Mark of Betrayal

by A. M. Hudson

  Conversations around the room ceased abruptly with a unified gasp.

  The portly woman snorted. “You can’t negotiate with him.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Of course you do,” a Lilithian added harshly. “You can’t possibly presume to know what is wise—you’re just a baby.”

  “Here. Here,” an old man said, tapping his finger on the table. “You were not even born when Drake stormed this manor and killed our queen. You did not hear of the horror, or the deaths of so many Lilithians that day. You cannot make a ruling about this, Princess, because you know nothing of our past.”

  “The past is inconsequential. I’m thinking about the future.”

  “Future? Future!” One man, so enraged, leaped from his seat, slamming his hands on either side of his plate. “If you want any kind of future, you will send your knights forth at once to seek out and kill Drake.”

  “I concur,” a man said.

  “As do I.”

  Several men from each side wrapped their knuckles on the tabletop, nodding, their mutters of agreement uniting them for the first time tonight.

  “Yes, this is the wisest course of action. We should act immediately.” Moustache man, who I was starting to think might be a position of authority among the House, had the final word, all going silent after.

  “The thing is,” I addressed the entire table, “I am your leader, and I have to decide which is the right course of action. I’m sorry, but it won’t necessarily always be the wise one.”

  “Then you will lead us all to ruin,” the portly woman scolded.

  “That’s enough!” Arthur glared at her. “Show some respect.”

  “It’s all right, Arthur.” I held my hand up, then smiled at the woman, who bowed her head apologetically. “Look. I know you’re all afraid because I’m young. But I was born for this role, and I have a wise council to advise me. I won’t see the Lilithians fall back into Drake’s hands.” I touched my chest. “I honestly would die before I let that happen. But, I will lead us to the freedom we all desire, and I’ll take whichever path is likely to cause the least damage.”

  “Least damage? What kind of a leader would be willing to sacrifice even one life for her naïve, altruistic outcome?”

  “A good one,” I said. “Look, I am in a position of power. And in that—” I smiled at Arthur, “—it’s sometimes impossible to circumvent the unpleasant. But it is, however, my job to determine the lesser evil. I’m not a miracle worker or a god, I cannot do the impossible.”

  “But, Your Majesty, Drake will not quit. He will not stop until you and every other of our kind is dead.”

  “Yes, he must die,” Portly Woman said.

  “It is not for you to decide whether Drake should live or die,” I said.

  “Then who does?”

  “No one. God, maybe. I don’t know. All I know is that opposing that which is considered bad by most does not make you good—only misinformed.”

  “Considered bad? Drake is bad!”

  I sipped my drink and took a breath, feeling more confident seeing Arthur’s reassuring smile. “When Drake took back the throne,” I started, “he made the decision that our kind was dispensable. How did that feel? Are we dispensable?” I looked directly into each eye. “There is good in everyone, and I believe we can negotiate with Drake. Enough blood has been shed. We must offer peace in order to restore it.”

  Mike dropped his fork onto his plate and all heads turned as the clatter startled the stunned silence in the room. His mouth closed, the ball in his throat shifting.

  “Well then—” Arthur stood and raised his glass. “A toast—to the princess and her insightful approach.”

  “To the princess,” the table hummed.

  With daylight gone, night darkened the stained-glass dome over my bed; what was blue or white glass in the sun became transparent, showing the stars beyond, hiding away up there in a world too high for me to ever reach. Those glistening entities made Lilith, her story, her life, seem like more of a mystery to me, but one that I, somehow, felt more connected to.

  I’d been told of her beginning; how she was conceived of Vampirie and a human girl, and how she was loved by all who knew her. But even though I knew this, when I first laid eyes on the dome above my bed—depicting her beginning—I was surprised not to see a shapely woman reaching across a clouded sky to an infant. Cliché, I know, but that’s what I expected. Instead, my eyes feasted in the story-book scene of a little girl sitting in a garden full of roses, sharing tea with a man and two expressionless dolls. I wondered who this dark stranger was; his black hair and cloak seemed so out of place beside this girl in floral print, with a yellow ribbon in her hair. Perhaps he was Vampirie, or maybe even Lilith’s grandfather. I couldn’t see the image enough to make any real conclusions. My room was dark, lit only by the flickering glow of a gas lamp by my door, but even in such dim light, the man’s electric blue eyes shone out like beacons, radiating with love for this little girl. It made me think of my own daughter—the child of the prophecy—made me think about tea parties we might have in the garden and the dolls we would play with together. And when I brushed a strand of hair from my face, feeling the youth of my barely twenty-year-old skin, I cringed. Once upon a time, I had everything planned; I’d go to college, get married once I found a job as a teacher, then, when I was about twenty-eight, I’d have started planning a family. A little boy first, then maybe a girl.

  I dropped my hand onto my belly and felt the smooth skin under my pyjama top. For all I knew, after what David and I did on the piano this morning, there could be life forming inside me right now. It felt, at the same time as magic, also really scary. I wanted to make it stop, to make it all go away. But also wanted to feel it inside me—feel the life growing, moving, becoming a possibility.

  But my dad would be so disappointed—when we sent another letter, this time announcing I’d be a teen mother.

  With a sigh, I rolled onto my belly and reached into my nightstand for a small rectangle envelope, then rolled onto my back again, running my fingers over the words Maple Terrace. I hadn’t had time to respond to any of dad’s letters in the last week, since David entered the world of the living again, and I knew Dad would be freaking out by now. So, I grabbed my phone, went into the email app and wrote Dear Dad and Vi….then backspaced a few times and wrote Mum. I told him all about Paris, all about the places David and I had been on our pretend honeymoon, using pictures from the Web to describe it, then told him how much I love him, and pressed send.

  Another email came through almost instantly, like he’d been sending it at the same time.

  Ara-Rose. It said, and when I saw all the exclamation marks, I realised it was sent before he received mine.

  How long are you planning to keep extending this honeymoon.

  He didn’t even bother with a question mark. Wow, he must be mad.

  You’ve been gone for over eight weeks. We haven’t heard your voice even once in that time. We’re getting worried! Very worried! Call me as soon as you get this. Or at least leave a new number. The one we have says disconnected. I’m not joking, Ara. You call me as soon as you get this.

  The fact that he missed punctuation, then forgot to sign with Love, Dad, meant it was probably from Vicki. I smiled and switched my phone off. The email I already sent would tie them over for now.

  “Knock, knock.” Mike pushed my door open and stood with a gleaming smile, carrying two steaming mugs.

  “Hey, Mike.” I sat up in my bed.

  “Want company?”

  “Love some.”

  He handed me a cup as he sat beside me. “You okay?”

  I nodded. “Dad emailed.”

  “He’s been calling my phone non-stop.”

  “I know. He’s worried.”

  “I know. I’m organising a phone line that redirects your calls and bounces them off cell towers all over the world so it won’t show up on his bill that you’re a local call.”

&nb
sp; “When will that be ready?”

  “Not for about three weeks. We’ve got a few other things on backorder as well, not to mention, telecommunications are a bit tricky out here because we don’t exactly have state-of-the-art communications towers or underground network cables.”

  “I know. I’ve had two bars of service on my phone the whole time. I can only make calls if there are no birds flying past,” I joked, sipping my drink.

  Mike laughed. “We’re getting it sorted. It just takes time.”

  I bit my lip.

  “What is it, Ara?”

  “What makes you think there’s something wrong.” I smiled up at him.

  He sighed and took my cup, placing it on my nightstand before slipping in bed next to me, shoes and all. “I can read you like a book, girl. Is this about David?”

  “Shh!” I scowled at him. “Morg says we can't talk about him in here.”

  “It’s okay, Ara. Morg’s just paranoid. You should be fine to talk openly in your room,” he said, laughing. “So, is it about him?”

  I nodded into his shoulder, winding my fingers through his.

  “What’s worrying you?”

  “He isn’t answering his phone.”

  “So?”

  “I’m worried it’s because he’s mad at me, but I don’t really understand why.”

  “Why would he be mad at you?”

  “It’s just…we’ve been arguing a lot—even before the kidnapping and torture, you know, and...”

  Mike’s fingers tightened on mine.

  “And then he went and said he doesn’t trust me and all that other stuff.”

  “He didn’t mean it like that, baby.”

  “Yes, he did. He always says what he means.”

  Mike looked down at our hands—together, then pulled it across his waist and tucked it under his elbow, wrapping his arms snugly around me. “You wanna know what he told me—when he called before?”

  “He called you!” I sat bolt upright.

  “He called to apologise for what he said—about my being capable of cheating on Em.”

  I sat back on my pillows, dead-weighted.

  “Look, baby, I don’t know why he’s not speaking to you. He loves you, and whatever reason, it’s not because he’s mad at you. So, I can’t help you there, but…I can help you with what he said—about the bind.”

  “Well, what did he say?”

  “That fight he started this morning—” He swiped his thumb over my chin, angling my face to look at him. “It wasn’t because he doesn’t trust you, or even me. He didn’t mean to take it out on you, but he’s so mad, Ara—at himself.”

  “Why?”

  “He said it’s been eating him up—that he wasn’t there to protect you when Jason was binding you. He says he wishes he had been the creepy stalker vampire, now, because none of this would’ve happened if he’d taken better care of you.”

  I covered my mouth with slightly shaky fingers.

  “He also said he wishes he was more powerful, so he could get in your head and undo the bind.”

  “Poor David.”

  Mike nodded.

  “Why wouldn’t he just tell me all that?”

  “Because he feels weak, baby. He’s a guy. Okay? He’s not going to admit when he can’t be the strong, dependable knight you need him to be.”

  “I don’t need him to be that.” I sat up a little more, as if my words might reach David through Mike. “I just need him to be with me—to be honest with me.”

  Mike nodded. “Did you tell him that?”

  “Touché, Mike. Touché.” I pointed at him, then let all my emotions out with a sigh. “Does it bother you—David and Em?”

  “What about them?”

  “They’re at the house—alone, feeding from each other, hunting humans together. You know what the blood lust does. Are you worried they might—?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” I looked down.

  “Why are you worried, Ara? David would never—”

  “I know. It’s Em I don’t trust. She’s always had a thing for him.”

  “Ara! How can you say that? She’s your friend.”

  “I know.” I shrunk a little. “It’s just—she can feel his thoughts. And…I mean, what does that mean anyway? How can you feel thoughts?”

  He laughed once, as if he’d asked that very same question himself. “She says it’s like when you have your own thoughts, they’re always accompanied by a feeling; excitement, dread, lust, joy, warmth—she can sense that. She said it’s like a scent, like he changes cologne every few minutes. After a while, she started to recognise which scent went with which feeling, or thought.”

  I kind of imagined it for a second; David zipping off to spray himself with different coloured bottles every few minutes. “Well, see, there’s that—that ‘special’ connection—then there’s the fact that she’s a vampire, like him; she’s pretty, blonde, carefree. She doesn’t cause trouble like I do—or fight with him.”

  “And he doesn’t love her, Ara,” Mike said. “He loves you. If anyone should be worried, it’s David.”

  “Why should he be worried?”

  “Is that a joke?” He sat up a bit—probably to be taller than me again. “You’re here, miles from home, with a guy who’s crazy about you—a guy you’re spirit bound to—while David’s forced to stay at home wondering what you’re doing, praying the bad guy doesn’t come back to take you away again while he’s not here to protect you.” He breathed out through his nose. “And he knows what you’re like, Ara. You never listen to anyone; you never do as you’re told. He has to rely on the very guy, whom he doesn’t trust to be with you, to protect you above all else and then comfort you when you’re feeling low, care for you if you get sick—stop you from doing stupid things. He should be worried, Ara. Not you.”

  I nodded. “I guess I never thought of it like that.”

  “That’s because you’re not a guy.”

  “Noted.” I smiled.

  “Now—” Mike climbed out of bed, took my cup, and his warm, autumn eyes crinkled on the edges with his smile. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning for training.”

  “Great.” I snuggled down into the warmth Mike left behind. “I can’t wait to meet all the knights.”

  “They’re just as excited.” He went to walk away then stopped. “Oh, and, Arthur wants to come watch you train, too—he’s eager to see your powers.”

  “Really? Should we let him?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me. You seem to be all buddy-buddy with him.” Mike shrugged. “It’ll be fine. If he is a mole, he won’t attack now anyway. You just need to hurry up and figure out his plan.”

  “He has no plan, Mike,” I said, rolling over. “He’s opinionated, but he’s not a mole.”

  “We’ll see.” Mike blew out the flame in the lantern and closed my door.

  My eyes stayed open, looking above me to the unspoilt sky through the glass dome. Across my room, the soft white curtains billowed in the summer breeze as it snuck through my open balcony door, blowing a gentle tickle of warm air across my nose and lips, like a goodnight kiss from the evening. I could hear the ocean in the distance now with the manor going quiet, room by room, all around me. It was peaceful, serene, but empty.

  The walls seemed to swirl then, the open space narrowing me in to my own little world, and behind the loving eyes of the unknown man in the glass, sunlight suddenly shone through, making them sparkle, warming his whole smile. I smiled back at him as the light flooded down my walls, blotting out his face, my pillows, my dresser, until spring spread out around me—my only cage the long grass, rising up past my shoulders and cheeks with the wet scent of soil and crushed daisies.

  I slid my hand across the ground, knowing the boy next to me would reach out and wrap his fingers through mine.

  “Can you show me another?” I asked, suddenly standing above this boy and girl, holding hands in the grass; the sun shone down, making the girl
’s yellow dress almost transparent, showing the outline of her thighs and hips in a shadow under the fabric.

  The boy rolled up on his elbow, bringing his body closely alongside hers. “I’ve shown you so many already, Ara-Rose.”

  “Shown you what?” I asked, stepping closer.

  She looked at me then, her blues eyes taking my breath as they reached right between my ribs, starting my heart. “Memories,” she said to me.

  “Of what?”

  She just smiled and looked back at Jason—left behind in the realm of moments gone. “Watch, and you’ll see.”

  Dark sky swallowed us whole, taking Jason away again, leaving me alone in a windy clearing—nothing but a stormy sky, the wide arms of our tree, and, in the distance, two boys—running. A ring of light shone down onto the clearing over them, presenting their memory in daytime, while I stood on the cusp of dark and light.

  “David! Wait. I can’t…” The smaller boy folded over, dropping his hands to his dirt-covered knees. “I can’t breathe.”

  “Good,” David called over his shoulder, laughing. “Then I shall win—again.”

  The boy tried to run for only a second more before flopping to the ground, tucked into a small ball, his shoulders lifting with each raspy, tight breath.

  A shadow covered his face, taking the warmth of the sun, and he looked up, green eyes so bright, at his brother. “What are you doing, Jason? Get up,” David said.

  “I can’t,” he wheezed. “Get…get Aunty.”

  But his brother only shook his head, his face lit with humour. He toed Jason’s shoulder, rolling him onto his back. “Stop pretending. Arietta doesn’t love you more because you’re sick—she only pities you.”

  “Please?” Jason reached up, his face going white around purple lips. “I can’t…I can’t bre—”

  “Father says it is God’s will.” David kicked Jason’s hand away. “He says we should stop healing you.”

  “Brother? Please?”

  But David backed away. “Maybe he’s right.”

  “N-no.” Jason curled into a ball again, tucking his knees to his chest.