined and far more unstable."

"Your house has a name."

"It does."

She offered nothing else.

Teclos waited.

The woman looked at him.

"That was your question."

"You answered half of it."

"You asked badly."

He gave a quiet laugh.

Her expression shifted, not quite anger this time.

"What do I call you?" Teclos asked.

"You don’t."

"That will become inconvenient."

"For you."

"I could continue calling you princess."

The air grew heavier.

Teclos nodded once.

"Not princess."

She began walking toward the city.

He caught up beside her.

"You still need somewhere to stay."

"I can find one."

"Not without showing your face."

The woman stopped.

Teclos pointed toward a small hunting lodge visible among the trees farther down the hill.

"The Black Thread uses it as a dead drop. No one will visit until I send them."

"You expect me to hide in a shack?"

"For one night."

Her eyes moved from the lodge to the city walls.

"And the amulet?"

"I’ll have someone look at it today."

"You will bring the enchanter to me."

"No."

Her gaze snapped back to him.

"If the enchanter disappears after seeing you, people ask questions. I take the pendant. You keep the chain."

She looked down at the broken artifact.

Teclos held out his hand.

After a long pause, she removed the dark stone and placed it in his palm.

Her fingers closed around his before he could pull away.

"If you damage it further—"

"You’ll kill me."

"No."

Her voice softened.

"I will make you wish Luther still owned you."

Teclos met her gaze.

That threat sounded more believable than most.

He slipped the pendant into his storage ring.

"Understood."

She released him.

They walked toward the lodge in silence.

At the door, the woman paused.

"You said Luther’s pact was consumed."

"Yes."

"And you do not know by what."

"No."

She looked at his chest again.

"For your sake, you should find out."

Teclos leaned against the doorframe.

"Concern?"

"Curiosity."

"Of course."

She entered the lodge and closed the door in his face.

Teclos stood outside for a moment.

He had begun the previous evening expecting a tavern fight.

Instead, he had lost a building, discovered a vampire stronger than himself, and entered an agreement with someone who might kill him the moment her disguise was restored.

Still, she knew Vael’thorr.

She recognized his darkness.

And whether she admitted it or not, her house had enemies among Luther’s kind.

That made the danger worthwhile.