Vlad sat cross-legged on a soft mat in front of an open fire.
Behind him was a simple coffin lined with clean velvet and plush cushions.
There was no window in the room.
Roland had provided the room to him and he'd locked the door behind him as soon as he'd entered. Mina had knocked hard until she accepted he wasn't going to open it again.
After accepting the two women as Brides, Vlad had more or less lost interest in the meeting. Elder Miklos had outlined some changes in how the Court would deal with Roland. And Roland had provided details on what additional resources he could provide.
Vlad had noticed the deal was heavily in the Court's favour and the only reason the deal wouldn't be called unfair was that Elder Miklos had worked hard to make it so.
"We have some resources of our own," he'd told the merchant cryptically. Referring, of course, to Vlad's lost treasure now in the hands of the elders.
At the end of the meeting, Vlad had asked for advice on a decent weaponsmith and Roland promised to arrange an introduction.
Surrounded by quiet, Vlad let his mind slowly relax.
Then he sank into himself.
Into the realm of meridians, veins, and vital points which formed a human-shaped web through his flesh and bone. At the centre of the pulsing wave of energy moving through his body was his heart.
And within its wide chambers, his core.
To describe his internal structure to someone unfamiliar with the process of looking within was to invite accusations of madness.
How could he tell them his heart's internal chambers would grow to eclipse the size of a planet?
That his core would form a world of its own?
When he'd first been told this, the idea seemed ridiculous.
And, as he studied the small splinter-sized core he currently possessed, the thought it could grow so large seemed a distant dream.
But he'd grown his core before.
He could do it again.
And, where last time his core had contained impurities and blemishes, this time he would ensure it would not.
It would be perfect.
The key to achieving perfection was something he'd lacked in his youth.
Patience.
In truth, he still struggled with it.
But as he'd grown older, he'd managed to overcome his lack of patience with something more important.
Determination.
It was this determination which made him begin the process of reforging the tiny splinter into something more spherical. He had decided that the sooner he could do this, the better.
Letting it grow unevenly as it was now was common.
Forming the core into a sphere was usually something which was left until the core was roughly the size of a fist.
By then, a vampire should have a mind capable of withstanding the pressure of forging the new sphere as well as the experience to endure the pain. Two things Vlad had already earned.
First, he needed to expand the chambers of his heart and then merge them.
This would create a void inside the muscle. A void within which he would forge his core and the structure which would extract blood energy from blood.
This energy would be divided among his core and body as needed.
Essentially, he was creating an engine within his heart.
Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself.
Then he bit down hard on a leather strap he'd brought along for this moment. It would stop him from screaming.
He counted down from three.
And, at one, tore his heart apart.
Mina stood in the hall, not sure what to do. Her hands were clutched in front of her belly. The merchant had given her a room next to Vlad's, but she didn't trust anyone here.
Especially not the fierce-looking girl, Lucy.
She felt an intense need to be beside Vlad. Even if it meant laying at the foot of his coffin like a dog.
The thought shamed her.
Had she fallen so far she was starting to think like a slave?
Shaking her head, she reminded herself of the threat the League posed to her. They were everywhere like cockroaches. So, she had no doubt they knew where she was. She knew they were watching.
Knew they would test the merchant's security.
And if one of them managed to get inside, they'd take her away.
She'd never see Vlad again. Never be a Bride.
She couldn't let that happen. But she wasn't strong enough to protect herself. But he was powerful. She'd never seen anything like him. He'd torn the League fighters apart.
The last three, she'd even known.
They weren't little fighters. They had reputations.
But Vlad had treated them like small fries. Like dirt.
Biting her lip, she bent down to check the lock.
And, slowly, pulled a pin out of her hair and set to work.
If Lucy could see her now, she'd definitely think her a harlot. Picking locks wasn't a skill any decent lady should know. But Lucy's upbringing hadn't been normal.
It didn't take long before she heard a sharp little click and the lock scraped open.
Smiling, she pushed the door open slowly.
And saw Vlad.
In front of the fire.
His face was pulled back into a mask of absolute agony.
Her first thought was to rush to him. But she had a hunch that whatever was happening, it was self-inflicted. He knew what he was doing.
So, she'd trust him.
But it didn't mean she would do nothing.
By the door was a small jug of water and a bowl for washing.
She poured some of the water into the bowl and took it over to him. Sitting beside him, she dipped a cloth into the water.
Then held it against his forehead.
He was so warm.
Almost boiling with heat.
It might have been her imagination, but he seemed to relax a little as the cold touch of the wet cloth touched his brow.
Humming softly to herself, she knew it was going to be a long night.
In a corner of the room, a wardrobe rested against the wall. Dark shadows cast by the firelight danced gently beside it.
Inside those shadows, the awareness of Elder Miklos peered at the couple.
The girl didn't know how close she'd come to death.
The second she'd opened the door, he'd whipped a long dagger from his coat and was in the act of sending it spinning through the air towards her.
Even now he watched her carefully.
Almost as carefully as he watched the boy.
Vlad was still a fledgling, he had to remind himself.
Yet, here he was forging his core!
And at such a young age. He should be at a stage where he was struggling with his nature. He should be experiencing regret for taking blood.
And guilt for enjoying it.
He should be brushing on the concept of blood energy and how to use it.
Instead, the boy was acting like a master.
An idea crept into the elder's mind, but it was too horrifying to entertain.
Vlad whimpered, and Elder Miklos tensed again. But the girl brushed his head with her cloth, and he settled down.
Such devotion in a Bride!
The elder felt a brief pang of jealousy. If things had been different, perhaps he would have enjoyed such a bond.
Alas, the Brides… Well.
They understood the world better than the Court in some things.
A sudden spike of energy caused Elder Miklos to blink in shock. With his senses, he reached out to confirm his suspicions and nearly let out a gasp.
The boy had done it!
Not only had he formed a spherical core inside his heart, the core looked perfect! It was so smooth and round that the elder felt ashamed of his own pockmarked attempt.
Was Vlad's skill directly related to the technique he'd used?
He'd heard from Elder Amir that the boy had learned the Blood Ocean technique and even taught it to the other fledglings. At first, the elders had been distressed by the idea. The Crimson Wave technique was traditional for vampires.
But Elder Amir had brought out a damaged tome which had given a theory that the Blood Ocean technique might be superior in the long run.
Was this what gave the boy the strength to form such a large chamber in his heart? And then give him the control to forge such a perfect core?
It was frightening to think about.
As he watched, the boy anchored the core and began attaching his meridians to it. The pattern he created was intriguing.
And efficient.
Again he found himself wondering how the boy could come up with such ideas. They were far too advanced for a fledgling.
Incredible.
Suddenly, a creeping sensation crawled over the elder. Like an army of spiders with icy legs.
Was it possible the boy knew he was there?
A heavy weight seemed to push at the elder.
He had a feeling of something very old peering down at him from a great height. Its eyes were glowing a deep bloody red. There was no anger in the gaze.
No benevolence either.
Just calm consideration.
Then the weight evaporated and Elder Miklos shuddered.
His imagination?
No.
No, not his imagination. Somehow, the boy knew he was there.
Shaking his head, the elder sheathed the dagger he'd been holding and sank back into the shadows.
Later, he would convince himself he did not flee in fear but that he left because there was nothing more to see.
The truth, however, would remain in his heart like a shard of ice.