Chapter 4: The Volkihar Imperative

Previously: Down by the Docks

 

They started going to Riften nightly after that. For the first few days, Alva was allowed a single victim. Then one became two, two became three, until Alva was finally satisfied with capping her victims at four per night.

 

She got to sample all sorts: sweaty blacksmiths who smelled of the forge, harlots wearing cheap dresses and even cheaper perfume, brawlers, dock workers, stable boys, even the occasional wife-beater. 

 

"How come we never bathe?" Alva suddenly asked one night, as they sat drinking mead in the Bee and Barb.

 

Leila raised an eyebrow. "Did your coven members often bathe?"

 

"No," Alva replied, shaking her head. "I didn't understand that either."

 

"We don't sweat," Leila reminded her. "We don't produce oil. Lice and fleas don't favor the undead."

 

"But we get dirty," Alva insisted. "Colette and Aurelian always have dirt on their faces. I haven't washed my clothes in weeks! Surely, you've noticed that we all stink."

 

A slow smile spread across the Redguard vampire's lips. "It's Skyrim. Everybody stinks."

 

"We could get a room at the inn for the day," Alva suggested. "I have enough coin. I can order baths and laundry service for all of us."

 

"If you want," Leila said shrugging. "It won't make much of a difference. This time tomorrow, we'll be stinking all over again."

 

Alva paused to mull that over before asking, "Why me?"

 

"What's that?"

 

"Why do you always send me to lure our prey?" Alva asked. "The first time I assumed it was part of my training. But it's been weeks, and you're still sending me in first. Why?"

 

Leila smiled again, but it didn't reach her eyes. "That's a lovely ring you're wearing," she said, locking eyes with Alva.

 

Alva sat up straight. Her right hand covered her left. "What?"

 

"That gold ring you always wear, set with a ruby," Leila stated bluntly. "Did Movarth give it to you?"

 

Alva hesitated, then nodded. He was dead, after all. There was no point in keeping his secrets.

 

"It's enchanted," Leila said, leaning back in her chair. "But you know that. You know that's why he gave it to you."

 

Alva was uncomfortable. "It, um...." She cleared her throat. "It changes my eyes."

 

"Oh, it does more than that," Leila said, smirking. "It creates the illusion you have a heartbeat, that you breathe, that you have the warm glow of the living. For all intents and purposes, you appear to be perfectly human."

 

Alva subconsciously fingered the ring. "So that's why you send me."

 

"Men don't follow monsters into the dark, Alva, they follow women." Leila tilted her head slightly. "Especially pretty young women."

 

Alva swallowed tightly. "I figured that's why Movarth had it made for me."

 

Leila snorted. "Movarth was a vampire lord of some influence and resources -- this is true -- but that ring? That's the work of Volkihar."

 

Alva looked at her, confused. Leila's eyes widened as her eyebrows went up. 

 

"He never told you?"

 

Alva shook her head slowly. "Told me what?"

 

Leila chuckled. "Castle Volkihar is the royal seat of all vampires in Tamriel. It sits on an island northwest of Skyrim, and is ruled by a family of ancient, pureblood vampires."

 

Alva stared at her, awestruck. "A... royal house of vampires?"

 

"Indeed," Leila said, nodding and smiling, though her eyes remained clouded. "Lord Harkon is the oldest of them all. He has a wife, but he also has a habit of taking mistresses. Centuries ago, the mainland vampires issued an edict: vampires should only sire mortals who are young and beautiful. The intent was to supply Harkon with mistresses, so as to curry favor."

 

Alva's eyes widened. "You're saying... Movarth chose me because... he was going to--"

 

"Most likely," Leila said calmly, sipping from her tankard of mead. "Harkon used to favor certain vampire lords with special rings. I see Movarth gave his to you. He never much cared for passing as human," she chuckled. "There was also an inconsistency in the functionality of the rings. Some could disguise appearance, but not scent, at least not to elves and orcs."

 

Alva gasped. "Indrathel. I bet she could smell me." She paused. "But why give me the ring and send me to Morthal? Why not Volkihar?"

 

"You'd no have use for that ring at Volkihar," Leila told her. "And... he may have realized you weren't suitable for Volkihar. Lord Harkon has very particular taste."

 

It felt like a powerful slap to the face. If she'd had a heartbeat, it would be pounding right now. Suddenly, Alva was back in Movarth's cave, with him pushing her off his lap.

 

Fuck the gods. "Not suitable?" she asked, trying not to sound shrill. "Like, not pretty enough?" 

 

"It's more than that," Leila said. "For one, you have to have the right accent. Harkon also likes a mistress who is well-read, cultured, traveled, and the like."

 

As soon as Leila mentioned accents, Alva noticed hers had changed. It was less Dunmer and more Altmer now, refined, polished. She was sitting straight up in her chair, shoulders back as she daintily sipped from her tankard of mead.

 

By the gods. Aurelian and Colette were easy enough to figure out; they were exactly as they appeared. But Leila had been a mystery, a riddle Alva couldn't unwind -- until now.

 

"You're one of them," she murmured. "You're a royal vampire."

 

Leila cackled; the sound was harsh and bitter. "Oh, no... not I. I was just like you when old Vighar offered me up. Lord Harkon liked my face, but he couldn't stand the rest of me. You see, his favorite mistress had abandoned him, so he spent years trying to replace her. When he couldn't, he tried to rebuild her."

 

Alva was visibly repulsed. "Rebuild her?"

 

Leila paused, eyes upon the table as her mind drifted through memory. "My first night at Volkihar, Lord Orthjolf examined me and decided I was beautiful enough. However, when I finally met Harkon, he immediately asked if I could read and write, how many languages I spoke, if I could play any musical instruments. When he realized just how painfully common I was, the work began.

 

"He gave me my own suite of rooms and a retinue of mortal maidens. They bathed me in cold seawater and combed my hair. They dressed me in the most resplendent gowns and sparkling jewels. Then they sat me down with an Altmeri tutor who changed my accent, gave me lessons in lute, literature, and chess." Leila paused, her tone turning bitter. "By the gods, it was dull."

 

Alva blinked. "Are you insane? That sounds fantastic! That's the life I thought I would have. I wish Movarth would've sent me off, instead of... of--"

 

 "Pimpin' ya?" Leila finished for her, smiling ruefully. Her accent slowly changed back, becoming rougher. "We really are just a bunch of whores to them. They don't give a fuck about any of us. I bet you spoke to Movarth about love and he answered you back with errands."

 

If Alva could blush, she would've turned deeply red with anger. "When we first met, he said all the right things."

 

"And after he turned you, he switched."

 

"There were times when I wished I could just go home," Alva admitted. "My father's still there, you know, in Heljarchen. I heard he wailed when he found out I was missing."

 

"Do you miss being mortal now?" Leila asked, meeting her gaze.

 

Alva shrugged. "Sometimes. Mostly, I miss my father. He was always good to me. He never remarried after my mother died, and never pressured me to get married or be proper, or do anything I didn't want." She looked down into her tankard. "Now he'll grow old with no one to care for him."

 

Leila paused for a long time before asking, "What if I told you there was a cure for vampirism? It's there, back in Morthal. If you wish, we could return together. You could be human again." Pause. "You could go home to your father."

 

Next: Love and Light