Page 51

Crowley dithered through a few other accomplishments, pressing his glasses back now and again with his third finger.

It was a ploy, perhaps, showing himself with mortal hair that was white only from age, mortal eyes strained from labor.

A price he’d paid in hopes Raphael would wipe the slate clean and gift him immortality.

“And then”—Crowley’s voice lifted in triumph—“the reason for my petition came. A fortnight ago, a young vampire was injured, not even ten. He had fallen into a ravine. His legs were broken, and he had no chance of climbing out. I aided him, provided him with blood, and returned him to his parents. I can think of no higher service I could offer than to remain in the kingdom’s service forever. ”

At last, the man stopped speaking. There was utter silence in the room, as if everyone held a collective breath while awaiting Raphael’s decision.

Of course, most of the courtroom didn’t need to breathe.

Still, the silence was so bad I could imagine myself hearing Crowley’s heartbeat, twin to my own racing one—with excitement, while mine ached with dread.

“I have considered your petition.” Raphael spoke in that slow, unhurried tone I’d first heard from him, like unending night.

“You make some valid arguments for why you deserve to be one of the blood. Your actions with the son are telling of your character. In fact, I believe though you demurred, the young vampire was none other than the heir to the clan you serve.”

Did I imagine Crowley taking a half step backwards?

“You have my blessing.” Raphael nodded to Janessa. “Turn him. Now.”

Janessa looked surprised, as did everyone else in the room. Not blatantly whispering, but there were telling shifts of eyes, adjusted stances. Something was off.

“Didn’t they want this?” I asked Demos under my breath.

“The turning is normally done in private,” he explained. “But I’m sure Raphael has his reasons.”

Lady Janessa stepped over to Crowley, taking center stage with him. They were on display. “Here, Your Majesty?” she murmured.

He gave a casual flick of his fingers, not deigning to repeat himself. He was still the picture of casual grace, but something in his eyes was cold .

Once Janessa leaned over, I could look nowhere else. Bile coated the back of my throat, and I wondered if I’d made a grave mistake in not taking Demos up on his offer to stand outside.

But I stayed.

I had to see.

The vampiress brushed the human’s hair away and bit into his soft, sagging skin. His lips parted, but he made no move to get away. I could imagine exactly why—and why this would be done in private.

He fell to the floor, and she went with him, kneeling as he lay in her lap.

She didn’t let go with her fangs. He grew paler and paler, his skin almost the white of the vampire by the time she withdrew her lips.

With a nail, she clawed her own wrist open and drenched his parted lips in her blood. His chest was no longer rising and falling.

The air in the room was suddenly too thick, pressing in on all sides, but I couldn’t look away.

She killed him. And now she was to resurrect him.

“Just one small matter,” Raphael said.

All eyes swung to the king.

“Your Majesty?” she said, meekly. Perhaps turning was exhausting for the vampire?

“The boy Crowley saved—your nephew, as I recall. How did Crowley find him? ”

She blinked. “I… that is a better question for Crowley, Your Majesty. Once he has turned, I’ve every hope he will be able to answer your queries to satisfaction.”

“Naturally,” Raphael replied easily. “Then perhaps this one will be more suited to your domain. How did your nephew get injured in the first place?”

Janessa looked pale, even paler than usual for a vampire. Blood was smeared over her lips, which were parted as she stared up from the floor at Raphael on the high throne. “It is not unusual for young vampires to overestimate—”

“Do not attempt to deceive me!” Raphael roared.

I flinched.

The entire room flinched.

“You stupid, stupid child,” Raphael snarled. “You think you can manipulate your king into gifting your toy immortality?”

“Your Majesty, I only—”

“Silence!” Raphael snarled. “I’ll tell you what you did.

You convinced your nephew to leave his bed, then led him down to the ravine.

You hurled him over the side. And while he cried, bones broken into splinters, betrayed by someone blood-bound to protect him, you extorted him.

You told him if he vowed not to say a word of your sins, he could have some of that pathetic worm’s blood.

And why? Because you wanted your lover to be turned, and you’d both grown tired of waiting.

You wanted to be absolutely sure I’d be so moved by his noble gesture, I would permit it.

” He leaned forward, his fingers curled over the arms of his throne. “Go on. Tell me I’m wrong.”

The vampiress opened and closed her lips, but no sound passed. She couldn’t lie.

“Of course,” Raphael continued, “it turns out you’re as conniving as you are stupid. You made him vow not to tell anyone, but once the fingers in his hands healed, he was able to write his responses.”

The entire court was silent. I fought the urge to vomit. I’d thought there was nothing worse than giving up mortality to become a vampire—but Crowley had abandoned his humanity long before if he thought this was in any world justifiable.

Raphael had clearly known about this. Why go through this charade?

“Punishment should suit the misdeed. I’ve allowed you to turn him, to give him the eternal life he hungered for.” A pause. “Snap his neck. Now.”

“Mercy, Your Majesty!” She fell to her hands, pleading. “Punish me instead.”

“Oh, I am.” Raphael rose from his throne, taking one slow step down the dais at a time.

“You will live.” He took another step. “Knowing you took his years of service, and his reward is death from his own sire.” Another step.

“And you will live the rest of your life in exile.” Another step.

“You betrayed your own clan when you harmed your nephew. No vampire will let you take refuge with them now. ”

He stood in front of Janessa, who was crying on her hands and knees. I felt no pity at the sight, only hatred.

Raphael was doing something beyond cruel.

The newly made vampire would die.

This one would suffer.

Monsters .

“Break his neck now,” he ordered. “You won’t like it if I’m the one who takes my time, savoring his death.”

Tears streamed down her face as she lifted Crowley’s body. He was unconscious, but his lids flickered. Was he aware in this state?

Snap!

Janessa wailed.

The hatred that had fogged over me cleared with the sound of her screams. Suddenly, I didn’t feel any more righteous anger.

I just felt sick.

“Get out.” Raphael’s voice was low and deadly, then he lifted his chin to address the room. “Everyone, out.” He nudged the corpse, which was already decomposing to sand, with his foot. “And someone take this trash with them.”

I vomited.

Demos forced me out of the room with the rest of them and led me to a back chamber. I didn’t want to see Raphael in this state, but since I’d made a point of going, there was no way I could just leave now.

The room was directly behind the throne room, an office of some kind. Raphael walked in a moment after us. He looked wearier than I’d seen him, but he straightened when he saw me notice.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” A brusque apology.

“Why?” The word made the bitter film of my sick coat my mouth once more. The taste seemed to coat my entire body.

He frowned. “I couldn’t allow that to go unpunished. Not when they tried to manipulate their king, and certainly not when the cost of that was abuse of a youngling.”

I shook my head, my arms crossed tight over my abdomen.

The entire room stood between us. “That’s not what I mean.

I don’t… I don’t even disagree, really. If what you say is true, then death is certainly deserved.

But why give them hope? Why make her be the one to do it?

Why draw it out into a spectacle?” My voice rose as I spoke until I was near shouting.

“Because this is what they understand.” Raphael didn’t shout back, but his voice boomed through the room. “ This is what vampires learn from. This is what stops them from doing worse. I stop them, little viper. You might not like what that looks like, but it must be done. ”

“This may seem brutal, but it’s not unusual for our culture,” Demos added. “We’re a bloody, brutal people. There’s no use pretending otherwise.”

I swallowed down another argument.

They were violent. Not just violent, but cruel, sadistic. Only controlled by someone stronger, crueler, as Raphael had shown.

“What did you come for?” Raphael asked. Then he turned to Demos. “ Why did you bring her?”

Demos shrugged. Unlike me, to him, the execution was just another day. “She said it was important. For that translation she’s doing.”

The grimoire. The passage I’d finished translating.

This is the book of the necromancer. The witch who alone serves Anagenni, they who control all who have perished.

Through the goddess’s will, the necromancer has dominion over bone and blood, soul and spirit.

The undead bow to the necromancer. One witch is gifted to the world every two hundred years with Anagenni’s blessing. They alone can right the balance.

The undead bow to the necromancer.

Vampires . The necromancer, if they were real, could control vampires. The one creature that might be able to control them, and the grimoire was the key to their power.

Raphael had to suspect. But if I confirmed it, he might destroy the book.

“I…” I thought as fast as I could—the one strength I had over vampires was I could lie.

I needed one Demos wo uldn’t call me on.

I couldn’t deny I’d come about the translation.

“I decided to work from the back since I was having trouble at the front, and I found a spell I thought might be interesting.” The best lies were rooted in truth.

When struggling with the first passage, I had worked on a few of the spells.

“It called for some ingredients, and I thought if we collected them, Amalthea could try to use it. Maybe the magical trace would help her find whoever it belongs to.”

It wouldn’t work, of course. The grimoire wasn’t a simple cookbook anyone could take a page from.

Raphael gave me a long look, as if trying to understand why I’d propose such a stupid idea.

A drop of sweat slid from the back of my neck down my spine.

“Amalthea can’t use the grimoire, unfortunately,” Raphael said.

Demos sighed. “I could have guessed as much. You should have told me that was your important news. I’d have saved you this headache, and you could have trained.”

I resisted the urge to wipe the perspiration from my brow. “My apologies. I’ll keep at it.”

But I wasn’t sorry I missed training.

I wasn’t sorry I’d seen this.