turned. 'Time for you to join me. "
"Join you? It's rather late to be going out. "
Welstiel saw him nod distractedly, still staring at the desk.
"Yes, late, " Bryen agreed, and reached out to brush the globe of lights with his fingertips. "Late for what should have been done long ago. But you were always so connected to the things of your world. Now, I need you to join me in mine. "
Welstiel's disquiet grew, and he stepped toward his bed.
"Do not try to draw that falchion, " his father said without turning around. "I understand why you made it, but leave it now. My gift for you makes it unnecessary. "
"I do not want your gift. " Welstiel shook his head. "I have no intention of becoming like you. "
"I... Our patron needs you. He whispers his plans, and you play such a part, my son. You are so honored. "
In less than a breath, Bryen suddenly stood between Welstiel and the bed... the falchion. His irises were clear and crystalline, and disquiet turned to fear in Welstiel. He bolted for the door. One step was all he took before a strong hand gripped the back of his neck.
Welstiel twisted and swung, and his knuckles collided with cold flesh and bone that did not flinch. "No!" he shouted, swinging again. "Father... no!"
Bryen clamped a hand around Welstiel's arm like a manacle, pinning it down. Air rushed out of Welstiel's chest as he was slammed to the floor.
He remembered yelling for the guards, clawing out for the falchion, kicking wildly to throw his father's weight off. The chamber door open again, and Master Ubad slid in to stand above him.
"Remember, Bryen, " Ubad rasped out. "Forget the old superstitions. You need only drain him so quickly that his essence is trapped as his body dies. That is all. Your close presence as he dies will pull him beyond death and—if his will and spirit are strong enough—he will rise by next nightfall. "
Lord Massing's face was savage and cruel. Welstiel saw extending fangs and thickening teeth press his father's jaws apart. They slipped from sight as Bryen leaned down and bit into Welstiel's throat. Welstiel bucked again, still trying to throw his father off.
"Don't!" was the last word he managed to speak.
"Our patron has great plans for you, " Ubad said to him. "A bride and a daughter. "
Pain smothered awareness until it, too, numbed in a growing chill that filled Welstiel's body more quickly than darkness filled his sight.
When his eyes opened again, he was lying on the floor of his room in his own feces and urine, stinking like an unwashed peasant after his dying body released its waste. It took moments for him to realize he no longer breathed, and panic made him suck in a mouthful of air.
Breath brought no calm—or any effect at all. His body felt cold and distant as the stone walls of his room.
Heightened anxiety widened his senses. He heard the thrum of a spider as it worked its web in the ceiling corner. He sat up, clothing sticking to him with filth, and he saw his father and Ubad by the door, watching him. At their feet was a grimy peasant girl, bound and gagged, eyes wild with fear. How long had he lain in this room?
Welstiel felt the girl's body heat.
The sight of her... the scent of her warmed flesh made him feel... starved.
"Come, my son, " Bryen said. "Instinct will guide you. Put aside thought of last night. There will be time enough for that. Now, you must feed. "
Welstiel could not remember his father ever speaking to him with this mild taint of compassion. The night before, he would have given much for a kind word. Now he did not care for anything...
... only the warm flesh beneath the girl's jaw where it flexed with the soft rhythm of her pulse.
He crawled at first, forgetting the stench of his own flesh, and then scrambled like an animal on all fours, rushing across the room. The girl squirmed in her bonds. She tried to scream through the gag as he fell on her, sinking his teeth into her throat until blood flowed into his clumsy mouth.
Strength and comfort filled him, and then a peace that was wholly unsettling. He stopped gulping and slowly swallowed the pleasure on his tongue.
When Welstiel could take in no more, he raised his head to look down at the body clenched in his arms.
The