by Keary Taylor
“You should have seen her and Cyrus together the night they came to take Jasmine in, before they killed her,” Trinity says. Her eyes glaze over as she stares at me. “They were a team. Bloodthirsty in the same way. You don’t kill someone you get along with so well.”
My stomach drops out into the center of the earth. Trinity has defended me in one way, but made me look so much worse in others.
But she’s telling the truth. We were a pair of holy terrors that night. I was thrilled as I watched Jasmine fall. So satisfied when Cyrus stripped everything away from her.
I look back at Cyrus and find a gleeful smile on his face, him looking right back at me. “That was a fun night, wasn’t it?” he says with a wink.
“Thank you, Miss Dalton,” Alexa says with a dismissive wave.
Next, she calls a chain of the Court members who accompanied Cyrus to my House. They each get up, tell their stories, their opinions. There’s a lot of repeating of the random attacks of the Bitten trying to infiltrate the House. The attack on the Allaways. And finally, the death of Sebastian in my own home, followed by the unearthing of the brands. And then, finally, the attack on Cyrus.
None of it is particularly new information. It’s mostly retelling of what is already known. Those who accuse me have not known me long enough to say if they think I would do this or not.
And as they speak, I see the doubt in Samuel and Cameron’s eyes lift. The evidence is weak. The motives missing.
I begin to feel hope.
Perhaps I will survive this trial after all.
Markov takes the stand. Speaking of the attack at the Broken House when I was there. Of how shocked I was, how confused about our world. Christian echoes his sayings. Talks of my leadership and what led to him joining the house.
There’s nothing solid. Nothing to prove anything one way or another. The two brands, found in my house, stand as the only physical evidence, but there’s an unsaid consensus that they could obviously have been planted. Because why would I be so stupid as to leave them out where anyone might find them and call me guilty?
“Next, we call on Raheem,” Alexa says.
My nerves go crazy at his name. Because he’s seen so much, even when I didn’t know he was watching.
He walks to the stand and looks out over the audience. There’s something different in the way he holds himself. His shoulders tense, a little downturn to his lips. Something is different, but I can’t put my finger on it.
“At the end of last summer,” he begins, his beautiful accent coming out strong as he speaks to the masses, “we received an anonymous letter to Court. This letter claimed that an heir to the Conrath name arrived at his estate just weeks after Henry Conrath’s death. Of course, the King had a vested interest in discovering if this claim was true, so he sent me to spy on Alivia.”
I look at him, and instantly, there is so much history in his eyes. There’s the evidence of what he saw as he watched me. A woman, just trying to survive a new, supernatural circumstance. A woman falling for someone she thought would be her immortal enemy. A woman he learned to admire and long for.
“Everything that has been said today is true. I watched Alivia tirelessly after her arrival in Silent Bend. That was my job. To discover if the claim to Royal blood was true. If Alivia created a Bitten army, I would have seen it. I would have known. Because you all know my esteem.” At this, his eyes darken. He searches the crowd, and a few of them do indeed nod their heads. Raheem is the most accomplished vampire spy there has ever been. He’s been in the King’s service for over nine hundred years.
Of course his reputation would be widely known.
“You’ve obviously fallen in love with the woman,” Godrick spits, disgust heavy in his voice. “We cannot trust your opinion any more than we can trust the others’!”
This causes a stir. Opinions fly into the air, slug harsh and heavy.
“It is true!” Raheem bellows over the crowd. “My feelings for Alivia Conrath have not remained hidden, as I tried to keep them. But the facts are the facts, and you will respect my long-standing reputation. All of these events were not orchestrated by this ignorant, infant of a Royal, but by whoever sent that letter to Court.”
This stunning revelation silences every person in the room.
“I may have watched Alivia for months,” Raheem says, glowering, his eyes flashing red. “But some other enemy has been watching her for far longer and has some very bloody plans. And Alivia is their patsy.”
The room explodes. Shouts. Accusations. Defenses. Everyone has an opinion about this. My guilt. My innocence.
“Silence!” Cyrus bellows, rising to his feet. And instantly, the room falls quiet. “This information is surely fascinating. I think we all need time to process. Trial will resume once more in three days time.”
He slams his fist down on the table, sounding a loud boom that brings this day’s events to an abrupt halt.
The guards rush forward, and for a moment, I’m panicked. Last time I was taken from the trial, I was sent to a strip club. What can I expect this time?
But just as they grab me, a hand rests on my shoulder from behind. I look over my shoulder to see Dorian.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” he says with a calm smile upon his face. “But I have discussed it with the King and he’s agreed to release her into my custody until the trial resumes.”
The guards give a little bow and back away.
I look back at him, wide eyed and surprised.
“Well, don’t seem so shocked,” he says, offering me a smile as he loops my arm through his. “You are a great-great something granddaughter of mine. I like to get to know my posterity when I get the opportunity.”
I look over my shoulder, meeting the eyes of so many. They watch me, hesitant. Ready to spring to my aide. Ian. Raheem. Markov. Christian. And I don’t know whether to reassure them or not. I didn’t expect this.
“I assure you that you will be perfectly safe in my charge,” Dorian says as he leads us out a side door. I glance over my shoulder once more, at all those who are on my side, before we slip out into a hall and they disappear.
“I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT ENJOY getting to see a little bit of the town,” Dorian says as we walk down a hall. “It seems a shame to come all this way, across the world, and not get to see such a unique and beautiful place.”
“Um,” I struggle for words. My mind is still reeling. Can I trust this man not to have a more sinister plan for me? It’s hard to imagine he doesn’t want to punish me, too. “Thanks. I’d love that.”
“Have you yet had a chance to see the family tree?” he asks as we turn down a staircase and exit out into a hallway.
I shake my head. “I’ve heard about it, but I’d love to see it in person.”
We turn right and step into a massive room. The stone floor stretches out long before us. Great tapestries hang from the walls and a dozen chandeliers hang from the ceiling. But the entire room is empty.
I walk into the room without turning my eyes just yet. I want to take the mural in as the grand spectacle it is. So I follow Dorian into the center of the colossal space before finally turning to take it all in.
And my eyes grow in wonder and amazement.
The wall has to be nearly fifty yards in length and the ceiling forty feet high. The span of it is colossal.
Indeed, the shape of a massive tree has been painted onto the wall. At the top sits Cyrus and Sevan’s names. Branching down from them is a name that has been painted over. The brush strokes are violent, angry.
I once asked Cyrus what his son’s name was, but he only became angry and told me his name had been erased from our history as if he never existed.
Dropping down from the blacked out name are seven other names. All but two of them are blacked out. Dorian and Malachi.
And from there, thousands and thousands of names branch out.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe as I let go of Dorian’s arm and step forward. While Malachi only has a
few offspring, Dorian has so, so many. Raheem once told me that the seventh son valued power and worldly connections, while the third valued family. And the evidence is here before me.
My eyes travel down Dorian’s line. So, so many names. All my distant cousins. This strange feeling of connection builds in my chest.
All my life growing up, the only family I had was my mother.
But here. These people. They are my family, in some distant way. We share a common history. An ancestry. All of us.
As my eyes trace down one line, they finally come to rest on two names. Elijah and Henry Conrath.
Son of Colborn Conrath, who was one of three brothers.
Below Henry’s name, the paint obviously much fresher than any of the other paint, is my name.
I reach up. Henry’s name lies just above the height of my head, and I rest my fingers against his name.
“It is in your blood to want to connect with your family,” Dorian says from behind me. “It is a terrible thing you were robbed of, never getting to know your father.”
“I never knew I missed him until I saw a picture of him.” The words tighten in my throat as I remember the first time I saw a picture of Henry back home. “But I do. Every day. I needed him and never knew it, for so long.”
“My father was a power-hungry man,” Dorian says as he stops at my side. “He did not love us children. We were tools to dominate the world. So I cannot say that I loved him. Perhaps that is why I desired so many children of my own. I wanted a family, to make things right. Family is direly important to our line.”
I nod as I let my fingers fall from my father’s name. “It is,” I say as I look at him. “My mother and father are gone, but family isn’t just blood. My House…” I hesitate as my heart hurts for them all. “They really are my family. I would do anything for them.”
Dorian smiles at me. “And that is your defining characteristic as a third son leader.”
I smile at him, appreciative of his understanding.
He gives me time to study the tree. I find many names I recognize. Raheem, a descendant of Malachi. X. The Allaways, who are also descended from Dorian. It’s an odd feeling. Actually seeing the age, the physical connections in this visual form. To realize that I do know these descendants of a King.
“It really is incredible, the world and system Cyrus has created,” I marvel as I take five steps back, away from the mural. “What he was able to create, thousands of years ago.”
“Indeed,” Dorian says. He offers me a smile and holds his arm out for me once again. “Come. Let us depart into the city while there is still darkness.”
We walk through the castle. Down stairs, through hallways. The true size of the castle is well hidden inside the mountain. It feels as if it could be a city itself. I wonder what other secrets it holds, besides a prison, a strip club, and a multi-millennia old king.
I’m not sure I want to know.
Finally, we walk through a door and fresh air greets my lungs for the first time in over a month. We step out into the courtyard, and I let my eyes slide closed as I take a deep breath in.
It’s so crisp and fresh. So much easier to breathe. I don’t feel like I’m suffocating.
“Lady Conrath?” Dorian says. I open my eyes to find him extending his hand toward a carriage.
A true blue, genuine carriage, pulled by two horses, with a driver and everything.
A smile crosses my lips for the first time in what feels like so long. I hold my dress up, careful not to trip on it as Dorian assists me in climbing aboard. I settle onto the padded seat and take in my surroundings.
The carriage is open air, no top closing it in. Two benches take up the space inside, and the driver sits in a seat supported by springs. With a gentle flick of the reins, he urges the horses forward. The wheels crunch over the cobblestones beneath us as we roll toward the gates.
Guards carefully watch us from the great stone wall that surrounds the castle. Weapons are generally aimed in our direction, but they do not look aggressive. That doesn’t mean my eyes don’t follow them.
But eventually, they fade behind us. The fields take over.
“These fields provide almost all of the grain the entire town needs year round,” Dorian cuts through my thoughts. “Most of the humans who live here are farmers. Crops, animals. Some are shopkeepers. The town has lived in relative peace for nearly its entire existence.”
“That’s impressive,” I state as we roll past the fields. Buildings begin to pop back up. “The humans must be treated well if they’re happy to stay and work and be fed on.”
“Generally, yes,” Dorian says. “That isn’t to say there haven’t been incidents, but generally, Cyrus makes sure they are treated fairly. Above all else, he wants to keep our secret. That’s difficult to do if you upset someone and they go off telling our town’s secrets.”
“How often do you visit Roter Himmel?” I ask. My eyes turn to the buildings that line the street we turn down on. “I heard you rule the House in Russia.”
Dorian nods. “I do rule Russia. It’s a big country with quite a Born population. It has been about seventy-five years since I’ve been to Roter Himmel, I would estimate.”
He says it so off-handedly, as if it’s only been a few months since he’s been back. To his long, immortal timeframe, I suppose it is only a blink of an eye. But to me, that’s when my human grandparents were born.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“There really is only one place to take in the grand beauty that is Roter Himmel,” Dorian says with a smile. He produces a box from beneath the seat and sets it between the two of us. “These are for a little later.”
The wheels of the carriage roll over the dirt road as we head east. Houses become numerous. People come in and out. Whenever their eyes land on Dorian, they always fill with wonder, wide and surprised.
“All those who live here in Roter Himmel are Royals, correct?” I ask as I study them. They live in modest homes, have seemingly normal lives.
“That’s right,” Dorian confirms as he waves to someone.
“Do they not want the prestige of ruling a House?” I ask as I study the people. “Their lives here seem so…normal. All of the vampires I have met so far have seemed so…ambitious. I’m surprised this is enough for them.”
Dorian looks away from the small crowd that has turned to watch us retreat away from them. He rests his elbow on the back of our seat and settles his chin into his palm. “We may be vampires, immortals. Stronger than any human being, more enhanced. But being accepted is still something we crave. To you, someone who has lived her entire life out there among the big, wide world, in normal society, it may be difficult to understand.”
He crosses his legs, looking out over the city. “But most of the Born here have lived their entire lives in Roter Himmel. They were conceived here of the human female population. They died whenever they chose to. And they’ve lived an immortal life among others like themselves.”
“They’ve never had to hide what they are,” I fill it in.
Dorian nods. “Since you and I have always done it, we don’t often realize how difficult a thing it is to ever conceal our true nature. To them here, it isn’t worth it. They wouldn’t know how to hide it, to not always act their true selves. So to them, the prestige of ruling a House isn’t worth the lifestyle change.”
I nod as I look back toward the crowd, which is now dissipating. “I understand that. Before I even knew what I was, I felt like an outsider in Silent Bend because the people treated me differently. And then, I began to build a few relationships, and not being able to be who I really was…it was painful.”
Dorian nods in agreement. “We all need acceptance. No matter how old we are, no matter how Royal our blood.”
“I completely get that,” I say. And the words shake a weak fissure in my heart. I keep running into this issue, over and over again.
Our carriage breaks free from the houses, and once again, we are out
into fields. I sense it more than see it as our elevation begins climbing gradually.
“Let me ask you a question,” Dorian says. My eyes leave the beautiful landscape around me to look into his face. Dark hair, left slightly long. Brown eyes, similar in shape to Cyrus’, his grandfather. Five o’clock shadow hugs his face, which is young, but not quite as young as me. I’d guess he’s around thirty.
“Okay,” I encourage him.
“You love Mr. Ward, who stood in your defense today.” It’s a statement, not a question. “And it’s blaringly obvious he loves you.”
The statement hits me in the chest like a martial arts master. “I don’t know if either of those statements are true anymore.”
Dorian gives me a little knowing smile, a smirk even. “Tell yourself what you will,” he says, which makes all my internal defenses bristle. How quickly I’ve gotten used to being a Royal and everyone being careful with what they say to me.
“I understand that he was once a hunter of our kind,” he continues. “It’s quite clear that he has a chip on his shoulder, as I believe the kids these days say.”
I chuckle at that. Sometimes it’s so obvious, the age of these ancestors of mine.
“So, I understand that things ended between the two of you, and it’s obvious why feelings developed between you and Raheem. The look in his eyes when he stares at you…” I blush at this. “I’ve known the man for quite some time, and I’ve never seen anything but lust when it comes to him. But you…you’ve awoken something new in him.”
The painful thorns in my heart dig all the deeper. “Do you have a point in all of this?”
“Please, my dear,” Dorian says as he lays a hand over mine. “Do not be upset. I simply see a confused granddaughter of mine who is experiencing emotional pain. I only wish to help.”
“And how is that?” My throat is thick as I force the words out.
“When you are released, returned to your House, because no one here truly believes you are guilty,” he says it so off handedly, as if it should be obvious. My heart leaps into my throat, and I want to drag more information out of him, but he moves on almost instantly. “You will have to make a choice. Both of those men love you. Both would be willing to do anything for you. Do you know which one you would do the same for?”
