Karhi Emelyn

Karhi left Sloane to go back to his room. 

It had been over forty-eight hours since he had slept.  His head ached and his vision felt like it was constantly zooming in.  And yet, no matter how he tossed and turned in his bed, he couldn’t settle.

Two hours past climbing into bed, he finally got out.  He wasn’t going to sleep.  Not when he couldn’t stop thinking about his conversation with Hazel or the subsequent talk with Sloane.

He was doing a shit job as a sire.

Before October, he hadn’t cared.  He had been counting down the days to when Sloane would leave his house, and he would be alone again.  He had wanted her gone so he never had to think about her grandmother, her, or being a sire ever again.  He had been actively antagonistic towards her in the beginning, in fact. 

But now, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.  He had been helpless to stop what Ilona had done to her.  Torturing Mikko, killing Genie and Frankie’ parents, torturing her, the forced hysterectomy—Sloane had basically died.

He had turned her when he knew what Ilona was capable of.  It had been irresponsible and weak of him.  And all for what?  To save a dying girl who could have potentially spent the rest of her immortality being regularly tortured for fun?  To stave off his loneliness?

He couldn’t stand himself.

His skin itched, like things were walking on it.  But when he looked down, there was nothing there.  He found himself continually swiping his palms over his forearms, as if to knock off insects crawling on his skin.

His mouth was dry, but the thought of drinking blood was repulsive.  Though, alcohol wasn’t.  It would dull the sharp edges inside of him that were stabbing at every part of him.

Saeran would be the one to have alcohol in his room.  Karhi didn’t know where the kitchens were.  The castle was probably a hundred miles from the nearest gas station or liquor store, tucked into the mountains like it was.

On some level, he knew it wouldn’t look good to break into someone’s room.

On the other hand, he didn’t care.  He needed something to quiet the buzzing in his brain and dull the sensitivity of his skin.

Saeran’s quarters were close to Karhi’s.  Karhi had seen Aoife come out of them in a rage twice already since he had arrived.  Saeran was the only person who could get under her skin so thoroughly.

Karhi knocked on the door to Saeran’s quarters first.  Better to check that he was in there than to try to go in and find him.

He knocked a few times and when no one answered, he tried the handle. 

It opened into what could best be described as an antechamber.

There was a fountain in the centre of the room, flowing into a koi pond maybe eight feet across.  Moss and rocks surrounded the edge of the pond.  There was a bench on either side.

Mirrors rimmed in gold were mounted to every wall.  Arches decorated with embedded sea glass led out of the room in three directions.  The floors were a reddish-brown tile that glinted different sunset colours in the light of the wall sconces.

The arch directly in front of him led into a hallway with more arches leading off the side.  Different coloured lights came from each room.

To his left was an enormous sunken living room with a couch that was basically just a massive purple bed with arms and TVs mounted on both the wall and the ceiling.  The wall opposite the TV had a gas fire place with a set of shelves showing off African art and sculptures. 

To his right, he heard the hum of a refrigerator and figured that was his best bet.

He was greeted by a bar with a wine cooler filled with wine bottles and blood, and fully stocked liquor shelves.  The bar had high top chairs pulled up and there were a couple of couches.  It was a club lounge.

He darted for the bar, reaching for the labels that were fifty percent or higher for alcohol.  He found a rum and a vodka that fit his parameters and pulled them both off the shelf.  He wasn’t familiar with either of the brands because he normally drank whiskey or gin.

He heard the front door open just as he took the bottle off the shelf, and he cursed silently to himself.  He ducked under the bar and hid.  There was no explaining this.

Saeran was the first to speak, furious.  “She broke my jaw.”  Karhi heard the door close.  “Aoife, why isn’t the guard doing anything about her?  She’s dangerous!”

“All due respect, your Highness, but I believe that Faolan is completely booked, working on the security for your parents due to the recent attempts on them.”  Aoife’s voice was the deadest it had ever been.

“What about the attempt on me?”

A new, deep, and melodic voice spoke.  “What did you do to prompt it?”  Prince Cyly.

“Nothing!”

There was silence in response before Saeran finally said, “It doesn’t matter.  I am prince here.  She should respect—”

“What have you done to earn her respect?  Antagonize her and make her feel out of place?  Why would she have respect for you?  You’re not her prince.  You’re not acting like anyone’s prince.”

Saeran practically snarled in response.  “What would you know about acting like a prince?  You and that woman are going to marry, as different species, and never produce an heir.”

“Just because we can’t have children doesn’t mean we couldn’t rule.  It also doesn’t mean we couldn’t adopt a child.  Or alternatively, we could have an elected government.”

Saeran scoffed.  “That woman is filling your head with stupid thoughts.  No one else has been trained for this like we have.”  He made a noise of disgust.  “Cailean’s forgotten that, but I thought you hadn’t.  Cavorting about like she doesn’t have any duties to her kingdom.  Are you also going to renounce the throne, brother?”

Karhi’s eyes rose in surprise.  She what?

“Cailean hasn’t formally renounced the throne.”  Aoife was the one to speak.  Her tone was even and indecipherable.  Had she already known this?  She had to have if Saeran was talking about it freely.

Saeran made another noise of disgust.  “She just hasn’t made Mother and Father privy to her plans.  Why do you think she came back?”

“Your parents asked all of you to be here to debrief you on all that’s going on.”

“Yes, but if Cailean had decided to stay away, to continue her bounty hunting or whatever other ridiculous hobby she’s gotten into, she wouldn’t have been forced to come.  And the only reason that Cyly’s here is because he lives in this castle.”  In a quieter voice, clearly aimed directly at Cyly, Saeran said, “Instead of living at home, where you should be.”

Cyly’s calm cadence finally broke.  But it didn’t turn to anger; it turned to exhaustion.  “Saeran, this is my home now.  With my fiancée.  This is where she grew up, and it’s where she wants to stay.”

“So, what, when we inherit, you’ll be the Western side of the world, and I’ll be the Eastern side?”  Saeran’s voice was like acid.  Karhi was almost surprised that he didn’t smell burning flesh.

“We could.  I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to it.  Cailean wants to back out to pursue her own life, but the two of us are still here and will still be the crowned heirs.”

“For now.  Until you also decide to abandon our responsibilities and leave everything to me.  I can already see it, Cyly.  You’re letting that woman fill your head with nonsense and once you get married, it will only get worse.  Eventually you, too, will quit.  And I’ll be stuck leading everything on my own.”

There was a pause and then, “The only reason you’ll be on your own is because you’ve pushed everyone away who would want to help you.”  The exhaustion had disappeared, replaced with a burning anger.  “You’ve done this to yourself.”

“Get out of my room,” Saeran hissed.

“Gladly.”

Karhi heard stomping and then a door slammed shut further in the suite.  He heard a lock bolt.

“Did you know about Cailean?” Cyly asked.

“I had my suspicions from comments Faolan has made,” Aoife said.

“Do our parents know?”

“I don’t think they’re blind, but I haven’t told them.”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t.  Cailean should be allowed to tell them in her own time.”

“Oh, not a chance in hell that I’m getting in the middle of you three.  I’ve learned my lesson on that.  Any of your squabbles is your parents’ responsibility.”

Cyly responded with a deep laugh that reminded Karhi of warm syrup.  “That’s a good self-preservation tactic.  Are you leaving or did you actually need to speak with Saeran?”

“Oh, I’m leaving.  But I’m taking one of his nice bottles of wine as payment.”

Cyly laughed again.  A moment later, Karhi heard a door shut and then, “Uh . . .”

Karhi’s head snapped up to see Aoife standing next to him.

Aoife stared at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.  She tilted her head to the side, looking from Karhi’s face down to the two bottles in his hands and then back up.  After a moment, she shook her head and took a bottle of white wine from the chiller.  She pointed in the direction of the door out of Saeran’s chambers and disappeared behind the bar.

Karhi scrambled after her, taking the bottles with him.  When they were outside of Saeran’s chambers, Aoife said, “Whatever is going on here?”  She made a circular motion with her hand to indicate the entirety of Karhi.  “I want nothing to do with.  The kitchens are close to the front of the castle proper.  They have a wide selection of alcohol.  I don’t want to hear Saeran grousing about you and Sloane.”

She left without saying another word.

By the time Karhi had retreated to his room, his ears were ringing.  The skin under his left eye was twitching, an annoyance that grated at his already-frayed patience.

His room was similar to Sloane’s, but it was designed for an adult .  The floor was black tile that shimmered with silver veins, not a single cute rug to be seen.  There was a bed, a desk, and a dresser.  A table with two chairs sat in the corner, beneath a window that had a view of the mountains.

He chose to sit on the floor, ignoring everywhere else he could sit.  Thankful for the recessed handles in the dresser, he leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him and uncapping the bottle of rum. 

It smelled like a campfire.  Well, that was nice.  Reminded him of a scotch he liked.  And it went down easily like that scotch, smoky sweetness smoothing out the burn. 

Setting down the bottle, he clenched and unclenched his fists, debating whether to just finish it off in one go or wait.  The alcohol was a warmth in his stomach that portended a soft fuzziness over the sharp edges of his mind.

But before he could slug back more, there was a knock on his door.  He sighed, standing up.  He set the alcohol inside an empty drawer in the dresser.

Opening the door, he blinked in surprise.  “Your highness?” 

“Karhi,” Cailean said.  Her nose wrinkled.  “You smell like that awful smoke rum my brother drinks.”

Karhi shrugged, not saying anything one way or the other.  “What can I do for you, your highness?”

“Do you have a moment to talk?”

“If I don’t have to leave my room.”

She raised an eyebrow but shrugged.  He let her through and closed the door, sitting down at the table in the corner.  Cailean remained standing, leaning against his dresser.

“Your fledgling,” she said.

Irritation flared against the back of his neck.  He didn’t particularly care for the politics of interacting with living vampires.  It was why he did it so rarely, and why he only tended to work with Hazel, Matadi, or Aoife directly.  Everyone else—heirs, generals, lords, ladies—always demanded unearned respect that Karhi had no patience for. 

“I’m going to stop you there.  Yes, technically I am supposed to take responsibility for how she acts while she’s here, but I also don’t really care how she acts.  So, however she’s offended you, I’m not going to talk to her about it.  Level any complaints at your mother, since she’s the one who asked for Sloane to be here in the first place.”

Cailean blinked in surprise before schooling her expression into annoyance rivalling Karhi’s.  “I’m not here to complain about her.  I wouldn’t be able to bounty hunt if I acted like a rich, spoiled brat.  I’m not Saeran.”

“Bounty hunting.”  Karhi had heard Saeran say it.

“For the past couple years, I’ve taken it up as a hobby.”

Yeah, that sounded right.  If she was planning on renouncing the throne, bounty hunting was something lucrative and interesting for a bored abdicated monarch.  “What about Faolan?”

“He still feels too much responsibility for my parents to leave, so I see him in between jobs.  One day, I may pry him from them, but it’s not a battle I have yet won.”  She waved a hand as if waving the conversation away.  “That’s not why I’m here.  Your fledgling and my brother got into a fight in the breezeway between the main castle and the royal wing.  When I broke it up, she yelled at me.”

Karhi pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a sigh and clicking his tongue piercing against his teeth.  Of course she had.  “Cailean, I already said—”

“I know,” she cut in sharply, not quite a snap, but close.  “My brother started it anyway.  And I didn’t do much to help.”

Karhi waited for her to elaborate.

“Do you know how she came to be here?”

“You didn’t believe I’d have a fledgling, so you imprisoned her.”

Cailean glared at him.  “You can’t blame me for thinking you wouldn’t have one.”

He didn’t glare at her, but his expression didn’t convey warmth, either.  “Where have you been for the past two months?  Ilona’s almost-death was an earthquake in our circles.”

“I was busy,” she shrugged.  But she moved on.  “Anyway, I admit that I made a mistake—”

“How kind of you,” he muttered under his breath.

“—and should not have acted so rashly.”  She ignored him, continuing on to tell him about the interaction she, Saeran, and Sloane had had within the past hour.  “She called our neuropaths subpar,” she finished.

Karhi snorted, standing up.  The alcohol from earlier had made him a bit fuzzier, but it still wasn’t enough to dull the edges he felt cutting inside him.  Especially when talking about Sloane.

Cailean stepped away from the dresser, and Karhi pulled out the rum she had complained about.  When she saw it, she grimaced. 

There were glasses on the table, like what would be found in a hotel set-up.  Considering the hospitality industry was one of the most lucrative in which the Ruaidhrí family was involved, it made sense. 

Karhi flipped a glass over and poured out the rum.  He took a long drink of it before setting it down.  The burn and smoke were less pronounced now that he was expecting it.

“Have you ever been subjected to a truthseeker?” he asked her.

“I have.”

“How old were you?”

“It happened once a few years after I turned.  My mother wanted me to experience it.  It was unpleasant, but not the worst.”

“Of course it wasn’t.  Because she probably gave you Savita, who is a neuromancer and a neuropath, and she’s very good at what she does.”  Savita was almost as old as Karhi. 

Cailean didn’t have a response for that because he was right.  He saw it in the way she looked away.

“You don’t have a sire,” Karhi said.  “You’ve only ever dealt with the best truthseeker.”  He looked down at his rum.  “Savita is aged Balvenie scotch.  It goes down smooth, and you may not like the taste or the experience, but it doesn’t really hurt.”  He set down his glass.  “Most truthseekers are blended scotch whiskey in a used bottle with an Everclear label.  It can burn, and make you sick, and is just generally a bad experience.”

“Where does the White Psychic rank?”

“Better than Savita.”

Cailean blinked.  “Has she been in your head?”

“Yes.  If you’ve met her, she’s probably been in yours.  It doesn’t really feel like anything.  In fact, if you’re not used to mental intrusions, you wouldn’t even notice it.”

Cailean’s brow furrowed.  “I would know.”

Karhi shrugged, meeting her gaze.  He searched for the ball of focus in her head.  A ball of tightly wound wires.  He picked at it, just enough to get one wire out of place. 

Her eyes unfocused for a moment and Karhi let go.  Her attention came fully back on him.  Her brow furrowed slightly in confusion.

Yeah, Mira had definitely been in her head without her knowing.  Karhi hadn’t even had to try to get in.  And after a few seconds, when Cailean hadn’t caught on to what he had done, he knew that her mental defences were absolute shit.  Maybe something to flag for Hazel.

Though what did he owe her?

Karhi moved on, not letting on about what he had done.  “Having a truthseeker in your mind is an invasion.  Why do you think your mother is so careful with them?  She uses them sporadically because they can break people if they don’t know what they’re doing.  The living vampires are prone to birthing neuropaths, but they’re not particularly gifted.  Probably from all the inbreeding.”

“Inbreeding?”

“Before your mom unified the living vampires, the courts pushed hard for more truthseekers.  A lot of neuropaths had kids with other neuropaths.  And since neuropathy tends to be hereditary . . .”  He let her fill in the blanks, taking another swig of his drink.

She looked down at her feet.  She was leaning against the dresser again.  “I didn’t know that.”

“It was before you were born.  And it’s one of those fun facts that isn’t heavily advertised because it’s not a good look.  It’s why Savita is the general in charge of the truthseekers.  The only reason you even got a truthseeker in the dungeon that night was because you’re the princess—you probably outranked everyone who could have stopped you.”

Cailean looked up from her feet to meet his eyes.  “Why do you know all this?”

He finished off his glass and poured another drink. The fuzziness was starting to set in more strongly.  His eye had stopped twitching, and the ringing was gone.  “The history of truthseekers?”

She nodded.

“Ilona took any and every opportunity to speak poorly about living vampires.  Since I’m also a neuropath, it was a frequent topic of discussion for her.  ‘You’re so much better than those abominations my sister has at her disposal’ or, ‘A natural neuropath has more talent as a fledgling than one of those truthseekers has at four hundred years old’.”  Karhi rolled his eyes.  “As if any of us have a choice in being sired with powers or being born as a result of incest that waters down your powers.”

One side of Cailean’s mouth lifted in a sneer, but it wasn’t aimed at Karhi.  “She was horrible.”

That was the understatement of the millennium.  “Her intrusions were also damaging.  It turned your brain to Swiss cheese if she did it enough.  Some of her children went catatonic because of it.  Or went into a permanent frenzy.” 

Cailean looked down at her boots again, biting the inside of her cheek thoughtfully.  “That’s what Sloane meant.”  Her voice betrayed regret.

“Yes.  Anyone who has spent a long time with a neuropath or an awful sire knows the damage they can inflict.  Your actions could have resulted in irreversible damage.”  He leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling.  Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me, he thought.  Maybe Ilona had done irreversible damage to his brain with all of her intrusions.  Maybe that was why he had turned Sloane.  Maybe he had lost his mind and couldn’t be trusted.

Wasn’t that a depressing thought?

He looked back at Cailean.  “That it?” he asked.  “Came to ask me about why my fledgling rightfully yelled at you for trying to melt her brain?”

Cailean scowled, straightening up.  “You’re an asshole.”  She turned to leave.

“If you wanted someone who would spare your feelings, you should have talked to one of your servants.  Or Aoife.  She’s the oldest besides your mom.”

Cailean slammed the door behind her.

He picked up the bottle, holding it out in a toast to the closed door.  “Cheers to fucked up brains.”  He took a swig, the fuzziness of the alcohol slowing his movements.  He was getting tired.

He hoped he wouldn’t have any nightmares when he finally passed out.