by Keary Taylor
It’s not love, it’s just…need. Raheem had said it, and while I’m not sure it was true for him, it was for me. “No,” I answer. “I needed him. He was there, offering what I desperately craved at my weakest point. But I don’t love him.”
No matter how unfair it is.
“Do you still need him?”
Now that is a complicated question.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say, easing back from this circle of ease we’ve created between us. “I’m probably going to die soon, anyway. If they don’t forget about me down here for forever.”
“You’re not going to die,” he says. “They will see you have no reason to try and kill the King, all those Royals. Your House will come through.”
“We’ll see,” I sigh.
TWO DAYS LATER, ANGRY VOICES descend the stairs, hurried and chaotic. I leap from my bed and walk over to the door. Steel screeches against steel and suddenly, Ian yells.
“The King’s got a problem, and you’re just the man to take care of it, I hear.” I recognize that voice. Godrick. One of the Court members who came with Cyrus to Silent Bend.
“What are you talking about?” Ian demands. I hear him struggle as chains clang and a fist meets flesh.
“Got a vampire who needs putting down. One who’s trying to run,” Godrick’s deep voice bellows, echoing off the walls. “You catch him, put him down, the King says he’ll release you.”
“Release…” Ian questions. Suddenly, he gives a hiss of pain. “Ah!”
“To keep you from running,” Godrick says with a smile in his voice. “You don’t return to the castle with a body in forty-eight hours, this little chip under your skin will detonate. A hundred wooden barbs shot straight into your heart.”
“Ian!” I yell.
“It’ll be fine!” he yells, and already, I hear his voice retreating. “I’ll be back soon!”
And then, it’s silent. He’s gone.
THERE ARE FORTY-EIGHT HOURS BEFORE something implanted into Ian will kill him. Within those forty-eight hours, there are twenty-four of them in the daylight. How is he supposed to use those hours? I can only hope they gave him some sun goggles.
I could sit here and drive myself mad with worry.
Or I could do something to distract myself.
“Tell me about yourself,” I say, loudly enough to be heard. My voice echoes against the steel walls, being absorbed by the stone ones.
“Who are you talking to?” the Spanish man asks.
“Any of you,” I say. I stand with my back against the wall. “All of you.”
“Why do you care?” he responds. “We’re all probably going to die, anyway.”
“Death or not, I’m getting awfully tired of the silence,” I say. “How about I start?”
He gives a little scoff, but doesn’t protest.
“My name is Alivia Ryan,” I begin. “I’ve only been Resurrected for about two months. I didn’t know I was a Born until about nine months ago. I’m from the States. My father was Henry Conrath, my uncle Elijah. I’ve heard I’m a descendant of the third son.”
“Conrath,” a woman’s voice perks up. The silent one who came in with the crier. “He was a House leader. Does that mean you are, too?”
I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Yes. My uncle who ruled was killed quite some time ago. I just recently took over leadership.”
“You’re the most recent queen investigation,” a deep voice rumbles—the silent man who hasn’t made a peep since arriving. The accent is thick, African sounding.
“Yes,” I say. “As you can guess, things didn’t go so well.”
“Someone really does want to take you down,” the Spaniard says. “I think it’s safe to say we all heard you telling your boyfriend everything. Somebody set you up bad. No wonder everyone thinks you did it.”
“Yet you knew nothing about our world until a few months ago?” a new voice perks up. The crier.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. I wish I could see the other prisoners. To read their faces and see what they really are thinking about what I am saying. “What are your names?”
“Horatio,” the Spaniard offers right away. “From Spain.”
“Luce,” the quiet woman says. “And my sister Lina.” The crier. “We’re from Vancouver.”
“My name is Obasi,” the African says. “I am a child of all Africa. I fall under no House.”
There’s strength in Obasi’s statement. Defiance. Fight.
“It’s nice to finally speak to you all,” I say, smiling to myself.
“Who do you think they dragged your boyfriend off to kill?” Horatio asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.
I shrug. “I’m sure the King has plenty of enemies he needs taken care of. It could be anyone.”
“And what makes him so specifically qualified to take care of this?” Luce asks.
“He didn’t know he was a Born, either,” I say, debating how much of someone else’s history I can disclose. But I’m tired of holding things at bay. And besides, Ian is going to be released soon. “Before he Resurrected, he was a hunter. He protected the town where my House is.”
“Sounds like a complicated relationship,” Luce says.
“You have no idea,” I breathe out. A million miles of complicated strings attached. “Tell me, why are all of you here?”
It’s a bold question, but one they asked of me. I hope I’ve offered enough of my own secrets to gain some of theirs.
“My sister fell in love with the wrong man,” Luce says. And there’s a hint of an edge to her voice—resentment, anger. But protectiveness. “He is engaged to the House leader in the Pacific Northwest. When this leader found out what was going on, there was a confrontation. I couldn’t just idly sit by.”
“So, the House leader sent you here?” I ask in surprise.
Neither of them answers me straight away, and I can just imagine the looks between them. “Attempts on a Royal’s life are never dealt with in a gentle manner,” Luce finally says.
I am not sure what to say at first. Who is right and who is wrong in how this situation is being dealt with, I’m not entirely sure. “The heart does have a way of cutting in and making things messy.” It’s all I have to offer to the two of them.
The air is weighted, heavy. I can only imagine the tension that must exist between these sisters.
“I hope things work out for you both.” I say it quietly. But I don’t know that I have much hope. The brutality of the Court is so obvious, and I’ve not even gone through my own trial yet.
“What about you, Horatio?” I move on.
“I said something that offended a Court member,” he says. “I think he put me in here just to get a backhanded laugh in.”
“So, you should be released any time?” I respond.
“I should expect so,” he says, and his tone implies he has nothing more to discuss about the situation.
Suddenly, feet sound on the stone steps, two sets of them, through the passageway and then stopping in front of my cell. A key grates in the lock, and a moment later, it slides open to reveal Trinity, a guard once again behind her.
“Holy shit,” she breathes, her eyes going wide. She steps forward, placing her hands on my upper arms as she takes in my sad state. “Have they fed you at all since they brought you down here?”
I shake my head, even as my eyes search her over quickly. She seems in good shape. Clean clothes. No black veins of hunger.
“What’s going on?” I ask, now searching her eyes for answers. “It’s got to have been a month now. What’s happening?”
“Christian and Markov are on their way here,” she says. She sounds nervous. “They should arrive in two days and then your trial will start.”
“They’re coming here?” I ask in disbelief. “Does that mean they found evidence to prove me innocent?”
She shrugs, the look in her eyes telling me she’s overwhelmed. She may be over forty-years-old Resurrected, but she’s trapped in the bo
dy of a seventeen year old, and she’s still that age in so many ways. “I don’t know. The Court won’t tell me much of anything.”
“What do you know?” I demand. I take a step toward her. “Is everything okay in Silent Bend? Have there been any more attacks?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know!” she says defensively, acting nervous. “All I know is that things are finally going to move forward. Those two are on the way.”
I nod my head, frustrated. “What about Ian? Have you heard anything about what’s happening?”
“Just some radical type that the King didn’t like,” Trinity says as she sits on my platform bed. “But I did hear Cyrus is going to release him if he kills whoever it is.”
So, maybe it is true, that they will let Ian go. Not just an empty promise.
I let out a slow breath. “So, what do you think? Are they going to convict me?”
Trinity shakes her head. “I don’t know. I’ve been listening around the castle, but it’s almost like they’ve forgotten about you. No one is saying anything about what happened.”
“It feels like I’ve been forgotten,” I say. I’ve already spent half of my life as a vampire in this prison.
“There is something,” she says. “The third son wants to meet you.”
My blood runs slow and cold at that. King Cyrus himself is a legend, a man most vampires are never likely to meet. Now I have. But almost as enigmatic as the King are his grandsons. Once there were seven of them, but they rose up against Cyrus, with his son. So the King killed most of those who rebelled, and gave the world to the two that did not.
I am a descendent of the third son. My claim to royalty.
“When?” I ask, my heart suddenly racing.
“At some point in the trial,” she says. “I think you’re about to meet a lot of very important people, Alivia.”
“Time’s up,” the guard says, suddenly yanking the door open.
“Thank you,” I say to her as I follow her toward the door. “Please, if you hear anything more, come tell me.”
“I will if I can,” she says, offering a sad smile before the door slides closed between us.
The footsteps retreat, and then it’s just us prisoners once again.
“At least one of us is getting out of here soon,” Horatio says. “Dead or alive.”
“IT’S TIME,” A VOICE GROWLS from behind my prison door. It slides open, and two sets of hands grab me roughly. They drag me from my cell as a yelp leaps from my throat. I don’t even have time to get my feet under me before they’re hauling me across the stone floor, down the passageway.
“Good luck,” Luce says quietly.
“I hope you survive,” Obasi says.
Through hall after hall, stairways, across ballrooms and chambers, we circle and climb throughout the castle. I get to my feet and willingly follow behind them, but they drag me roughly and unnecessarily.
Finally, we stop in a hallway. It’s grand and wide. Stone stretches all around us, rising up and up, wooden rafters spanning the air. And before us waits an enormous set of doors.
And X.
Her nose wrinkles and a disgust fills her face. “She reeks. You can’t send her in like that.”
A sharp breath intakes into my chest as a bucket of water is splashed over my head. I’m soaked in most places, my hair plastered to my forehead. I stand in a puddle on the cold floor.
X shakes her head, a cold look creeping into her eyes. “No,” she says. “Not good enough. It’s saturated into her clothes.”
A large, rough hand suddenly grabs me from behind and instantly, my sweater is torn from my body. I don’t even have time to react before another greedy hand shreds my pants.
And not a moment later, a second bucket of water is dumped over my head, drenching my body that is now only covered by my bra and panties.
“That’s an improvement,” X says, a cold smile on her lips as she looks at me. “Not so high and mighty now, are you, Lady Conrath?”
“Why so hostile, nameless chancellor?” I ask as I crook an eyebrow at her. I sound far more confident than I feel. I push my hair out of my eyes, running my fingers through it. “What did I ever do to you?”
“You tried to kill my King, of course,” she says. Her smoky eyes look up at me from beneath long lashes. “Or have you forgotten?”
“Or perhaps because I didn’t commit the crime,” I say as I wrap my arms around my middle.
I’m playing a tough game; I still have to be a leader. But I’m nearly naked and have no idea what to expect on the other side of that door.
“That remains to be determined,” she says with another smile. She tosses me a thin, white sheath, which I pull over my wet body. She turns to the doors and pushes them open.
They reveal a great ballroom, one of dozens in the castle. The space opens wide, the ceiling high. Five black chandeliers hang above us, crystal dripping from them like dew drops. Great tapestries decorate the walls. A massive red rug dominates much of the floor.
And seated before me, in five great chairs, are a handful of familiar faces. Terror and shock saturate my bones.
Cyrus, seated in the middle, of course. He stares at me with dark, empty eyes.
To his left and right are two men I do not recognize. There’s wisdom in their eyes, age.
But it is the last two faces that make the breath catch in my throat.
To the King’s right is Lillian Summers.
To his left sits Elle Ward.
“What-” I begin to question.
But the King cuts me off.
“Alivia Ryan Conrath,” he says in that booming, commanding voice. “You have been brought to Roter Himmel, accused of treason, the murder of a Royal, and over a dozen Born. And the attempted murder of your King. How do you plead?”
It takes me a moment to process everything. The jurors. The accusations. “Not…not guilty.”
A displeased but amused smile tugs at Cyrus’ lips as his eyes darken further. “Lady Conrath, your trial will begin come daybreak when your House representatives arrive. Until that point, you will be kept in solitary with a constant guard.”
He gives a dismissive wave of the hand, and the guard has just grabbed me when a heavy set of boots sound down the hallway. I turn just in time to see Ian round the hallway and approach.
His eyes widen when he takes me in, drenched and starved, his lips pressing into a thin line.
And I take him in, laying eyes on him for the first time in two months.
He’s changed. His face is covered with a thick beard, his hair grown long enough for him to pull it back into a short tail at the nape of his neck. The youthful, handsome face I was once so familiar with is nearly unrecognizable with the hard lines that take over everything.
In his left hand, he holds a dismembered head by the hair.
The moment Ian’s eyes slide from mine to take in the rest of the people behind him, I watch as if in slow motion, the change in his expression. The way his mouth opens in anger, his eyes as they widen in horror. The muscles of his body as they tense and flex as he darts forward.
“Elle!” he bellows as he races toward her.
Two guards rush Ian from either side, colliding with a great smack that nearly sends the three of them to the floor. “What is she doing here?” Ian bellows like a madman. “If you touched her-”
“Your dear sister has not been harmed,” Cyrus cuts him off with an amused smile and commanding in his voice. “She has merely been brought here to serve as one of Alivia’s judges. I would be very careful if I were you, Mr. Ward.”
“Ian, don’t,” Elle says as she shakes her head. “I’m okay. Please. Just cooperate.”
His eyes glow, so bright and red as he frantically searches his sister for signs of harm. But there aren’t any. Just as the King said.
Slowly, I hear his heart calm, the breaths come a little slower. He swallows, blinking three times as he continues to search her. Her eyes plead for him to calm down, to no
t get himself into trouble.
So he does. Ian straightens, lifting his chin high. And slowly, the guards let him go. Ian doesn’t bolt. Doesn’t lunge.
He tosses the head he’s holding so it lands just at the King’s feet. “She was headed toward the mountains,” he says, his eyes flicking between Cyrus and me. “Didn’t take long to catch her.”
Cyrus sneers down at the dismembered head. “Well done. We had a deal. You’re free to go back to the swamp you call home. Unless you’re interested in staying at Court? I could use a man with your…skills.”
The disgust on Ian’s face is obvious, the hatred in his eyes darkening by the moment. “Pass,” he says through clenched teeth. “What are you going to do with Alivia?”
“Oh, your former plaything that you abandoned?” Cyrus says with a smirk. He leans forward, resting a forearm on his knee. Ian’s jaw tightens in anger.
“Don’t,” I whisper to him, even though everyone in the room can hear it. “Just let it go, Ian.”
“Yes, just let it go, Ian,” Cyrus says, enjoying the torture he’s putting the man through. “As you already did. Just let her go. Because her trial will begin come daybreak, and it doesn’t look good.”
Ian lets out a harsh breath through his nose, staring down the King, before turning to me. He takes five steps. “You okay?” he asks, the concern growing in his eyes.
“I’m fine,” I say.
He stares at me hard, not believing what I’m saying. But finally, he turns back to the judges. “I’ll leave,” Ian says. “But not until after the trial is over. I need to make sure Alivia and my sister make it safely back to Silent Bend.”
Cyrus chuckles and stands. He kicks the head out of his path, sending it rolling across the ballroom, flicking blood everywhere. He claps his hands together, rubbing his palms. “Ah, so I guess now we know what type you are. The brash hero who must protect everyone. What a cliché.”
I hear it, the intake of breath Ian takes, about to say something he shouldn’t to the King. My hand darts out, clamping down hard on Ian’s forearm over his jacket. He gets the warning message, because he doesn’t say a word.
