Chapter 6

Without raising her eyes to him, she continued, “My name’s Angelina Vallebour. I grew up in the family of a potter, Ilona Vallebour, in the province of Arc. But the woman who replaced my mother wasn’t my real mother. I knew that from childhood, but it wasn’t done to talk about it, even to this day. My real mother gave me to Ilona. And every month, she paid her large sums of money, so I would need for nothing. I shouldn’t have known who my parents were. But one day, I overheard the truth.”

The girl paused. Then, she shot a nervous hunted glance at the necromancer.

Reive stiffened feeling how the young graduate’s voice held his attention. It wouldn’t let him go. It forced him to keep listening to her story.

“So, my real mother turned out to be a very influential woman. Duchess Myria Clarian Castro-Arcs. The owner and sovereign of the whole province of the Arc. The sister of His Majesty the King. She concealed my birth because I’m a child born out of wedlock.”

“Well, nothing shameful in that,” the man said, trying to dissipate the clouds in the girl’s eyes. “What’s more, I’d say you should inherit some title, in spite of your parents not being married.”

“But that’s not all,” she sighed and turned away. “I also found out my father’s name.”

Another pause. Much longer than the first one. Reive even wanted to exclaim impatiently – Well, no point dragging this out, after all I don’t know anyone in this world except you!

However, he remained silent, giving her a long while.

“My father turned out to be the King himself...”

The necromancer frowned, remembering that a couple of seconds ago, she had said her mother was a sister to the sovereign. But when the girl said the king’s name, Reive got serious, to put it mildly.

“Gerhard Ayris Castro-Firel,” she finished gloomily. “Lord of the Fourth Kingdom, King of the Sun and Mists. I think now you understand why no one must know about my birth. I’m lucky I wasn’t smothered when I was a baby. If the relationship between the King and his own sister were to be discovered, it would incur the strongest displeasure in the government and the people.”

Reive was grimmer than a hungry ghoul. Angelina pursed her lips, thinking that she had disgusted the necromancer. But at that moment he wasn’t thinking about her incestuous birth. Frankly speaking, that seemed a trifle. It wasn’t the girl’s fault that her mother loved getting laid by her own brother. The necromancer was enraged by something else. So enraged that his hands were shaking and his teeth clenched tight.

King Gerhard had his killer’s surname. Ayris. He was Ulfricus’ descendant. That meant that after his, Reive’s, death, this bastard Ulfricus took the King’s title posthumously. And his offspring had put on the crown and received the titled name – Castro-Firel. His title!

Firel was the name of the castle that Reive had been building for himself for a decade. He had encompassed it with magic, driven the workers and castigated the architects. Every stone knew its true owner – the Undead King.

For seven hundred years after his “death”, his traitor’s descendants had been nesting in this castle. For seven hundred years, during which Reive had been lying in the grave, dreaming of how he’d come back and take revenge. Only one sentence pulsing in his head had preserved his life, I must take vengeance on Ulfricus even if he himself is dead. All his descendants shall answer for his betrayal...

Reive didn’t think about what a stupid plan that was. After all, that vengeance would make no difference at all to his dead enemy. It would be more interesting for Reive to raise him up as some half-witted undead. Then to make him suffer in that afterlife, obeying the orders of his own killer. But, alas, Ulfricus’s body had rotted long ago. Even his bones would not be found.

Reive needed revenge. It was the breath of life for him. He’d been thinking about it for centuries, living and reliving one and the same day. While at the same time, little sharp-toothed jaws were gnawing his flesh. Only his iron will and an incredible lust for life kept him sane. That and the blood bath that he mentally promised his enemies. For Ulfricus must have left some descendants. Bastards like him. For all these years, Reive had been planning to seek out every one of them.

It helped him to survive, to hold on, to keep his sanity and not to go mad from pain.

Now even this last wish had slipped away. Angelina had turned out to be his enemy’s great-granddaughter. This fact completely unsettled him.

No! He couldn’t let the plans that he had cherished for so long simply fade away.

“This must be a real embarrassment to you,” the girl brought him out of his thoughts.

Frowning, Reive looked up at her through narrowed eyes, silently looking into her frightened disturbed face.

What should he say? That he’d been dreaming of killing her for centuries?

The grass-green, mossy pupils drew him down into their depth...

For some reason, the necromancer didn’t like to see her suffer at all.

“I don’t care who your parents were,” he said, gritting his teeth and sighing. “Trust me, little one, the curse should only be on them. Not you.”

The girl’s brow smoothed a little, and the necromancer discovered to his irritation that it made him feel better.

“Really?” she asked.

He nodded and was about to take her hand. At the last moment, he jerked it back, cursing himself inwardly.

“Thank you,” she breathed in relief.

“Why does it seem to me you don’t tell this story to every single person you meet?” he asked then.

“Because it’s really so. We hardly know each other. And we’re scarcely likely to get to know each other better.” Reive held back a grin. He had a rather different opinion about this, but the little one needn’t know that yet. “So, you have nothing to do with me. And I just needed to tell somebody.”

“Glad I could help,” this time, he smiled quite naturally.

Angelina smiled back. She turned round, leaning her arm against the branches. Suddenly, she screamed.

“Oh look! I got scratched,” she gasped.

Time slowed down. Reive closed his eyes feeling the darkness creeping in. He has visions of the past.