by Emily Inskip
“It’s beautiful,” she sighed as finally the flecks of light bobbed out of sight, too distant for even her own supernatural senses to keep track of.
“Amara?”
She twisted to face him, only realising just how close they were. “Yes?”
His dark eyes met hers before drifting down towards her lips, then back again. Something sparked within her, somewhere deep in her dead and broken heart. She couldn’t focus on anything but those eyes, and the roiling want in her veins. It was different from anything else she’d ever felt.
Silently, she brought a hand up to his face, cupping his cheek in her palm. Aedric’s throat bobbed as he tightened his grip around her waist, pulling her closer.
Maybe this made her foolish. Maybe she didn’t care.
Amara angled her head upwards, pushing onto her tiptoes, then—
A sharp noise split through the air. Amara jolted backwards in shock as another ring reverberated through the castle, the clear chimes of the royal bell tower. Cheers and cries erupted from the gardens as the twelfth and final bell rang. Then, in a sea of light, thousands upon thousands of lanterns rose up around them. Across the city, tiny specks of amber drifted upwards through the streets. Amara watched in awe as soon the entire sky was awash with orange and gold. The lanterns moved like a swarm of fireflies migrating across the land; no limits, floating freely with nowhere to be.
Amara found herself smiling as she gazed out at the delicate dots of light.
Wishes. They were thousands of wishes, carried by the force of nothing more than hope.
Amara thought of those in the slums, the families in Aedric’s refuge, the blind boy and his twisted ankle. She wondered if they sent out their wishes, too. If these lanterns were a symbol that they wouldn’t give in. That when the world owed them nothing, they still had the power to fight. To demand something of this harsh, unforgiving life they were left with.
Amara couldn’t draw her eyes away from the beautiful sky of light, the wave of lanterns lazily pushing out towards the sea.
“This is only the beginning,” Aedric said.
Amara turned to him, the light from above glinting off his golden hair. It matched the gleam in his eyes as he watched the lanterns fly.
“I promise to do whatever it takes to make this a better world, Amara.”
And somehow, she believed him.
How had she not realised how close they were getting? His scent was wrapped around her, intoxicating. Amara told herself not to get involved. Not become entangled within his net of compliments and smiles. But now she couldn’t resist the tug that pulled her towards him. It was magnetic. Aedric, it seemed, could feel it too. He bent his head down slowly, bridging the gap between them. The soft tickle of his breath against her was enough to drive her mad. Maybe if she could just—
Amara hadn’t meant to kiss him, but beneath the shimmering lanterns, Aedric’s fingers subtly brushing against hers on the railing, she couldn’t help herself.
For a brief second, he froze. Perhaps the whole world did. She could hear his heart hammering through his chest. But then his arms wrapped around her, pulling them closer. Amara melted into him, her back arching as he pressed gentle kisses along her neck. Her fingers knitted through his golden hair. She’d spent so long wondering what it would feel like passing between her fingers, what his mouth would feel like on hers.
The bell tower struck again but this time Amara didn’t pull away. Their kisses became more desperate, hungry. His hand slid to her thigh and she lifted it up, locking it around him. His teeth nipped her bottom lip and she moaned his name.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do this,” he panted as he pulled away, their foreheads pressed together as though they couldn’t even bear to be apart.
Amara smoothed a hand down his face, studying his dark eyes, the strong lines of his jaw. “Thank you,” she said at last.
Aedric only laughed, his warm breath tickling her skin. “For what?”
“For making me feel alive again.”
He stared at her for a long moment, a small smile tweaking his lips. Gently, he tilted her chin up and pressed a kiss to her lips. “I’m glad I met you, Amara.”
And she was glad he was holding her so tight, or maybe she would have lost her footing completely. But Amara managed a smirk, that same wicked grin she’d given to him that first day in the throne room. “I know,” she said softly. “You needed someone to beat your arrogant ass in a sword fight.”
“That may be true,” he smiled, carefully tucking her hair behind one ear. “Although, I do think a rematch is in order, don’t you?”
Amara nuzzled her cheek into his palm, savouring the spread of heat across her face. “Maybe, but I can think of a lot of things I’d prefer to do first.”
Her eyes dipped south towards his chest, lower. Aedric began grinning and then his mouth was on hers again. She couldn’t describe the feeling, the taste of him. Every part of her felt molten. The bitter frost that had plagued her for so many centuries was finally beginning to thaw.
She had been living through all of those dark years. But this was the first time she had truly felt alive.
When they broke apart, Amara could have sworn the suncharm around her neck pulsed, thrumming with a new life. A new passion.
She cast her gaze out across Valmont once more, tucked in behind the rising mountains whilst shimmering clusters of bright lanterns hung in the sky above. Amara pressed her head against Aedric, feeling the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath her.
Maybe she had lived most of her life in darkness. But for that, she was grateful. Because only in darkness was there potential for light. And now she would rally that blaze to purge Fassar and whatever evil he intended to summon. The sun was beautiful, but risk staring at it for too long and you suffer the consequences. Only Amara wouldn’t just blind the Valkrane. She would burn their bones to the ground. And that, she decided, would be glorious.
38
As much as she didn’t want to see him leave, Amara knew she had to send Aedric on his way. She didn’t trust herself to be around him this late at night and right now, she needed her focus. And that was a thing she definitely didn’t possess when she was with him.
His scent still lingered on her, his taste still playing in her mouth. It was hard not to think about his arms around her, his hands gripping her thighs as he pulled her into a crushing kiss. The ghost of his touch still tingled against her skin as she threw back the covers of her bed and collapsed into it with a sigh. She’d barely been able to wriggle out of her gown and into a loose, white tunic before a wave of fatigue rolled over her. The last few days had been exhausting, to say the least. But they were nothing compared to what she’d have to face tomorrow.
Amara frowned as she pulled the sheets tightly up to her chin. The cold material settled over her and she suddenly wished she still had Aedric’s warm arms draped around her, her face buried into the crook of his neck.
Stop pining, you’re no better than Lady Myria and the rest of them. Amara tried to force the memory of him away but her efforts were futile. You could die tomorrow, get your priorities straight.
But somehow, the idea of the Bloodmoon no longer scared her. Instead, it only brought hope. It was a chance to finally be free, to see Fenn again and put a stop to Fassar once and for all. Of course, a lot had to go right in order for that to happen, but Amara could see it through. She had to.
Amara rolled onto her side, eyelids heavy, lulling her into sleep. But a small patter of footsteps rushed from outside on the balcony. In a heartbeat, Amara was alert, rolling out of bed, the dagger beneath her mattress already in her palm. A flash of darkness passed by her window. Panic reeled through her as she edged towards the door. Had Elias informed Fassar about what she planned for the Bloodmoon? Had he come to put an end to it all?
Amara peered through the misty window, her grip tightening around the blade. It wouldn’t be much use. If Fassar really was here, a small shard of me
tal would do nothing but make her look a fool.
Nothing. Amara scanned the empty balcony. Perhaps she’d imagined it? But Amara had lived long enough to know that she could trust her senses. And that they were never wrong. Which meant there was something out there, and it didn’t want to be seen.
The music from the celebrations had long since ended, most people had retired to their beds or estates in the suburbs of Valmont. It brought about an eeriness, as though all the life that had once been out there had guttered. The gardens were no longer a place for the living.
Silently, Amara moved towards the door, her soft footfalls barely audible against the tiles. Coolness spread through her palm as she gripped the door handle and gently clicked it open.
She was immediately hit by a wave of chilling wind and cursed as her tunic began flapping wildly. So much for stealth.
Amara kept her back to the wall as she flicked her gaze across the balcony, every nerve in her body on fire. A jarring scrape had her whirling to the left, just as a dark figure began to scale the building. There one second, gone the next.
Amara rushed to the railings, only to realise that whoever it was had already swung around the side of the castle, out of sight.
In moments, Amara leapt onto the railing, pushing back on her heels before lurching forwards through the air. She didn’t have time to think as the hard stone wall smacked into her. She grappled for a hold between the bricks, her feet desperately seeking purchase along the wall. But the fatigue was too strong, she’d misjudged and now had to pay the price.
Amara hissed as pain lanced up her shins. She slipped several feet down the wall before she could latch onto the stone, her bare legs grazing against the marble as she scrabbled for stability. But Amara couldn’t waste any time. She jammed the dagger between her teeth and began to climb.
Alpine gusts made every movement harder. There were times when she thought she’d get blown away completely, but Amara persisted. Whoever was out here was fast. But more importantly, they were getting away.
Like a slip of darkness, she swung around the side of the castle, catching a glimpse of the dark figure before it let go, tumbling what had to be a few hundred feet into the bushes below.
Amara cursed, narrowing her eyes as she scanned for any signs of movement. To her surprise, the figure sprung up and was already racing across the gardens, blending into the shadows of the treeline. So, definitely not human then.
Amara continued to edge around the side of the building until she was sure she would be out of sight as she dropped to the ground. She broke the impact of the fall, rolling onto her shoulder then coming up into a crouch. She remained low as she hurried further into the gardens, slipping the dagger back into her palm.
It was easy enough to follow the sounds of footsteps as she weaved through the dark net of trees. Low-hanging branches swung towards her but she ducked without a thought, letting her instincts take control.
They continued on like that for perhaps only a few minutes before Amara froze. The scent of blood drifted towards her through the forest, stuffing up her nose. She swallowed before edging forwards, carefully picking her way through the blanket twigs and pine needles, desperate not to make a sound.
Movement rustled from the hedge before her. Amara tightened her grip around the dagger. The cool metal between her fingers was the only sense of reassurance she had. And it definitely wasn’t enough.
“Show yourself,” she yelled over the force of the wind, rallying every bit of bravery she had left.
Maybe she had opened herself up for Aedric. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still dangerous. Amara had lived for years, surviving off nothing but her pure determination and nerve. People feared her. And they were right in doing so. Because she was never afraid to bring them hell.
Amara could feel the serpent coil within her. The snake she’d put to sleep. Now it was hissing, demanding to be heard. So she let it’s venom lace her veins and took a step forward.
From the shadows, the figure rose. She blinked, her jaw becoming slack. Amara recognised those dark eyes, Aedric’s golden hair. Except this man’s was streaked with grey. Tired lines etched into his forehead with creases bracketing his mouth. He hunched over the bush, blood smeared down his chin. It couldn’t possibly be . . .
“King Xalvaterre?” She took a shuddering breath.
The King of Esteria had fallen ill months ago. At least that’s what they were told. He hadn’t been seen since, not even on the day his country won the war in the north. Amara had heard the servants mutter conspiracies about his death. How they didn’t want the bordering countries knowing that they no longer had a leader.
Except Amara never thought it was because he was like her.
That the most powerful man in Esteria was undead.
Amara only had to look down to see the dead fox slumped against the ground by his feet, its rusty coat mangled with clumps of blood and dirt.
The King glared at her with empty wide eyes. His frail limbs were quaking. Amara knew that state. It’s what she experienced when she went without drinking for too long. First came the nausea and headaches, after was the uncontrollable shaking, then finally catatonia, when every part of you shuts down. Perhaps the immortal can’t die, but that was the closest thing to it.
What had they done to him?
She eased forwards another step but he flinched back, stumbling further into the shadows. Amara paused before gently holding up her hands. She let the knife fall from her grip, clattering to the ground beside her. The King watched it drop then looked up to meet her eye once more. Sadness flickered there. Desperation.
Amara smiled faintly. “I can help you.”
The King shuddered but didn’t turn away. Amara took that as an invitation to continue. She inched forwards, trying to remain as silent as she could.
“We are the same, you and I.”
Amara offered her hand towards him. Still, the man didn’t balk. Instead, he lowered his head, panting. He seemed more animal than man. Feral and untamed, Amara hadn’t seen anything like it.
“What did they do to you?” she asked softly. Amara thought back to her first days at Winvaris, the obsidian doorway that had thrummed with darkness. The guards who had been so desperate to send her on her way. She knew that the Queen had been hiding something. Who knew the castle’s secrets could run so deep?
His bloodied lips quivered in a thin line as he tried to respond. Gradually they parted, revealing a yellowed set of teeth, his twin fangs filed down to stumps. Had the guards done that to him as well? Amara cringed at the thought.
A strangled noise rumbled in his throat as he struggled for words.
“I . . . I,” he spluttered. “must . . .”
Her brows pinched together. “Must what?”
The silence split as the loud bellows of guards tore through the trees. And King was running.
“Wait,” she called after him through the darkness, but he had already been swallowed up by the mass of shadows.
Amara itched to follow, but the clash of iron-clad boots behind her was enough of a warning to send her sprinting back towards Winvaris. She couldn’t risk being seen. Not when the Bloodmoon was so near. Amara had enough to worry about, and a vampire king wasn’t something she wanted to meddle with if she didn’t have to. She knew when to turn her back, when to close her eyes to avoid the mess. It was often easier that way.
So as she scrambled up the rest of the wall, swinging herself back over the railing and slipping beneath the welcoming covers of her bed, Amara tried to ignore the frantic shouts from the garden and the torch lights that filtered through the trees as the guards continued their pursuit of the King.
Another problem for another day, she thought before shutting her eyes tightly and willed sleep to wash over her.
39
She couldn’t explain any of the emotions that coursed through her body that following day.
This was it. Today was the Bloodmoon. And Amara could barely think st
raight.
Everything that’s happened has led up to now. She thought her transition into a vampire had been a curse, but what if all this time she’d been wrong. Her second chance at life had meant that she could finally be strong enough to make a difference. This was her chance to change things, to stand against the tide. To face the music, the types of screams that Fassar and the Valkrane had danced to like a sweet harmony.
She didn’t understand what sorts of magic her body would soon endure, but she knew it would be better than any evil Fassar could summon. Perhaps this was why she had survived so long, why every turn she’d taken, every brush with death had led her here, stood in the gardens of Winvaris, a witch and her friend by her side.
They stood in a forgotten clearing, amongst the white arms of the silver birch trees. Nadia had already painted a pattern in the grass, markings of the ancient language, symbols even Amara couldn’t make sense of. Crimson stained the tips of her fingers as she dipped them into the pot of wolf blood Amara had spent most of the morning hunting for. It had been easy to track the young pack of grey wolves, stalking them over the rocky mountain passes for what might have been miles. But killing one was another matter. Amara had to turn away as she slit its throat, trying to block out its strangled whimpers as she pinned it to the ground. Humans she could just about handle killing, most of them deserved it anyway. But animals, they were different. So many of them were victims of humanity one way or another. Why would Amara want to add to that?
It was already late afternoon by the time they’d talked through the plan. Amara was still cloudy on a few details but ultimately, she knew what she had to do. What needed to happen in order for them to survive. And what to do if things went very badly wrong.
“Once the ritual has begun there’ll be no going back,” Nadia said, looking up from where she knelt on the grass, finishing off the last few details of the pattern.
