Epilogue

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Celesta gloomily looked around at the trio standing before her.

"I hope I don't look too stupid?"

"Not at all, Messena," Latham was the first. "You look wonderful!"

"I'd say in your place," added Hustin, making the captain nod in agreement.

"You just need something on your head," Medea squinted, looking at her friend like an artist at a just-finished painting. "Something... Slim, elegant, a headband of some kind..."

Celesta couldn't stand the hint of the high priest's tiara and stood up from her throne.

The construction was finally over. Finishing work was still going on in places, but Medea, who was overseeing it, claimed that the repairs could go on indefinitely, and urged Celesta to hold a celebration on the occasion. Singer had moved to Talea three years earlier for the opportunity to decorate the palace to her own taste, in effect leaving Zonna. She'd come home for a few months, causing confusion in the high society there, and then she'd come back again.

Her greatest pride was the central hall. The walls were snow-white, the decorations slender and uncluttered, the floor and ceiling the same. A black platform with eight steps, and an obsidian-lined back wall. A scarlet throne.

Celesta, despite the assurances, suspected that she looked ridiculous on the throne. The thing was too big, her petite figure should supposedly get misplaced in it. Though her hands are comfortable on the armrests, and her feet are on a stand, not dangling in the air. In any case, she wasn't going to sit there very often. Let the heads of the old clans sit on their thrones - the Mistress of the Undead had enough work to do.

"Did you get any news from Reggie?" she asked, walking to the right door. There were seven exits from the hall, four on the first tier and three on the second.

"He will be delayed, Messena. He was offered an extra contract, and I agreed, keeping in mind that you have no plans for his five."

Mistress nodded in agreement, approving of Latham's decision. Indeed, there was nothing for the guardsmen to do in the capital now. After the swift and bloody cleanup of Nosy Mountain five years ago, which had made a tremendous impression on the royal officials watching, orders of that sort were coming in frequently. The Son of the Sea seemed to appreciate the quality of the vampires' work. Almost always Celesta went along with his wishes, charging a low price for their services - it was to their advantage to demonstrate their usefulness to the supreme power.

She couldn't get rid of her wariness toward Valier, and she didn't try to. Her previous experience with the Taleya rulers had given her plenty of reason to be mistrustful. Though the current sovereign seemed to have decided that it was better to deal with one sane pack than a dozen out-of-control loners from whom one didn't know what to expect. Mistress was careful to maintain that belief in him.

So far, there was no cause for alarm. The Son of the Sea took advantage of the vampires' vulnerable position and pressed, but he knew the limits, and he carried out his agreements fairly. He had the impression that he regarded the Children of the Night as an additional structure of government, responsible for the dark side of society. Therefore, he allowed Celeste a lot of things, such as a personal palace and royal trappings. He understood - the leadership of a complex fanatical contingent required a special approach. When the priests discussed the idea of the Holy Crusade among themselves and began to argue that, so to speak, why go somewhere if the undead abounded at home, it was Valier who stopped attempts to sit out. Of course, he acted out of self-interest, but still. Speaking of the Crusade:

"Homie."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Did they reach the border?"

"Even crossed it, Mistress. The Duke met with the chiefs, and they escorted him with honor. There have been no incidents."

"In that case, go back. It's not up to us from here."

"Yes, Mistress."

How many extra years of life had she given him by making him her first and only personal servant? Hardly many. Homie was already old, his body would not have time to reorganize itself for Celesta's power. She should not have delayed in making the connection.

Now Homie was in the Duchy of Lascaris, seeing off the troops leaving for the steppe. He would not go to the Seven Rivers - there were other agents for that. Two hired hundreds of monster hunters whose commanders served Celeste were part of the army, and about a hundred "volunteers" legally joined other units. Krustyar was waiting for them all on the spot. The old vampire returned from reconnaissance angry and determined, bringing much useful information, and as a reward asking permission to return and oversee the burning of the land of the undead who had lost their constraints.

Preparing the campaign was easier than the Mistress feared. Encouraged by the blessing of the Son of the Sea on the one hand, and by religious pumping on the other, the nobility was actively signing up to join the Holy Crusade. More cynical and calculating people were just as enthusiastic on the sidelines discussing the privileges the duke had announced. After all, it was hiped! Medea's aides organized the collection of donations, in exchange for a tenth of a share of the largest private bank in the country, conducting all operations of the creating army through its accounts. The sums swirled wildly. There was enough money for the ammunition for fifteen thousand men, to supply the expeditionary corps, and to bribe the steppe-people who at the sight of rich gifts wanted to participate in the cleansing of the Seven Rivers. Initially, the nomads promised only free passage through their lands and a few other minor things. They were afraid to go deep into the cursed land.

The bribes did the trick. The chiefs agreed to reinforce the army with the blades of the clansmen.

Given the number of priests, monks, holy fighters, and monster hunters on one side, and the disjointed crowd of not particularly skilled risens on the other, we can safely consider the Seven Rivers to be extinct. Along with the undead, the living population will be slaughtered as well, otherwise, they don't fight now. What would happen next was of little concern to Celesta. There was talk of creating a viceroyalty, some suggested that the land be given to temples, and some were preparing to build forts and inns to serve caravans. Let the people decide for themselves, Mistress had no plans to interfere.

She had enough to worry about.

"Medea, are you sure Caché should go?" As she continued to walk down the corridor leading to her old rooms, Celesta asked over her shoulder. "You doubt the adequacy of those cultists."

"According to their customs, whoever has touched the Scarlet Heart and survived is untouchable," the beauty broke away from her pique with Hustin. "They start every meeting with me by asking when the Chosen One will return. There will never be a second chance."

"I don't like the idea of risking our only mage capable of awakening pre-Plague era artifacts."

"You can't keep her in Talea forever, either. The danger is minimal," Medea reiterated, "we'll do everything we can to keep her unharmed."

The story turned out to be anecdotal. A rather influential cult from Azar had brought a particularly revered relic - an ancient artifact that controlled the weather at a decent distance from itself - to Zonna. They wanted to please the coreligionists. Caché, who was also being treated in the Hall of Flesh and who was rummaging through the archives of the Academy at the same time, sensed the presence of an object that resonated with her energy, and immediately jumped at the call. The artifact itself went to her hands, responding to the slightest commands. Appreciating the shocked faces of the priests, the magician quickly figured out to return the toy to the owners and quickly escape. Soon she was back in Taleya, oblivious to the fun episode.

From her point of view, nothing much happened. The unity with the spirit restructured Caché's energy, giving it traits that allowed her to affect the old artifacts associated with the fire element. Not all of them - certain parameters had to be matched, the higher the better. Few suitable artifacts survived, only a few remained in working condition, and they often gave results not intended by their creators. The Scarlet Heart was one of them.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

The Southerners, of course, were looking for Caché. Perhaps they would not have been so zealous, had not the short acquaintance of the vampiress and the relic not disrupted the latter's attunement, and the Heart would not have stopped responding to the priests' actions. For the top of the cult, the question of finding the Chosen One was of the utmost importance! But by the time the priests came to Medea's house with their requests, the sorceress had long since left Blueness. They simply didn't believe that the sacred subject had chosen the undead.

For Medea, the opportunity to gain an agent of influence in the Sultanate's rather peculiar religious upper echelons meant a lot. The vampires were slowly entering Azar society, finding their niche and growing stronger in it, but the process was slow. The Taleyans' and Azarans' worldviews differed greatly, hence the different attitudes toward the non-dead, with the Southerners being far more negative. Although the Sultanate disliked all outsiders.

They reached Celeste's chambers, now unaccustomedly crowded. In short, the place was crowded with sapient people with boxes and crates, giving the impression of a kind of organized chaos. In the center of it, Merck, whose voice could be heard from afar, was giving orders with a commanding look:

"No, we're not touching the cabinets yet. All the furniture stays here. Right now we're just moving the papers."

"How about taking the safe away, Master?"

"No, Arkhlan. There's a built-in one in the wall, and the Mistress will carry the contents herself."

The move took place in stages. The office and the new workplace were finished, probably because Celesta quickly decided what she wanted, and she didn't interfere with the decorating process. Unlike Medea, who did the bedroom, the living room, the second living room, the bathroom, and something else, as well as her sister's clothing. As a result, the decoration and furnishings of personal rooms have changed several times, while Singer was trying to achieve the ideal that she alone understands. From Celesta's point of view, the options differed slightly, for her the difference was immaterial.

She shook her head as she looked around at the mess they had made: "Let's stay out of the way. Let's go into the living room."

A heavy door with soundproofing gently chugged against the jamb, a heavy drape draped the aisle. A common precaution and comfort measure. Vampires' hearing is much thinner than humans, and it's no big deal for them to overhear other people's conversations. Therefore, the walls of their dwellings were always covered with sound-absorbing signs, and the passages and vents were additionally blocked with material barriers.

"Have a seat," Celesta suggested, heading for the small bar in the corner. She took out four goblets and a decanter of wine, and as hostess, she began to pour the beverage. "This might be the last time we'll be here."

Medea lowered herself onto the wide sofa, unconsciously assuming a gracefully provocative pose and giving Hustin a promising look.

"Have you decided yet what you're going to do about the premises?"

"I'm going to mothball it for now. I'll leave it as an emergency shelter. We can't let strangers in here - Vador threatens me with promises to finally master psychometry and read the memory of other people's affairs."

"Actually, it's quite realistic," remarked the warlock. "So take your personal belongings with you."

"I'll take it," Celesta agreed, setting the tray of glasses on the table. "I don't have a lot of that."

She sat down next to Medea. Her sister leaned closer, barely noticeable.

"Fetista is thrilled with Vador and the School and says she wishes all her mentors were like that. She asks permission to continue her studies."

"Do you mind?"

"It's time for her to become independent. She's not a chick anymore," Medea admitted sadly. "You'll look after her, won't you?"

"Be sure."

Medea will return to Zonna after the construction is finished, and Hustin will probably follow her. He will postpone the research of the necropolis, they are unsuccessful anyway and leave. Of those close to her, one loyal Latham will stay. With other risens of comparable age, she did not get along, and young vampires see her as a Mistress or even the incarnation of the goddess.

Gardoman will never forget the way she once crisply broke his will long ago. He acknowledged her rightness, agreed to obey and did not think of betrayal. Nevertheless, she and the old man will not become friends.

With Kalderan it is more complicated. At one time it seemed to her that the scout had finally lost the ability to trust people and was sinking deeper into Darkness with each passing year. But something had happened to him recently that caused him to look at the world and himself differently. It is unlikely that the peculiar "vacation" that she gave him. It must be something else. In any case, Kalderan now sits in Deep Harbor, writing philosophical treatises and finally stepping away from the leadership of intelligence. But he made a chick, and there are already four vampires in his community. You could say that he has completed his task of opening the road to Birat, but now there is no one to follow it. Money, people, and vampires are busy on other fronts. It would take ten years before there were any resources available. Though... let's see how quickly the colony in the Stone Bones begins to develop.

Change is inevitable. Life is a series of ups and downs. Non-life, too, as practice proved. Celesta was well aware that if she had chosen a different path in the past, her fate would have been different. Had she rejected Cardae's offer at the time? Had she not been caught, she might well be in a very different position now, along with Medea. Less eye-catching, figuratively speaking. Her name would not have frightened children. She would not have been asked for her blessing, her opinions would not have been considered by the rulers of the major powers in the region. They would simply live quietly, surrounded by a few faithful servants, and... And that would be it?

The thought caught her, a chill ran down her spine as she imagined centuries of misery. No, an immortal needs a purpose. No matter what kind, everyone chooses for himself, but without the incentive to move forward, degradation is inevitable. The swamp of ordinariness sucks the one who has no interests, who does not force himself to learn something new. For Celesta, the anchor of salvation was first personal safety, then responsibility for the new race; Medea adores intrigue and art; Hustin is interested in magic in itself, beyond its practical application. Latham has found his ideal in service, and God forbid he should ever be disappointed in her! Absolutely any vampire, sooner or later, either finds an activity that compels him to act or slips down. Turns into an animal.

They talked until morning.

It was not a discussion of work plans or the current situation, but it was not what you would call empty talk. It was a conversation of powerful individuals, jumping from topic to topic and making important, sometimes momentous, decisions in passing. They were used to this style of communication.

To Celesta, the spontaneous meetings seemed like a sort of farewell. How many centuries had she spent here, in these chambers? Almost four, a little less. Since her independence and her quarrel with the Irrhan government, all vampires had mandatorily changed their sleeping quarters, and she was no exception. That move was a milestone in the fate, not just of Celesta, but of so many of the living and not-so-living. It is quite possible that the current change of lodgings also draws a line under the next stage of the symbiosis of intelligent undead and their mortal servants.

Well, it's time to stop lying to ourselves: vampires have created their own state. Even if it has no official territory, it has everything else. The government, the power structures, the education and health systems, the economy, and culture. The population, with a share of hostility to the surrounding countries and loyal to the ideology of the ruling elite. Now they even have a ruler, de facto recognized by the neighbors. Communication is unofficial, but before only Blueness recognized Celesta as a fully-fledged partner. All others sought to destroy at the first opportunity. Now they have reconciled, realized that it is impossible to destroy vampires, and therefore, some kind of communication is necessary.

First Latham, who had remembered his business, left the Mistress's quarters. Then Hustin decided that he had sat long enough and left on a plausible pretext. Celesta, a little removed from the conversation, watched with mild amusement as Medea deftly and inconspicuously persuaded the men that they wanted to leave. If she hadn't known her sister so long ago, she wouldn't have noticed.

"So," the door closed behind the warlock, and the beauty turned to her, "what's with the melancholy? Why so gloomy?"

"I'm not gloomy," Celesta smiled. "It just occurred to me that things might have turned out differently. We could have missed Cardae, could have turned down his offer, could have escaped later, could have done a lot of things. And I wouldn't have spent four centuries chained to Taleya."

"You don't know if Taleya would have survived," her sister protested. "She would have died out from the Plague or the Curse. Don't be sorry! What we did is what we did. Not in the best of ways, but it's over now and you're free."

"I have no regrets. Sometimes I just want to go to a desert island and not see anyone at all for a year."

Medea giggled.

"Merck will start bugging you in a week!"

"That's the only thing that stops me. And it's a little scary. Imagine if I were gone - would you be able to hold on and not let everything we created fall apart?"

"I won't even think about it," Medea replied firmly, even harshly. "To the Dark One, such thoughts. In fact, get a chick and you no longer have the urge to philosophize."

"I don't see a worthy candidate."

"Yeah, you can't make anyone a prince," my sister thought to herself. "All right, all in good time."

After placing the glass on the table, Medea kicked off her shoes and crawled under Celesta's side with a contented sigh. Once she was comfortable, she continued:

"You're moping because you don't see a clear goal. Remember when you promised me that everything would work out? When we first met? A home, serenity, and faithful servants. First, we got that, then freedom from people was slowly won back, then, for the longest time, you waited for the seal to settle. Then, like a bright flash, Zervan, and the Holy Crusade you planned. And now there are no serious matters left, they are all completed, and you can relax.

That's what's nagging you.

Don't worry, everything will be fine. Life is always like this - one thing ends and another begins. Before you know it, there will be new challenges to solve and new problems. And you'll deal with them. You always do.

I believe in you.

We believe in you."

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