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I eye the quickness of his fingers. “And you’re not just saying this so you can come on my face?”

He laughs, grinning down at my feet. “I assure you that the only face I want to come on belongs to my husband.”

“Oh.” A husband. “I didn’t know.”

“My personal life isn’t common knowledge, but I've been around here long enough to understand why you’d worry about it.” He tightens the laces up my calf, the leather molding around my legs. Just under my knee, he ties it off, then moves to the other foot. “The arrangement between the King and Dean Hexley is all part of a bigger plan. One you are integral to. One I am sure will succeed.” He starts in on the laces. “But our King hasn’t had a woman around long term in many, many years. Especially one with so much…” he searches for a word, landing on, “spirit.”

“He hates me.”

“No.” But I hear the lack of conviction.

“He ordered me in that cage,” I look away from the cage, “and if he finds out about the mess–”

“He won’t.” He works faster this time, already tying the laces at the top of the boot. “I’ll take care of it, and he’ll never know.”

“Why?” I ask again.

“I already told you, Arianette. You are important to Beta Rho, to the House of Night, and most of all, to our King’s plans.” He lowers my foot to the floor. “Now, are you ready?”

“For school?”

He shakes his head. “For the King.”

19

Timothy

There is no moresacred place in the House of Night than the sanctuary.

Even after all these years, I feel the same powerful emotions as I did when I first stepped foot in the hallowed space and accepted my oath of fealty as a member of BRN. Later I took on the role of Baron, participating in the Hunt and Claiming. Over the years, the magnitude of that power has shifted, between highs and lows, settling on my shoulders now with the weight of my sins and the heavy curse that came with them.

Consequences.

They come for us all.

I walk the distance from the narthex to the front of the room, toward the throne. I have my own rituals to attend to, ones built over time. I pass the rows of empty pews, each step holding a memory. This is a place of ceremony, for celebration of marriages and births. The anointing of Shadows as they pass through BRN, beginning to end. I pause just before the throne, looking back down the aisle. The memory of Amber standing atthe other end flickers in my mind. She was gorgeous.Mine. Or so I thought.

My gaze shifts next to the throne, to the pedestal holding the bronze ceremonial bowl. Amber and I stood over it, not once, but twice, mixing our blood and promising ourselves to one another, and then later affirming to raise our child–our legacy–to the will of the King.

Bitterness rises in the back of my throat, and I turn away, hating how what once was joyous is now nothing short of sharp, continuous pain. I take the short walk to the transept, a shallow alcove jutting out from the chapel. It’s decorated with the symbology of our people–our past. It’s the one place I allow the festering truth to reveal itself.

Approaching, I kneel and remove my mask, prepared to face the demons of my past. There’s a grainy, framed photograph of Clive Kayes, the man the majority of Forsyth believes me to be. He’s frozen in time, looking as he did the last time anyone in public saw his face, just before his son, Benji, took his life. Back then I thought Clive Kayes was an old man. Ironically, I’m now the same age that he was when he was killed.

Reaching for a long match, I strike it against the rough paper. The sulfur tip sizzles and I light a black candle in honor of the fallen King.

There is no image of my cousin Benji in this place of sanctuary. No trinkets that carry his spirit. There’s no candle to light. Not because he murdered his father. A son killing his father in Forsyth is as common as rain in the spring. No, it’s because this is not the place for blasphemers, adulterers, or worse, those who plan to use their power to harm the innocent.

Consequences.

They came for Benji at my own hands after he led my wife, Amber, down a path of uncharted wickedness, seeding her fragile mind with dangerous ruminations. They bore a childtogether, which was betrayal enough, but when I found out what they wanted to do with the bastard… I swallow, striking the second match. I stare at the tip of flickering flame a moment, saying an oath of protection for the child, now a man, Whitaker Ashby.

Memento Mori isour motto, but I embraced another one that day.In morte vita est.In death there is life.

Before I killed Benji I didn’t fully understand the truth of those words. To secure Whitaker’s life, I had to extinguish my cousin’s. I had the Shadows bury my uncle in the Kayes crypt, and my cousin deep under another set of bones in the catacombs, put on the mask, and stepped into the role of King.

I could have killed her, too. I had every right, and no one in Forsyth would have blinked an eye, but…

Consequences.