Act One: The Shadow of the Gods (Part Nine)
Nine
Yakov felt as if he were holding a block of ice; the fingertips of his iron gauntlet grew increasingly cold. He stumbled after the boy, who was considerably shorter than him, looking down at his dark hair, his lips pursed nervously. Yakov wondered, were there more vampires in this mansion? If it were just an innocent, naive child, he could still control himself. But what if there were more terrifying creatures like Camilla? How would they torment, humiliate, skin him alive, tear him apart, and devour him to death?
The two walked through the windowed corridor, and soon they passed through a dark doorway and arrived at the stairs. Yakov suddenly understood what Yubi meant—his earlier worries were completely unnecessary. They were standing on the second floor, where the stairs met, facing the huge, incredibly detailed portrait of three people.
“I think you should have seen this painting when you came in. It was painted by Schumeer. You know Schumeer, right? You even have some of his things with you.” Yubi’s eyes darted around, as if forcing himself not to look at the scene below. “The red-haired lady on the left is my sister, Ambickia. She was Mother’s first child, now lives in Constantinople, is married, and has changed her surname; the one on the right is my brother, Inard. I heard he’s in Buda now, in the inner court of the King of Hungary. In the middle is the Grand Duchess of Transylvania, my mother, Camilla. You’ve already met her. I was still in her womb then.”
Yubi spoke fluent Classical Latin, like a learned nobleman recounting his family tree. Yakov examined the painting again. The three figures in the painting did not look alike. But Yakov looked at Yubi's face again, and he thought that no one would doubt the blood relationship between Yubi and Camilla.
“Your mother ordered me to take care of her children. According to you, you are not her only child,” Yakov said, frowning.
"What?" The young master standing beside him suddenly fell silent, lowering his head. After a while, he raised his head and gave him a resentful glance. "...I wish you weren't following me!" Yubi walked past him with his hands behind his back, leisurely and nonchalantly shuffling down the stairs. This feigned behavior was once again accurately seen through by Yakov—he was concealing his unease.
Yakov smugly understood. He needs me, not the other way around.
The crisp sound of heels striking the stone bricks echoed through the hall. Yubi descended the stairs, stepping into a pool of blood; the splattering liquid spread thickly. His gaze remained unfocused. Yakov realized that the vampire's child wasn't avoiding the gruesome sight of dismembered limbs in the hall—Yubi, hands behind his back, moved gracefully and freely among the silver platters of broken corpses, like a still-idle nobleman, until he strolled to his mother's head—that was what he was avoiding. He stopped there, mustering his courage to speak.
“My mother never let me leave this place or go out to see the world. She always told me it wasn't the right time yet, that I could leave when I grew up. And today is my eighteenth birthday. I think, finally, I'm grown up, right? I'm finally going to leave this place!”
On his eighteenth birthday, Yakov thought. First, Yubi certainly didn't look eighteen; second, he had seen twelve-year-old boys who were already married, had children, and went to war, but no one had ever asked that boy if he had grown up.
“I had expected this day.” Yubi stared intently at Yakov, his eyes wide. He stood straight and resolute amidst the blood and candlelight. “From childhood to adulthood, my mother has asked me countless times, what would I do if one day she left, was gone, or died?”
“At first, all I did was cry, throw a tantrum, and act spoiled.” His brows furrowed sharply, but he quickly put on what he thought was a composed expression. “Later I told myself that I didn’t need her. I would be better off and freer without her. I’m all grown up now.”
Yakov watched as he bent down, his movements light and careful, as he tearfully picked up his mother's head. The beautiful, filthy head was cradled in Yubi's arms, some cold, foul blood staining his clean, delicate fingers—fingers that had never held a sword or a hoe. But Yakov felt no pity for him. He thought, what is this? This child is still completely unaware of the world's wickedness and ugliness; he's both enviable and laughable. But at the same time, he thought...
"It's a vampire," Yakov thought darkly. "And it's just a child." The thought made his heart ache.
Can I control him?
The thought flashed through my mind and disappeared like a spark.
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