Page 76 of A Steeping of Blood (Blood and Tea #2)
ARTHIE
Arthie had known since she’d met Flick that Lady Linden cared deeply for her image. Arthie had counted on that, counted on high society to shun her, destroy her, and ultimately force her to step down from the role of monarch.
She never once imagined an outcome in which the Ram would unmask herself.
The Ram had to know her guests wouldn’t applaud her. Arthie could already hear the whispers of shock and dismay, which meant the Ram could too.
Is that—dear me, that’s Linden! Of the EJC!
Hold on a moment now! It’s no surprise my requests were denied.
That’s why Elizabeth was turned away. Linden never did like us.
Now we know why our contract ended shortly after her coronation.
Scorn heated the room more than the Ceylani sun ever could.
Whispers began to mount. In the stirring crowd, Jin and the others looked as confused as Arthie felt.
Why would a woman obsessed with her image, a woman consumed by the public’s view of her, do such a thing before an entire class of people?
Arthie thought of the common criminals who ran the streets while masked, only ever removing them for one reason. She thought of the moment in the carriage when she had asked the Ram how she kept the ruse for twenty years, splitting her identity as two powerful Ettenian figures.
She killed the ones who knew.
Matteo was wrong, the Ram hadn’t meant to unleash an army of half vampires onto the streets. She had meant to unleash them here . It was as the lords and ladies claimed: Every contract went to the EJC. The Ram didn’t need them any more than she needed the Council seated behind her.
But would the Ram go to such lengths?
In answer, her black-clad forces sealed the doors closed, and only then did Arthie realize they were quite like the vault-like door they’d encountered in Ceylan.
But the crowd was too caught up in the Ram’s reveal to pay attention to their surroundings—and really, when did the rich pay attention to anything but their own person?
They thought themselves as immortal as vampires.
Arthie watched as the Ram lifted her little bell and rang it again—three short bursts in a row. That wasn’t an attempt at getting attention.
It was a signal.
But there was one large problem with her plan: Her vampires would not come. Jin and Flick had freed the captives before they could be turned. Before Arthie could be forced to turn them.
“It seems we truly are quite similar,” Arthie said behind her, removing her borrowed mask and dropping her cloak. The Ram didn’t look shocked in the slightest, almost as though she had expected Arthie to be here. The Council gasped, several of them scolding her as if she were a child.
The lords and ladies recognized her in an instant.
That’s the Casimir girl.
The one who ran that tearoom!
Spindrift?
Slowly, quietly, the Ram’s men inched toward the guests. They were being careful. They wouldn’t risk a stampede or a mob. Sidharth and the Athereum vampires saw, vigilant as they were, for they knew what it was like to live ever aware of one’s surroundings.
“Are we?” the Ram asked her.
Arthie ignored her. She didn’t know how much time they had before the men convened and chaos descended, but she intended to make the most of it. She shoved a finger in the Ram’s direction.
“You see what you trusted for a vicennial?” Arthie asked the guests. “Do you see what she’s done over the past twenty years and beyond? You came here to honor the fallen members of the press, but like the Ram’s identity, she lied about the true perpetrators: It was her and her men.”
The shouts settled to an awful quiet. Whispers swirled through the people. They lowered the flutes in their hands. There were more of the Ram’s men now, despite the closed doors. Were they coming through the tunnel? The room was a powder keg, waiting to explode.
“Is this true?” one of the Council members asked behind the Ram.
The Ram, unmasked and unchecked, didn’t look fazed or caught. She didn’t look trapped in that moment, nor the slightest bit defeated because of her missing would-be half vampires. There was a calm about her, one that sent Arthie’s thoughts into a sudden frenzy.
“Do you remember, Casimir, when I told you my only wish was that the Siwangs had found a cure for the Ripper mutations? I decided I can make do without. A pity you didn’t see them when you were underground.”
The Ripper mutations.
The Ram—the Ram had Ripper vampires underground.
No. Unstoppable, unkillable Ripper vampires.
How had she created them when Shaw had been so certain it wasn’t possible?
That didn’t matter now. Ripper vampires were here.
Now . That meant the caged humans were no more than a distraction from her real weapon.
Arthie didn’t even try to contain her shock.
“Don’t do this,” she said. “They will kill everyone. They will not stop.”
They would never stop.
The Ram ignored her. She rang her bell again. Twice this time. The crowd held their breath, looking to Arthie with growing panic. And in the deathly silence, Arthie thought she heard glass shattering.
Like the cylinders the Siwangs had used to contain the Rippers.
That was when Arthie realized it: The Ram didn’t need a way to control the Rippers, only a way to stop them. In this case, the doors, the very same from the sanitorium on Ceylan. The walls were already fortified—it was a palace after all.
No, this was no longer a palace. It was a fortress. And the Ram was going to kill everyone inside: every last lord, lady, and Council member present.