“Yes, well, we’re headed this way.” Callos arcs around the desk, heading for a secondary atrium where statues stand sentry.
We round a side stair to a mezzanine. I’m focused on the statues the entire time. One is crowned, similar to the chapel in the castle. But two others are gracefully frozen mid-dance—a butterfly-winged fae and what looks like a human, laughing, arms wrapped around each other. Another tells the tale of a man and his mountain lion foe. A fourth is the horrific image of a vampir I imagined long before arriving in Midscape; it is a woman hunched over a limp body, stony blood dribbling down her chin in frozen rivulets.
Everything we pass has the thin sheen of frost and dust. Timelessness and immeasurable age, frozen together and suspended in eternity. I don’t want to touch anything. I hardly want to breathe.
These halls feel forbidden to me. They’re something unlike anything I’ve ever seen, ever even dared to contemplate. I’m not meant to be here. And yet, yet…
My heart is racing.
With every corner we round, every hall we descend, is a thrill. Weeping paintings have me putting their colors back together, imagining what they might have been, could have been. Statues stare at me with silent eyes. None of it is magic, as I originally suspected, but it has all captured me—grabbed my imagination by the teeth.
I’ve barely scratched the surface of this wondrous place when Ruvan says, “Here we are.”
We’ve stopped at a long, narrow corridor. There are more skeletons here, but they’re not like the large monster in the entry. These are held upright by solid metal rods through their core, rather than suspended by the ceiling. Between them are statues, rough at first, but slowly becoming more refined as the hall progresses. There are paintings and tapestries coloring the walls around them.
“Over this way,” Callos says, starting for one of the closest statues. He uses the side of his hand to scrape off frost and grime from a placard before it. As he does, I focus on the statue itself. It shows two men clasping hands underneath a full moon. “The first moon pact.”
I read the placard. “Vampir and…lykin?”
“Our celestial brethren. The lykin’s ancestors, too, found strength in the moon. But our paths diverged greatly when their leaders made a pact with the ancient spirits in the deep woods for their strength. The vampir made no such pacts and retreated into our mountains instead.” Callos points to a skull on a pedestal. “See, here, vampir weren’t so different from humans originally. We didn’t know the blood lore, yet, so we had no reason for fangs.”
I stare at the skull of the fangless vampir. Callos is right. It is almost the same as a human’s. Except, even their skulls are more lovely, delicate. The bone is perfectly smooth, as though it were sculpted from a single piece of marble.
“The vampir were physically changed by the blood lore?”
“Yes, it was the only way we could survive,” Ruvan says solemnly.
“Vampir were weak by nature,” Callos says, moving us down the hall. There’s a faded portrait of rows of beds, men and women occupying them. Attendants were frozen among the rows.
“We had our own strength,” Winny objects to being called weak.
“We did. We could use the power of the turning moon to dredge up deep magics that we could use to perform wonderful feats of magic, of reading the stars, or creating great works of art,” Callos agrees. “But only during that time. It made the early lords and ladies fearful of the outside world—compared to the rest of Midscape and all their magics, we were weak. So we fortified ourselves in our mountains and only welcomed others in when the moon was full.”
“And then, the blood lore began,” Ruvan murmurs as we come to a stop before another statue of King Solos. He wears the same crown as in the chapel—though this crown is made of stone, not iron and ruby. “With the infusion of blood magic, we were able to strengthen our people beyond just the full moon. New blood and all its power and experience was added to the vampir.”
“We became faster and stronger with every addition. We could fully open our borders to trade and travel as every other kingdom had. Tempost became a bastion for art and culture and music. We read the stars and the fae sang of our abilities to see into a person’s soul through their blood,” Callos says proudly.
“And just look at us now…” Winny murmurs, trailing her fingers along railings and statue bases. “How far we’ve fallen. How short-lived it all was. How easy it was for the same magic that made us, to undo us.”
Callos stares after her, forlorn. His eyes shine with a longing that makes my heart ache.
Ruvan must see it, too, because he says, “Why don’t you take Winny to see the tapestries? I know how she enjoys sewing.”
“Are you certain? As the archivist, it’s my duty to keep record of history,” Callos objects, shifting awkwardly. “There’s more to discuss about King Solos and the early humans in Tempost.”
“As the current lord of the vampir, I think I am well qualified to assume that responsibility.” Ruvan dips his head in Winny’s direction; she’s inspecting what looks to be a replica of the city of Tempost in its caldera.
“Very well, shout if there’s trouble,” Callos says, dashing over to where Winny has wandered. They exchange a few words before disappearing together down a side hall.
“I hope you don’t mind.” Ruvan turns to me. “His time alone with Winny is rare. I figured it would be nice for them.”
“Are Callos and Winny courting?” I’m slow on the uptake with these things. Knowing that my courtship would always be formal, brief, and mostly arranged for me by family, fortress, and town, I’ve never paid the ways of it any mind. Maybe I wouldn’t be feeling perpetually hot and cold around Ruvan now if things had been different for me and I’d been more experienced.
“Not yet. Maybe not ever.”
“Ever?”
Ruvan shrugs slightly. “Nothing is guaranteed.”
