Page 48 of Unbound By Shadows
Julian had grown particularly angry about her inaction and left Goblyn lands in search of better nourishment. Zaybris had worriedabout him, but soon after, their lands were left without a ruler. Then there were more pressing concerns for him to attend to.
Yet, I still failed.
He used his sleeve to dash the tears pricking his eyes. Foolishness. There was no time for sentimentality or pining. Lilith was gone, but now he would rule in her stead. He would unite the vampires to seize their destiny as the dominant race of Aurelia. But first, he must heal their decomposing bodies.
“You seem troubled,” said a baritone voice from his right. Zaybris turned to see Waldron studying him from the doorway, dressed in a brown tweed suit with a red bow tie. “Finding it difficult to be back in Aurelia, my friend?”
Anger rippled through Zaybris at the casualness of Waldron's tone. He bared his teeth at the other vampire and shouted, “You will address me as your king!”
Waldron didn’t react. One hand rested over his rounded belly, while the other stroked what was left of his formerly grand mustache. Zaybris studied him from the bottom of his polished loafers to the top of his bushy gray head. His eyes looked tired, his skin sallow.
Unlike Zaybris, who dressed with an elegance bordering on extravagance, Waldron preferred the simple tailoring of brushed cotton sack suits, waistcoats, silk cravats, and well-tailored vests that had been fashionable in the 1890s. His ability to stay calm in the face of strong emotions hadn’t changed either. It had been an admirable trait when they practiced law together, but now it only irritated Zaybris.
Deciding to let Waldron’s impertinence slide, Zaybris said, “Yes, your king is troubled, and frankly, I cannot understand why you are not. Don’t you yearn for true nourishment? Something to turn your hair from silver to ginger again?”
Waldron’s face showed pure disappointment. “Not this again, Lawrence… ”
Rage. Sheer, blind rage rushed through Zaybris, overwhelminghim. He leaped from his throne to grab Waldron by the throat before throwing him to the ground. Crouching over him, he seethed, “I told you never to call me that! Lawrence is dead!” Waldron’s eyes widened as Zaybris’s fingernails squeezed into his jowls.
“I… apologize… ” Waldron wheezed.
“To whom? You apologize to whom?”
“I apologize, King Zaybris… Your… Your majesty.”
Releasing his grip, Zaybris smoothed his hands down the other man’s vest. It took a moment for every last drop of fury to leave his body. Quietly he explained, “I relinquished that name, along with all the failures associated with it, the day I became an immortal. Do you not remember?”
Waldron coughed several times before answering, “I do. Forgive me.”
Zaybris walked back to the throne, which creaked as he fell into it. He rubbed his temples then motioned for Waldron to approach. “Ah, I forgive you. Come. Sit at my feet while I unburden myself.”
Waldron lowered himself to the steps leading up to the throne, the effort of the movement obvious in his face. “My king, something arrived—”
“Am I such a villain to desire what’s best for our people?” Zaybris interrupted. He stared up at the castle’s vaulted ceiling. “I want our people to thrive here, not simply survive on inferior blood. Is that so wrong? We were meant to rule this land at our full strength. Are you not tired of living in a body as battered as this castle? Do you not wish to be renewed?”
Waldron averted his eyes.
“Answer me,” Zaybris said.
“There are many vampires that support your work. But me? I crave my end. My wife craves her end. We’re content with letting nature take its course.”
Zaybris waved his hand. “Trapped in those bodies, how could you not wish for release? But you’ll soon change your mind.”
“I’m afraid I won’t,” he said. “We aren’t immortal. We believed ourselves to be, but it’s not true.”
“What do you mean?”
“We are starting to die naturally—the older ones of us, especially. My neighbor passed last week. He laid down before dawn and never woke again. The same happened to a vampire in Drago lands a month before. Her daughter followed soon after.”
Zaybris was suddenly deeply uncomfortable. “Hogwash.”
“It’s not. We have a lifespan, it seems.” Waldron motioned to the spots of decomposition on his formerly ruddy face. “As our outer body decays, so do our organs. It’s only a matter of time.”
Zaybris tapped his boot on the floor anxiously. He was about to probe Waldron further about these deaths when his friend extended his hand. A shard of crystal lay across his palm.
“I came to show you this, my king. A courier brought it from the Malkina lands. It’s for you,” Waldron said.
Zaybris looked down at the white crystal with suspicion. It was about the size of a cigar, jagged at both ends with one side polished flat. “What am I to do with it?”
