by A. M. Hudson
I laughed again. “So, what did the Mark actually say, anyway?”
“Can you not read it?”
I shook my head.
“It says something along the lines of By oath of blood, by promise of heart, I honour my vow,” he said, then turned away and wandered over to his window box, grabbing the scissors to trim leaves off a plant.
I walked around to the side of his bed and sunk down. “Well, I don't want it there. It sucks.”
He looked up quickly. “Language, please, my lady.”
I rolled my eyes at the old man and flopped onto my back with a huff. “Will it go away?”
“I can find out, if you like.”
“How?”
“There's a book—in the library. Shall I get it?”
I lifted my top again and arched my spine so I could see the Mark. “Yes, please. If you don't mind.”
“Not at all, my lady.” And he disappeared.
On the nightstand, his phone buzzed. I reached across and grabbed it, saw the message didn't show up on his screen automatically, like mine did, then pressed my thumb to an orange icon, leading me to his playlists. We liked a lot of the same music, strangely. I half expected his selection to be like David's, but it almost seemed as if he made a point of having nothing but modern stuff on here.
“Bon Jovi? Seriously?” I said to myself.
“I move with the times,” he said, standing by the bed.
“Oh. Crap. Sorry.” I put the phone down beside me. “I was just—”
“I know.” He smiled, carrying a book under his arm. “It’s more than all right, princess.”
I smiled back and grabbed his phone again. “You got a message, by the way.”
“Who’s it from?”
I shrugged. “Dunno. I wasn't gonna go checking your messages, Arthur.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed, making it dip a little, and opened the book in his lap. “Can you check it for me, since you clearly have no intentions of handing my phone over?”
I grinned to myself and opened his messages. “It’s just a phone service message. Apparently you’ve won an iPad if you text this word to this number.” I showed him the screen; he laughed. “So, find anything in that book?”
“No,” he said, flipping the pages. “This one mentions certain markings that appear after acts of sin or treason, there doesn't seem to be anything on the Mark of the Queen’s Promise.”
“I'm sure you’ll find it,” I said absentmindedly, scrolling through the playlists again. He had some good combinations of music, but when I came across one titled ‘A Rose’ and pressed my thumb to it, my world shifted. Every song in that list was some heartbreaking melody of lost love.
“Wow, talk about depressing,” I said, laughing a bit. “Did you make this list about Arietta?”
Arthur stopped reading and looked out the window. “A Rose?”
“Yeah.” I moved up and laid on his pillow, my thick dark hair spilling out around my shoulders.
“No.”
“Oh, why’d you call it that, then? It has a lot of sad songs.”
He placed the book on the bed and stood up. “It was not my playlist.”
“Whose was it?”
“Jason’s.”
I stared at it for a few seconds, unable to see through a sudden coating of tears.
“Arthur?” Morgaine popped her head in.
“Yes, Morgaine.”
“There’s a courier here. Says he’s picking up a package from you.”
Arthur sighed and touched my shoulder. “We’ll talk when I come back up.”
I nodded, sliding my bottom lip over the other to move a tear from it. Arthur tipped the bowl of stuff he was mixing into a small container and left, shutting the door.
The grandfather clock ticked noisily by the drawers across the room, and the gentle sound of rain on glass made me feel closed in. I scrolled down the sad playlist, hearing each song in my head. If this was Jason’s, then he made it for me. I could feel it. But why did Arthur keep this list—why not just erase it? And that thought made me wonder what else he’d kept.
I pressed the circular button at the centre of the phone and went back to the home page, then clicked on ‘contacts’ and scrolled down only far enough to see the start of the ‘J’ names. I’d never seen his name written down anywhere. Isn't that funny? How you can know someone, come to care for them, but never think of such a silly thing as seeing their name written down?
So, I scrolled down, J by J until I saw Jason Knight, losing my heart to the beat it skipped.
I copied it to my contacts, and the phone was to my ear, ringing, before I even realised I’d pressed call. I couldn't believe it was still in service. Maybe it was in his pocket, buried with him, and I would once again, if only in a small way, be able to affect his world for a moment. Or maybe the phone fell from his dead body as they carried him away; perhaps it was kicked across the floor, never to be found again. Or maybe they would find it, and just toss it in the trash or get a new sim card and use it for themselves, as though he never even existed.
It rang out. I half expected to hear a recording of his voice, but to my disappointment, the line only went silent—a rushing of air filling the emptiness of my lost hopes.
“I miss you,” I said to the nothing, as if his ghost might be out there, on an electrical wavelength I could reach by having dialled this number. “I wish you were here,” I continued, wiping tears from my face with one side of my hand, then the other. “I dream of you still. I cry for you. Do you know that? I cry for you, and I have no right to.”
“Amara?” Arthur stood in the doorway.
I put the phone down, hanging it up with my thumb. “I'm sorry, Arthur. I thought I’d get voicemail.”
He appeared beside me, wrapping me up in his long, firm arms.
“I just thought I’d hear his voice for real,” I sobbed.
“Oh, princess.” He looked at the phone carefully, pressed ‘end’, as I obviously hadn't pressed it properly, and wrapped his arms back around me.
“Where is his phone? Did you bury it with him?”
“Now, why would I do a thing like that?”
“I don't know.” I wiped my face. “I just…I guess I just feel like he was taken so quickly. I…there's no closure. What happened to all his things? What happened to everything he loved and cared about?”
“It’s right here—in my arms.” He looked down at me, and I couldn’t help but let the hysterics out. The sadness of everything Jason’s life was before he died made my heart so, so heavy.
“Is that true? Did he really care about me that much?”
Arthur laughed a little. “My dear, it is near impossible not to care for you.”
I laughed too, using my thumb to wipe the corner of my eye. “Why are you always so nice to me?”
He sat down and pushed both phones away from our legs as he pulled me into his chest. “Someone has to be.”
Once the tears finally eased, Arthur went back to his work, and I laid on his bed, on my belly, kicking my feet to the songs on his ‘Jogging’ playlist.
“We like to run to the same songs,” I said.
“Do we?” He barely looked up from his work.
“Mm-hm.” I rolled onto my back and rested my lower leg on my knee. “Hey, Arthur?”
“Yes, my dear.”
“Can I see your Mark—from your oath?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
His shadow appeared over my face. “Because, it would be terribly inappropriate for me to remove my shirt in front of you while in private.”
“Can't you just roll your sleeve up?”
He looked at the long arm of his shirt. “It’s not that kind of shirt, Amara.”
“Will you show it to me another day?”
“Of course.” He extended his hand and helped me to my feet. “Perhaps I will wear a t-shirt tomorrow. Sound good?”
I nodded, straightening my clothes.
<
br /> “Right. Well, for now, we best part ways, my dear. Dinner will be served in a quarter hour, and I need to freshen up.”
“Okay.” I wandered over and opened his door. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
He smiled kindly. “You will.”
I shut his door behind me and turned around to look at Falcon, leaning on the wall, arms folded, legs crossed out on a slant.
“You know you’re not supposed to be in there with him—alone,” he said.
“I know, Falcon.” I started walking. “But he means no harm. He was just teaching me about plants and herbs.”
“I know.” Falcon wandered slowly behind me. “I was listening to every word.”
I looked over my shoulder at him. “Are you allowed to do that?”
“Yes.”
“Isn't that a little invasive?”
“No.”
“I think it is.” I folded my arms.
“Mike says it’s not.” He folded his arms.
“Fine. I don't care. Go ahead. Listen. You won’t hear anything juicy going on.”
He smiled softly. “I know, Ara. I'm not worried about that.”
“Well, what’re you worried about? That he’ll kill me?”
He shook his head.
“What then?”
“I'm worried about his intentions—romantically.”
“Oh.” I looked down at my feet. “Well, don't. Our relationship is about as platonic as it gets.”
He walked quietly behind me then, like a good little bodyguard. When we reached my room, I opened the door and waved at Quaid, who popped up on the balcony and darted around the space, way too fast for me to see.
“Is it really necessary to check my room every time I go in there?”
Falcon folded his arms and stared at that spot of nothing on the wall he always looked at while playing guard. “Yes.”
“I'm going to win this, you know. I will have you guys reassigned while I'm on manor grounds.” I used my best queen-sounding tone. “I don’t need to be followed everywhere.”
He just bowed his head a little, keeping his eyes on that spot.
I stood next to him and angled my head to look at it, too, as if there was something of great interest there. “Oh, yeah.” I nodded. “I see what you mean. Fascinating patch of paint, isn't it?”
“Go ahead. Mock me,” Falcon said. “Won't change the fact that you can't walk anywhere, talk to anyone or so much as look at a painting in this manor without my knowing about it.”
I curled my lip up, my head wobbling side to side as I repeated his sentence in a very mocking tone.
He just smirked, unperturbed.
“Yeah, well, there’ll be two less of you for a few weeks soon. Mike told me you decided to send Pure Createds to Elysium to spy on Drake.”
Falcon nodded once.
“Is…you know who going?”
He looked at me, and I knew he could tell from my eyes that I was asking about David. “No. We can't risk him being discovered.”
“Are…” I hesitated. I didn't really want this answer. “Are you and Mike going?”
“No. Quaid and Ryder are.”
“Why them? Why not ordinary Created Lilithians?”
He sighed. “Mike wants a quick, clean mission. Quaid and Ryder are highly trained for this kind of operation.”
“What, like, from when they were human?”
He nodded.
“Cool.”
He nodded again.
“Well, I'm glad you’re not going.” I leaned on the wall beside him again. “You’re the biggest pain in the arse when it comes to guard evasion, but…I kinda feel safer with you around.”
He nodded again, moistening his tight lips.
“Anyway.” I skipped off. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
He gave one last nod as I closed my bedroom door to a bad-guy-free room.
The sweet, spicy scent of butter chicken wafted away as a plate of custard and apple pie took its place. I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. Down the line of vampires at the dining table, most meals went back to the kitchen untouched. But I knew Chef wasn't insulted, he was used to it. They only really ate if it was something sweet or salty. Arthur and Nathan ate on most days, but Eric was more of a drinker than an eater. Half the pitchers resting between the soft glow of candles were filled with wine, and the other half with blood. David never drank blood that way, well, not in front of me anyway, but I’d recently learned it was quite pleasurable for vampires to enjoy it as a beverage with a meal. It made me wonder why they couldn’t just do that instead of killing. And when I piped up to ask that question, was quickly shot down with several arguments.
Now, I had taken the role of the quiet, eloquent queen, who only spoke when she had something of real value to say. Which worked well for me, because it actually made me seem more intelligent when I just nodded in agreement to whoever was getting the most positive reaction from their statements at the time. I’d finally figured this queen thing out.
“So, when do you plan to send the knights to the castle?” Nathan asked, projecting his voice down the table to Mike.
“We’re still debating over who’s going,” Blade said.
Mike pinched his lips, drawing his hand away after. “Blade. The decision is final. I won't argue this with you again.”
“I was under the assumption the queen’s Private Guard were employed to protect only her,” Margret said, emphasising enough words to make that sound patronizing. “Not go on recon missions.”
“Our reasons for sending the guard are private,” Mike said.
“All we’re saying, young man, is that you should give more value to what our associate here said about Drake seeking to kidnap a Pure Created and drain it.” Walter motioned to the vampire side of the table.
Arthur looked up from his dinner as though he’d been dragged into a conversation he didn't want to be a part of. “It is not for us to decide, Walt,” he said. “Whether I am right or not is irrelevant.”
“It is more than relevant, Arthur,” Walter said. “Immunity could mean a war that tips in Drake’s favour.”
“Then we need to work harder to find other ways to kill vampires,” I said.
“If The Department for Vampiric Research has not been successful in that venture after all these centuries, what makes you think we will find a way within a month?” a man said.
“What about my electric power thing?” I held my hand up. “Can't we look into that?”
“There’s no need, Ara,” Mike cut in, pushing my hand down. “Drake is not out to kidnap a Pure Created, nor will he actually catch one.”
“When do they leave?” Nathan asked.
“In a few days. I'm waiting on word from an informant of mine—” Mike meant David, “—to let me know when Drake leaves the castle.”
“I thought you were keeping that informant away from Elysium,” I said.
Mike shook his head. “He’s just sweeping past, Ar. Don't worry.”
“And who is this informant you trust so much?” Walter asked.
“You’re not privy to that information.” Mike went back to eating his dessert, ignoring the insult his little remark caused.
“And what then?” Nathan asked, sitting forward. “Once the knights return—what are you doing about Drake?”
Mike sighed, dropping his fork with a bit too much agitation. “We may still attack—we may not. It depends what the knights find. Why so many questions, mate?”
Nathan shrugged, looking down. “Just curious. Kinda worried we might have a battle or something. I mean, I like war movies and stuff, but I never wanna be in one.”
Mike eased off then, laughing to himself. “You’ll be right, mate. We won't bring a battle to Loslilian.”
Nathan nodded, seemingly satisfied with that, and went back to eating.
I brushed my fork along my plate and scooped up a heap of apple pie, smothered in sweet vanilla custard, then popped it in my mouth, smoothing the fork
past my lips really slowly. It tasted divine—like forbidden fruit with the creamy sap of the world’s truth. That chef was a culinary master. I could even taste the cinnamon infused in the apple. “Mike?”
“Mm?” he said with his mouth full.
“Can I go down and meet the chef?”
“Course. Why?”
I shrugged. “Just wanted to tell him how good his food is.”
Mike laughed. “He’d love that, Ara.”
“Cool. I’ll go see him after dinner?”
“Okay. But the staff usually go down to the ground floor once they’re done for the day. You’ll need Quaid to show you down—he’s on duty tonight.”
“I need him to show me which one is Chef, too. It’s pretty bad if I have to ask my own staff who cooks all our food.”
“He’s the big black guy—the rest of them are white.” Mike chuckled. “You can't miss him.”
“Okay. Cool. And…thanks, Mike.”
“Why are you thanking me?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “For letting me go down there, I guess. You usually say no to everything I wanna do.”
He bumped my knee with his under the table. “I'm fine with anything you want, if you’re fine with taking a knight.”
“But not an Arthur Knight.” I grinned.
“Ha-ha. Funny.”
I smiled into my plate. I thought it was funny.
Chapter Thirteen
Quaid guided me back to the grand staircase and stepped back into guard mode once I knew my way around. I spotted Mike heading up to the east wing and darted after him, grabbing his sleeve. “Hey, Mike.”
“Hey, baby, what’s up?”
“Chef said we got popcorn in the pantry. You wanna watch a movie or something tonight?”
“Aw, baby, I can't. I got a thing with the boys.” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, as if the knights were standing there, which they weren’t.
“Oh.”
“But, I could cancel—if, you know, if you’re feeling really lonely or—”
“No. It’s fine.” I smiled, waving a hand. “I'm actually pretty tired anyway. I might just get an early night.”
“Okay,” he said softly as I walked away, holding my breath.
