Synopsis

“You will bloom in Versailles like an exotic flower. The vampyres of the palace love anything out of the ordinary. But beware: the Court of Shadows has its codes, its deadly traps, and the slightest faux pas pay with the price of blood…”

In the year of grace 1715, Louis XIV transformed from the Sun King into the King of Shadows when he embraced immortality and became the world’s first vampire. For the last three centuries, he has been ruling the kingdom from the decadent Court of Shadows in Versailles, demanding the blood of his subjects to sate his nobles’ thirst and maintain their loyalty.

In the heart of rural France, commoner Jeanne Froidelac witnesses the king’s soldiers murder her family and learns of her parents’ role in a brewing rebellion involving the forbidden secrets of alchemy. To seek her revenge, Jeanne disguises herself as an aristocrat and enrolls in a prestigious school for aspiring courtiers. She soon finds herself at the doors of the palace of Versailles.

But Jeanne, of course, is no aristocrat. She dreams not of court but of blood. The blood of a king.

A major international success, the VAMPYRIA series has been widely translated and is available in 9 languages (French, Spanish, Italian, Czech, German, Russian, Dutch, Finnish, and now English).

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Excerpt

Chapter 4 – Departure

I’m paralyzed with fear.

My body feels like it’s sewn to the black leather lining the inside of the ebony carriage, its vibrations reverberating right through to the hollows of my bones.

On the bench opposite mine, the vampyre sits, immobile. His chiseled face is turned toward the nocturnal landscape passing by the window. The dark night obscures his fixed gaze. There’s not the slightest breath to make his nostrils quiver. It’s hard to believe that one hour ago I held his arm to go down the hill until the carriage met up with us. We didn’t cross paths with anyone. As with the villagers, the baron’s staff stayed cloistered in the outbuildings, in keeping with curfew. Perhaps they sensed that a lord of the night was prowling about the castle . . .

Just as in the baronette’s bedchamber, I have the impression of being in front of a statue. The only thing that’s moving is his magnificent red hair, which gently vibrates in rhythm with the carriage.

On occasion, I saw my father prepare the dead bodies of villagers for burial. Supposedly, after one’s demise, the nails and hair continue to grow. In the case of vampyres, that’s certainly true, as Dr. Boniface explained in his sermons celebrating the magical beauty of the lords of the night. Whereas mortal noblemen, along with many noblewomen, adorn themselves with wigs and hairpieces in order to appear more impressive, the immortals don’t need such artifice. Having gorged on the blood of all those on whom they feed, their hair is supernaturally dazzling and vibrant.

I grind my teeth to stifle a groan.

I’m face to face with an undead brimming with life. It’s the paradox of vampyres, a notion that was always an abstraction for me until now. But tonight it’s become horribly concrete. A living death is just that: a total petrification, after which comes the ability of supernatural speed; a coldness that seems to emanate from the passenger and latches on to me in spite of the blanket he threw over my shoulders; and most of all, this awful silence that no intake of breath disrupts. The two dragoons aboard the rear of the vehicle don’t say a word. I can hear only the creaking of the axle, the trotting of the horses, and the brief snap of the coachman’s tongue encouraging them at the front of the carriage.

And so I’m swept off into the unknown night, traveling farther than my steps ever took me, my body chilled and my mind numb, too shocked to mourn all those I’ve lost.

“Would you like to eat, mam’zelle?”

Slowly, I open my eyes.

A flood of dazzling light washes over me. I promptly close my eyelids.

I have to blink several times in order to banish blinding tears. As my eyes clear, I take in the padded interior of the carriage, its black leather glistening in the sunlight. Across from the bench where I dozed off, the space is empty.

As if the vampyre simply faded come morning.

As if everything had been a bad dream.

“Mam’zelle, are you hungry?” the dragoon asks again as he opens the carriage door to speak to me.

He holds out a wicker basket filled with warm bread and lard.

My muscles, which all night were paralyzed by the presence of the vampyre, recover a little of their suppleness. My mind regains its pluck.

An idea forms: I must escape.

As soon as possible and by any means.

Although the dragoon speaks to me courteously, no doubt under strict orders, his lips do not smile, and his eyes watch me attentively. A gun is slung over his shoulder, and a sword hangs from his belt. It’s a brutal reminder of the sword that decapitated Valère. The vision of Maman’s slit throat stops my breathing.

Swallowing my pain, I pretend to grab the basket when I’m really trying to assess my chances of fleeing. I pop my head outside the door and notice the rear of the carriage: two large iron trunks are strapped under a black leather canopy, where the two other dragoons must have traveled during the night. At present, they’re eating on the grass, taking big, hurried mouthfuls before we set off again.

As for the carriage’s fifth passenger . . .

“The vamp . . . the viscount,” I whisper, only just correcting myself.

“Is he gone?”

A flicker of fear crosses the dragoon’s eyes.

“The viscount is here,” he answers lugubriously.

I absorb his words and tone, but I don’t see the viscount anywhere in the carriage. I open my mouth to question him further, but the mere mention of his employer has sent him into a feverish state.

“Well, I’ll let you eat, in case you’re hungry,” he says, tossing the basket onto the bench. “We have to leave soon if we want to reach Versailles the day after tomorrow.”

“Wait!” I yell, completely disoriented.

Versailles, the day after tomorrow? I thought it took a week to go from the Auvergne to the Île-de-France, the region around Paris.

The door shuts with a loud bang on my protests, and then the lock turns with a click.

So much for my window to escape.

As the carriage sets off again, I lower my eyes to the floor.

There’s an iron ring in the center that I hadn’t noticed until now.

The handle of a trapdoor.

In horror, I realize that the creature is most definitely here—protected from the sun’s rays as he rests in the obscurity of the luggage hold beneath my feet, closer to me than ever before.

About the Author

Victor Dixen is the author of many bestselling French novels, including four series for young adults: THE STRANGE CASE OF JACK SPARK, ANIMALE, PHOBOS and VAMPYRIA; and he is a two-time winner of the Grand Prix de l’Imaginaire, the most prestigious science-fiction and fantasy award in France. Born to a French mother and Danish father, Victor grew up in the city of Versailles. As an adult, he has lived in Denver, Dublin, Singapore, and New York City. He now divides his time between Paris and Washington, DC with his family and his two inquisitive cats.

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About the Translator

Françoise Bui spent twenty years as an executive editor at Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, where her list of edited books included numerous novels in translation. Of these, four received the Mildred L. Batchelder Award (for most outstanding children’s book initially published in a foreign language), and two were Honor titles. Originally from France, Bui lives in New York City.