Page 11

Thea

T he last time I saw the Ravenors, I was seventeen years old. Although I’d never been allowed to attend any of Esperida’s famed balls—Hector’s birthday parties had been the only exception—every now and then I would get glimpses of the three families, brief passings that sometimes kept me awake at night and other times haunted my dreams, fascination and terror inseparable from each other.

The Ravenors, who were in charge of the vampires of the East, were the largest of the families, with Espen and Collette at the top of their little pyramid.

Espen, the patriarch, was a quiet, solemn man but built like a god, with deep brown skin, long lustrous braids, and a pair of ever-watchful black eyes. Invariably, he carried himself with an air of authority and the expression of someone who didn’t allow anyone to question it. Anyone except his wife, perhaps, who was so old she’d been amongst the villagers the goddess had cursed more than a thousand years ago. She was as pale as the moon, her black hair draping like silk down her shoulders. In some lights her eyes shone icy blue, in others pure white, verging on transparent.

Their youngest daughter, Dahlia, who was only a year younger than Hector and me, was the spitting image of her, apart from her eyes, which were much larger and darker, with a smoky ring circling each pupil. I had no idea if Dahlia was as sweet and timid as she seemed, but she did have a set of delicate, almost girlish features that gave her the appearance of a fragile doll and a tilt to her brows that made her look perpetually shy.

Her older siblings, Roan, who should be in his late twenties by now, and Alexandria, who was well into her hundreds, looked much more like their father, a blend of deep browns and honeyed blacks. Alexandria’s children, the twins, Nikko and Delyth, had also taken after their grandfather, considering that her husband, Lance, had an almost greyish complexion with a head of snow-white curls. Out of everyone, he was the most human-looking: dimpled, sleepy-eyed, with a pleasant quirk to his mouth.

They were all breathtakingly, uniquely beautiful, but the most captivating amongst them—the most cunning, lethal, terrifying vampire in the entire Realm—was Espen’s half-sister.

Camilla Ravenor.

The moon-kissed Lady of the East, they called her, for her skin and hair and eyes were all of the palest silver. Her mother had been a sea nymph, something that made Camilla’s existence as rare and extraordinary as Hector’s, despite her common sunlight intolerance. She didn’t have Collette’s years or Espen’s raw strength, but there was no question she was the sole reason why vampire-related issues never rose in the East.

After all, who would dare go against a woman who was notorious for hanging her enemies upside down and draining them of blood?

She was also known for refusing to consume actual food, sustaining herself on blood alone, and more specifically vampire blood, which implied a level of bloodlust I did not dare to think about right now.

The hairs at the nape of my neck stirred, the rush of my blood quickening. Nothing had ever disturbed me more than the subtle horror of their presence. Their beauty was a handful of juniper, something that looked like sweetness when in truth it was a poison.

The only unfamiliar person amongst them was the tall, pale man that stood between Camilla and Roan. Vampire, obviously, but not by birth. No, this man had been turned, for his eyes were in a shade of red that had nothing to do with hunger.

The first law Esperida had imposed on vampire society had rendered the turning of humans a crime punishable by death, and given that the Ravenors were the enforcers of these laws, I suspected that this man had been turned a long time ago, back when vampires were still the reason people were afraid of the dark. I also realized that he was Roan’s husband since they both wore identical silver wristlets. And yet… Camilla seemed oddly possessive of him as well. She hadn’t left the man’s side from the moment they’d entered.

“Welcome,” Hector’s deep voice boomed in the hall. When I turned to look at him, I was surprised to find him changed, having slipped into the shoes of a man who was plenty aware of the position he held, the inherent power that coiled within him. He bowed at the waist, one hand placed upon his heart, the other in the air in a simple but elegant gesture of hospitality. “Welcome to the Castle.”

In an uproar of movement, Espen surged forward, towering over Hector’s still bent form. “Care to tell me why a human is present, Aventine?”

Hector straightened, and the two of them came face to face, charging the room with a promise of disaster.

I was about to intervene, but Hector had more courtliness in him than I’d expected. His presence became a spell, bright and bewitching as he sailed toward me in his effortless grace. Mannerly, he placed a hand at the small of my back and ushered me forward. “Thea is my wife,” he announced to them with implacable confidence. “The Lady of the Castle.”

Silence descended over us. There was nothing like the stillness of the vampire, the absolute pause of their internal mechanisms. My human heartbeats struck like bells in the room.

Camilla pulled her blood-red lips over her fangs in a smile that could only be described as ravenous. “A wife,” she crooned, her voice like glass covered in silk. “How delicious.”

I didn’t breathe. I didn’t even dare to blink, for the last time I’d done so she had moved, and now she stood right before me, her impossibly tall figure casting a clawing shadow across the wall. She smelled like the ocean: salt, driftwood, and metal. From this distance, I could see there was a smudge of blood, still fresh, at the corner of her mouth.

Hector’s fingers twisted at the small of my back. I squeezed his other hand firmly to remind him that Camilla was no Arawn and that one wrong sentence could turn our little soiree into a bloodbath. My vision about Kaladin Valkhar had been ominous enough. The last thing we needed was to make enemies out of the Ravenors as well.

“Since when do you have a wife ?” Espen bit out, his piercing black eyes crawling over me.

I felt like I’d been judged and found wanting, but most of all, I felt confused. Considering the Ravenors’ position in vampire society, I’d expected their behavior to be more… Diplomatic? Refined? Something more sociable than this poorly veiled hostility anyway. Hector must have had similar expectations, for I didn’t think he would have given in to my whim had he known Espen would react in this way.

“Thea and I eloped a few months back,” explained Hector with remarkable calm. Then he added a bit more sharply, “After that we decided it would be in bad taste to celebrate, considering my parents just died.”

In her pale blue gown, Collette glided over the checkered floor and touched her slender hand on her husband’s back in something like a warning. “Yes, of course, we understand.” Her voice was eerie, ancient as stone and light as air. “We do wish to offer once again our sincerest condolences.” Her cold, steady gaze captured mine, her lips curving into a passionless smile. “And our warmest congratulations. We’re a bit surprised, surely, but we’re also glad that Hector has decided to follow in his mother’s footsteps.”

Her wraithlike manner was impossible to reconcile with the tactfulness of her words. Something deep in my bones rattled with disquiet.

“I thought we had other arrangements,” Espen growled at Hector, each word a resonant thrum.

“Arrangements?” Arawn cut in, alarmed by the idea of East and West having any kind of arrangement behind his back. “ What arrangements?”

Hector’s composure did not waver. “Yes, I am aware of your wishes, Espen,” he said firmly, ignoring Arawn and at the same time reassuring him that no agreement had flourished between them but the mere expression of wanting one. “However, I’m not willing to tailor my personal life to your desires, nor are you in a position where you can expect me to do so.”

Roan, who I had not heard or seen move, emerged right next to Espen. His eyes were kind, young, the skin of his face like the softest silk, but something in the way he held himself was as ancient as his mother. “Well, that was the politest fuck you I’ve ever heard,” he chuckled.

To my surprise, they all laughed, their dark amusement rippling in the air. Even Espen let out a sigh and shot Hector a look of fatherly exasperation. Only Dahlia didn’t seem able to relax, her fangs digging into her lip.

With a fresh surge of discomfort, I realized that the arrangement was that she was to marry Hector. An incredibly powerful match. One I couldn’t believe Hector was jeopardizing for the sake of having me here for a couple of nights. Or, perhaps, this was exactly why he’d agreed so easily to my ridiculous—and evidently dangerous—plan.

Was this charade his way out of an unwanted engagement? And if so, why didn’t he just tell me about it?

My eyes flew to him, a million questions buzzing in my head, when suddenly, the crystal chandeliers released a swift clinking sound, shifting to filter the moonlight that streamed through the rose window. The entire hall spun into a kaleidoscope of colors, a gust of warmth enveloping our forms.

“The Castle is happy to see you,” Hector claimed, his voice reaching us from every direction at once. “And so am I. Let us use this rare occasion to celebrate the foundations upon which vampire society was built. Harmony. Strength. Civility.” Once again he wound an arm around my waist and pressed me to his side. “I hope you welcome Thea into our world the same way you once welcomed my father, and I urge you to remember that the sole reason this society exists is so that we can continue to live our lives freely and in peace with humankind.” During his brief pause, various red roses with golden keys tied with ribbons around their stems popped in the air before each guest. “The roses will guide you to your rooms so you can rest and prepare for tonight’s celebration,” he continued in the same courteous but firm manner. “If you wish for anything, please don’t hesitate to ask the Castle. It is more than happy to grant your wishes.”

Camilla arched a silver brow, her hands resting on the voluptuous curve of her hips. “ All of our wishes?”

“You’ll find more than a few bottles of blood in your room, Camilla,” said Hector steadily.

“Squirrel, no doubt,” she guessed as she pranced toward the stairs, the long tail of her silk dress gathering a few steps behind her like sea foam. The air stirred with her, and my breath hitched as her scent washed over me again: ocean and blood.

The corner of Hector’s mouth twitched. “Do you have an issue with that?”

“Of course not, my sovereign,” she purred, trailing up the flowing red carpet. I listened for the thud of her footsteps, the swishing of her dress. She made no sound. She was stillness embodied. And it frightened me.

She paused mid-ascent and cast Hector a sharp look over her shoulder. “I wonder, though… What happens if someone challenges this title?”

Hector’s face was carved in stone. “War.”

“Hmm,” hummed Camilla, passing her tongue over the edge of her left fang. “Sounds delectable.”