Page 10

Thea

W hen I woke up, Hector’s side of the bed was cold, and my head was muddled by the lingering effects of yet another strange dream, not of Esperida this time, but of three completely unrelated objects. A burgundy cravat with a subtle pattern of the same color thread, an ornate silver vial the contents of which remained a mystery, and a hunter’s sword, long and wide with a slight curve to its blade.

Indeed, a very peculiar assortment of objects to be dreaming about while in the Castle and even more bizarre once considered as a continuation of my other premonitions: Esperida in the glass, and the black-clad man with the pale hands drifting toward me like a fairytale portent of doom. I had no idea what to make of them. They all felt like the odd and mysterious part of a story I hadn’t quite grasped yet.

It was a gloomy morning, crows nestling by the eaves while rain-swollen clouds glided past the fogged windowpanes, but the early hours flew pleasantly by as Hector and I spent them in the drawing room going over the details of our supposed union and the reasons for our upcoming separation. The Castle was in a genial mood as well, for everywhere you looked flowers were blooming—roses and anemones and forget-me-nots—their lushness mingling with the wafting of bergamot and the vague scent of sugar from the array of sweets cluttering the table between Hector and me. We painted a rather comical picture, actually, sitting here in our nightwear, eating desserts for breakfast, and devising our plans like a couple of naughty children. Now, if I could only convince him to turn tonight’s banquet into a proper ball, that would be just fantastic.

“I’m still in mourning, you know,” bristled Hector as he refilled his teacup with blood. And yes, the irony of sipping blood from something as delicate as a porcelain teacup was not lost on me, although it was clearly lost on him.

“You know what I think?” I prodded, then answered my own question before he could interject, “I think you’re refusing to experience joy in their absence. You’re punishing yourself for being alive while they’re not. But we both know this isn’t what Esperida and Eron would have wanted for you. They would have wanted you to celebrate your ascension to vampire society, not just have another one of your somber dinners.”

“According to you, I’ve been refusing to experience joy ever since I was born,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m being serious,” I hissed, nervously nibbling on a sugarplum.

Determinedly, Hector pushed a glass of water and a plate of eggs, roasted tomatoes, and hearty rye bread toward me. “The answer is no.”

I squinted at him. “Are you trying to make me healthy or more appetizing to you?”

“I’m trying to keep you from having a stomachache first thing in the morning,” he grumbled and did not stop glaring at me until I finished every bite of my proper breakfast.

Even the glaring he did handsomely, though. To say that he looked even more striking with his sleep-tousled hair and his rumpled nightshirt would be a terrible understatement. He looked like a prince. A rather solemn, hopelessly brooding prince, but still.

“Will you look at me for a moment, Hector dear?”

Hector hid his face behind the dainty teacup. “The fawn eyes don’t work on me, so don’t even bother.”

“Then look at me.”

“No.”

“Because if you do, you’ll fold like a lawn chair?”

“Maybe.”

Long story short, we were going to host a ball tonight.

After we reached land, Hector went into the forest to hunt—the details of which I preferred not knowing—so there would be plenty of blood to go around with our repast, while I made sure that all the rooms were restored to their initial glory.

The families were only going to be here for one night, and I planned on making the most of it. I let Hector think I wanted to make this a grand event for the sake of entertainment alone because I didn’t want him to be more anxious than he already was, but I did have other reasons as well.

Vampire hierarchy was an unsophisticated thing. The Castle was the ultimate symbol of power, and whoever held its loyalty was bound to be their ruler. A little diplomacy and a blatant display of Hector’s unbreakable bond with the Castle were going to help him prove that he was more than capable of leading vampire society even in a time of great personal anguish.

Of course, diplomacy had never been Hector’s strong suit. I, on the other hand, had witnessed more than enough political maneuvering at the Thalorian Court to know that a celebration was a lot more than an excuse to wear a pretty dress and get tipsy on sweet blueberry wine. A celebration was a statement of prosperity, security, strength. And this was exactly the kind of air Hector and the Castle should exude tonight.

After I was done assessing the rooms, I selected a gown from Hector’s little treasure trove and spent an hour or so preparing myself for our guests.

The dress was of dark green velvet, lush but effortless, with layered skirts and long, flowing sleeves that fell a bit carelessly off the shoulders. Then I focused on the details: a necklace of trickling emeralds to cover my neck—and any possible mark I might have there—no bracelets, of course, to bring more attention to my gold wristlet, and a hairpin encrusted with peridots in the exact shade of green as my gown to secure my updo.

By the time my reflection in the mirror brought me enough confidence to get through this first meeting, dusk had already fallen over the forest, misty and grey. From the bedroom window, I could see the city of Lumia coming up to a firefly glow. If this were the Faraway North, the night would be laden with a golden mist akin to pixiedust, unburied souls meandering around the Dragonfly Forest. Even the air was pure magic there, divinity spilling from the stars in ribbons of celestial light. But Lumia shone as still and clear as a city in a painting, the Castle the only spark of wonder in the air.

I was heading downstairs, following the curious shadows the sconces drew across the walls and wondering where Hector had disappeared to all day, when suddenly, a male voice traveled to my ears. A smooth, cheerful, familiar voice.

Filled with excitement, I gathered my skirts and rushed to the foyer.

There he was, all six feet of him. Crystal blue eyes. Messy golden hair. A collection of the finest features. And a smile that could win and break a girl’s heart in the span of a single night.

“Arawn!” I half-exclaimed, half-giggled as I hopped over the last few steps, falling straight into his arms.

He twirled me in the air, hugging me tight around the waist before putting me down at arm’s length to get a good look at me. “Gods, Thea, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” he laughed, his eyes growing bleary with remembrance.

I hadn’t seen Arawn and Margaret, his long-time beloved, in about three years, and I was a bit surprised by how different he looked up close. He’d always been as tall as a willow, but now he was as slender as one too. In fact, he was alarmingly thin, his nearly translucent skin pulling tight over his otherwise personable face.

I was about to ask if he was feeling okay—perhaps he’d had a bad journey—when Hector’s deep rasp sounded somewhere behind me. “She certainly is.”

He was standing by the door, dressed in an all-black attire, his high-waisted trousers rendering the path from his narrow hips to his strong thighs a truly tantalizing one. The dark strands of his hair were combed back, and the light from the chandeliers gave his open face an unsteady, ethereal glow.

He was unfairly, heartbreakingly beautiful. And he was smiling at me.

Arawn cleared his throat. “If you’re going to fuck in the middle of the foyer, at least have the decency to ask me to leave first.”

Hector’s passionate expression shifted into a scowl. “You’re not one to talk of decency, Celestine.”

Arawn rolled his eyes, turning to me with a flair of conspiracy. “Thea, darling, please tell me he’s not going to grumble like a weary old man all night. This is supposed to be a joyous occasion.”

“And yet your parents didn’t come to share my joy ,” countered Hector, wincing at the word joy as if it were something vulgar.

“Oh, please,” Arawn huffed, “you know very well they didn’t mean any disrespect. They’re just enjoying their retirement.”

Hector opened his mouth to say something I knew was going to be, at the very least, unpleasant, so I cut in with a wide grin, hooking my elbow around his. “Yes, Hector did say something about Calix and Esther retiring.”

Arawn’s little smirk turned positively devious. “Hector also said something about you two eloping, by which I’m mortally offended. I didn’t even know that you were still speaking to each other.” He made a dramatic pause, squinting at me. “But I am curious if this is why you’ve spangled that pretty neck of yours. Has our dear Hector gone feral for his bride?”

Hector did not find this remark very amusing. He pinned Arawn with a look of chill disdain and said in a toneless but lethal voice, “If I were you, I’d worry about my own neck right now.”

“Ah, I see Thea has yet to successfully remove the stick from your—” Arawn never got to finish that sentence. He lurched back, hissing, his hand cupping the suddenly red side of his neck. “Did your Castle just punch me?”

Hector arched a brow. “I don’t know, did it?”

“You’re such a sly bastard, Aventine.”

“And you’re ever the sleazy cockwad, Celestine.”

“Aw, it’s like we’re fifteen again,” I chirped, clapping my hands together. “So tell me,” I prodded Arawn, hoping to steer the conversation far away from my neck. “How is Margaret?”

Margaret, much like Arawn, had a personality as full of sunshine as her looks. Sweet, kind Margaret, who had the voice of a nymph and the patience of a priest, for it had taken Arawn seven whole years to finally propose to her. Although Calix and Esther had a part in that as well, for Margaret’s one and only flaw was irredeemable in their eyes. She was a human. And they wanted strong, vampire heirs.

To my surprise, Arawn’s face fell at the mention of her, his eyes darting to Hector with a hint of guilt. “I haven’t told you either…” He struggled with the words, his throat, white as bare bones, narrowing with tension. “Margaret and I parted ways. About three months ago.”

I bit my tongue, feeling like I’d just sliced open a freshly healed wound. “Arawn, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s okay,” he reassured me. “There wasn’t much of a future for us anyway. She was a human.”

He didn’t say the words pointedly, as if to imply that Hector and I were bound to fail as well, but there was still a pinch of resentment in his voice, something raw and sharp-edged.

At last, he glanced away, clearing his throat. “So, did you get the letter from the Valkhars?”

Hector’s brows drew closer, a shadow of apprehension unraveling over his cheekbones. “No, we’ve only just arrived. What happened?”

“Well, apparently, a small cult has formed in Elora that worships the goddess who cursed us—”

“What?” Hector cut him off in a hissing rush. “Why wasn’t I informed of this?”

Arawn’s expression softened enough to verge on pity. “You were grieving.”

“It’s still my responsibility—”

“Look,” Arawn interjected, “they’re only eight people, and the Valkhars are plenty capable of handling their territory. The whole reason we exist is that you don’t have to deal with every vampire-related issue in the entire Realm. Everything is under control. They’re just going to be a little late.”

Late?

“Late?” Hector echoed my thoughts, all color draining from his face.

“They’re to leave for Lumia tomorrow, so they’ll be here in a couple of days. Surely, you don’t mind if we wait until then.”

The words dropped over me like a bucket of ice water.

This charade was supposed to last a single night. We were supposed to have our little soiree, declare Hector sovereign, fall asleep at dawn, and wake up at dusk to see them out of the Castle. We were not supposed to wait, and certainly not wait for days .

The most ominous, blood-curdling feeling stole over me. Then the vision came. With a violent, inward tug, I was pulled somewhere deep into my mind, and with a painful flash, the scene took hold of my eyesight. A man, who I knew to be Kaladin Valkhar, was standing in this very foyer, black-clad and as pallid as a ghost. His greyish lips were curled back in a snarl of rage, and his skeletal hands were reaching for Hector’s throat.

“We can’t wait,” Hector’s growl jostled me out of the vision just as I felt that it was about to change, that the wheels of destiny were about to reveal to me something else—something greater.

I shut my eyes and tried to call it back, but the scene was a startled butterfly, fluttering its way into the sky.

“Come on, Aventine, can you at least try to look a bit less appalled?” Arawn mocked, the humor in his voice unable to assuage us this time around.

Hector and I exchanged a horrified look, a look neither of us had the time to wipe off our faces before the front door flung open and a glacial gust of wind thrust into the floodlit room. The flames inside the sconces went up in sparks, then down in curls of smoke.

Ten slender figures emerged from the nightly mist, their faces like something out of a nightmare, glowing eyes stitched on darkness. Even the air seemed to give way where they walked as they entered the Castle.