Prelude (Underworld Lucian Fanfiction)

14 - Chapter XIV: The Naming of Reinette

The River Danube, 5:25 pm

For a day and a half, they were in the pitch, the river taking them forward, up and down, over and under, stillness becoming a concept of memory. Below deck, Lucian sat at his desk, one hand wrapped around his pen, the other folding a sheet of paper. He was listening to the sound of footsteps, mortal sailors moving on deck while the unseen captain lurked in his quarters.

Like the Charon of Greek mythology, Vasili was the ferryman between the two worlds, vampire and lycan, his ship carrying exiles instead of souls. Certainly, before his stint in the underworld, the vampire had fathered enough children to make his crew share the same name. They knew he was a vampire...their parents' parents knew...and their parents before that. But how an Imperial Russian frigate-captain came to accept immortality for the price of a river, only Lucian knew. It made him trust Vasili only for the measure that it took them to reach Vienna.

As he worked, the only real sense of time passing was the dull scratch of his pen. It made him miss the presence of his watch, the constant ticking that reminded him how much closer he was getting to his goal: the death of Amelia

A century after raising the question, the vampire council had made its decision to split the coven. Let it never be said that they were slow to change. As the youngest of three Elders, Amelia was the one slated to rule in the Americas. She would only make it as far as the Awakening Chamber. Once Viktor was safely beneath the ground, she and her successor, Dmitri, would be found in pieces. The gap in power would force a crisis and the council would have to act. None among them would risk waking Marcus...and Viktor would not survive an Awakening so soon after his sleep began. According to coven rules, Kraven would become sole successor with the Elder's seal...

...and then he would make history by becoming the first vampire to propose peace with the lycans. An iron-clad treaty that would end the war.

Five hundred years of continuous war.

Unconsciously, his fingers reached out for the bottle again...it was almost time for his next dose. Every morning and evening, he allowed himself a single drop of laudanum. Far too small to affect his guard, but enough to ease the pain in his head. It was a boon having it in his system again. It would be so simple to take his dose sooner than later, but that would be giving in. His was a controlled addiction that he knew he could stop. He knew he could throw the bottle overboard like the seer's meal and never think twice on it. He was sure of it.

Purposefully, he drew his hand back, aware that two sets of eyes were watching his back.

Raze and the bloodseer. Neither of them had spoken a word since yesterday. Stone-faced and restraining his anger, the first was lying on the upper bunk, still carving away at that scarab, an unlikely gift for his mate, Allegra. The second, the blood-seer, feigned sleep, perhaps content with the unwashed odour coming from her berth. She had slept little in the last twenty-four hours. He had instructed Raze to take her above deck, but she would not leave the room. Her face was wet, her eyes swollen. Crying... sorrow... tears... ...what did such things remind him of?

After a spell, he laughed softly and touched his pen to the new sheet of paper.

Gunpowder...

...they reminded him of gunpowder.

The London den would need several barrels, smokeless, white, and three times more volatile than regular powder. For this order, he must be careful in his wording, though it would be difficult for any but the master of arms to make sense of his code.

"Mme. Durand..." he wrote, undisturbed by the constant movement of his desk. "...It is with great sincerity that I again caution you to steer clear of old techniques. Those among us who find the darker colours..."