The Bloodtruth Series (Box Set: Heiress of Lies, The Queen's Betrayal, Trials of Truth, A Heart's Deceit)

by Cege Smith

  The Clan’s search for the One spanned centuries to the beginning of their existence. The histories said that, at the beginning of time, there was only Clan. From them, both the vampire and human races were spawned. The Clan’s ultimate goal, so it was said, was that they wanted to become the same as the gods who created them. The access point to that existence was through the One.

  A disastrous blood ritual between a sister and brother over a thousand years ago resulted in the creation of the first vampire and the first wraith. The wraith was punishment for the Clan’s impudence, and it killed many of them in the days following the ceremony. Humans were the Immortal Ones’ ideal balance between vampire and Clan, and supposedly better than both. But humans had short-life spans and weaker bodies, which made them prey for the vampires and pawns for the Clan.

  By immersing herself squarely in the Clan’s plotting by declaring herself the One, Angeline had brought even more danger into her life. He didn’t know if she realized the extent of that decision yet or not. If the Clan believed she was the One, there was no way they would allow her to return to Brebackerin any time soon. Angeline had added another problem to their already full plate.

  “Here, m’Lady,” Dara said as they entered a small hallway with a single ornately decorated door at the end. “The door is open. You will find a pot of freshly brewed hot tea next to the fireplace. If you require anything else, pull the cord next to the bed, and someone will come immediately.”

  “Thank you, Dara,” Angeline said absently.

  Connor pushed ahead of her and gave her a signal to wait as he grasped the doorknob. He pushed the door open, body tensed in case of an attack. Nothing happened. He looked inside the room, noting the size of it. The bed and walls were decorated with luxurious materials, and he saw a blazing fire in the large fireplace off to the side and two stuffed armchairs facing it. As Dara mentioned, there was a small teapot on the table between the chairs. He tasted the air. Aside from a slightly dusty aftertaste, he couldn’t sense the presence of anyone else in the room.

  He stepped aside and gestured into the room. “After you, Your Majesty.”

  Angeline nodded and stepped across the threshold. Connor followed her, but turned and put his hand on Marcus’s chest as the other man started in behind her. “You’ll stay outside and guard the door. No one gets in without my express permission. Understood?”

  He expected some kind of resistance, but Marcus only inclined his hand with a small gesture to the sword on his hip. “Understood. I’ve got it covered.”

  “Good. For the next few hours, there will be no interruptions. The Queen needs her rest.” Then Connor unceremoniously closed the door in Marcus’s face.

  “It wouldn’t hurt for you to be a little bit nicer,” Angeline said with a long sigh. “He is your childe. He’s your responsibility.”

  Connor scoffed. “He is a means to an end.” He never intended to sire anyone into the vampire existence. It was a fate that he considered far worse than death. He didn’t want that responsibility. “He is also a vampire.”

  Angeline walked to the fireplace and put her hand on the mantle. She stood there for several long moments without speaking. Connor took that time to admire her silhouette. This was the woman he loved, and would always love. It didn’t seem that fate was going to allow them to be together, so he consoled himself with simply being close to her. Even though their separation had been little less than a day, he felt as if it had been a lifetime.

  “You are a vampire,” Angeline said. “You are also the only person in this world that I feel like I can trust.”

  Connor moved to her side then. As she looked up at him, he saw the fear and apprehension in her eyes. He understood why. Angeline was born into a family that had supposedly exterminated the vampire race three hundred years ago, and nurtured stories of the vampires’ dastardly deeds. The Robarts were the protectors of the people of Altera. It was ironic that the one person she should hate most was the same person who she now trusted to protect her.

  Cautiously, he reached out to smooth a stray hair from her face. She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning into his hand. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he was consciously aware that his clothes were covered in dried blood. If Angeline’s wraith still exhibited any control, the smell of it was likely driving it insane. He didn’t want to add to the burden.

  “No matter what, I will always be there for you,” Connor whispered. Angeline’s eyes fluttered open. Then he caught her as her body went slack. “You are exhausted. You need to rest.”

  “No time.” Her groggy voice was already laced with sleep.

  “We’ll make time. I’m right here. You can rest,” he said as he gently set her back upright on her feet. He didn’t mind that she clung tightly to his arm as he guided her across the room to the bed.

  He helped her onto it, and he was fairly certain she was asleep before her head hit the pillow. She didn’t stir as he removed her shoes. Then he pulled the top cover back and settled it around her. He didn’t think it would be comfortable sleeping in her gown, but he wasn’t going to embarrass her by trying to get her out of it. Besides, he figured that she was so exhausted that any sleep, even an uncomfortable one, was welcome.

  He leaned against the bedpost at the foot of the bed for a long time watching her. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage it, but he intended never to leave her side again.

  CHAPTER THREE

  In her unconscious state, Angeline’s defensive wall against memories of the past came crashing down. She found herself standing in a familiar place, one that always brought her great comfort when she was troubled. It was her mother’s rose garden in the palace at Brebackerin.

  The sun high overhead felt warm on her skin. Angeline’s mind held scattered thoughts that seemed to blow away with the gentle breeze that spun around her slim form.

  “Hello, Daughter. I’m surprised to see you, my darling.”

  Angeline’s heart lifted in her chest as she spun around to find the source of the light, carefree voice. There, sitting amongst the dark red roses of summer, was her mother, Melinda Robart. An open book perched in her lap. One of her mother’s favorite past times was reading in her rose garden.

  Angeline took a step forward when she realized that Melinda’s eyes were not focused in her direction at all. In fact, her mother was looking the other way, toward the path that led to the entrance to the garden. There, a young girl with long black curls streaming down her back ran toward Melinda with her arms outstretched. Angeline recognized the older woman who followed behind the girl. It was the nursemaid from her childhood, Pollyann Franks.

  Watching in stunned silence, Angeline saw the little girl catapult her body the last few feet launching herself into Melinda’s arms. The two of them giggled as if sharing a private joke.

  “I’m sorry, m’Lady. She insisted on telling you about her visit to the farm yard and about all the animals she saw,” Pollyann said. “She was quite insistent on a visit. We don’t mean to disturb you.”

  Melinda hugged the young girl to her tightly. Then she placed a firm kiss on the top of the girl’s head. “You are fighting a losing battle trying to bend the will of a Robart, Pollyann. She isn’t disturbing me at all. Now what of your visit, Angeline? What did you learn?”

  As Angeline watched the interplay between her mother and her younger self, she felt her throat close and tears form in the corner of her eyes. Losing her mother at five years old was a horrible event. Angeline always wondered how differently her life would have been if her mother had lived. There might even have been a male heir to the Robart throne, although she heard the whispers that Melinda’s pregnancy with Angeline had been a difficult one.

  The line between memory and the dream was an unsettling one, and Angeline was torn between wanting to wake up and wanting to stay. She smiled as her mother unconsciously smoothed her younger self’s curls and helped the girl straighten her dress even as she listened animatedly to little Angeline’s story of he
r visit to the farm yard. Even in the privacy of the rose garden, her mother always insisted that Angeline look the part of a proper princess. Thus, the importance of appearances was ingrained into her at a young age.

  Feeling heart heavy, Angeline started looking around to find a way to escape the memory. Even thirteen years later, the loss of her mother felt fresh. Watching Melinda in her rose garden was as if Angeline was deliberately picking at an unhealed wound. It wasn’t helping her.

  Angeline closed her eyes and focused on returning to a quiet, dreamless slumber. She felt herself relaxing into it, and the hold on the surroundings around her started to loosen. Then she heard her mother say something that caused her eyes to snap open.

  “Of course, I will go to see the calves and baby chicks with you. It sounds wonderful. But I have to deliver alms to the poor house at Martin’s Rectory today.”

  “No, no, no, no,” Angeline moaned before she could catch the words from falling from her lips. It wasn’t simply just any memory of her mother that she found herself in, but the memory of that last fateful day. It was one she deliberately buried deep inside her mind, and refused to touch because it was too painful and too real.

  “Can I come with you, Mother?” Little Angeline asked, her innocent face upturned to Melinda flashing her sweetest smile. “Isn’t delivering alms something a Princess should do too?”

  “You have afternoon lessons,” Pollyann said, gently inserting herself into the conversation. “I’m sure the Queen has other duties this afternoon as well.”

  “It’s all right, Pollyann,” Melinda said. She set Angeline down and closed the book in her lap. “My daughter is right. A Princess’s duty is to serve her people, and she’s been locked up with her studies for days. I think getting a bit of fresh air outside the palace would be good for both of us.”

  Little Angeline smiled triumphantly at her nursemaid and slipped her small hand into her mother’s. The three of them started back toward the entrance to the garden. Angeline could hear her mother directing Pollyann to notify the stable that she would be ready to leave within the hour.

  She knew that she should flee before she saw anymore. She didn’t want to remember. She didn’t want to see it happen all again. She tried to close her eyes, but a sense of anxiousness settled across her limbs. It was Kallie’s death that dredged up this memory, and it was as if her mind determined that she needed to see it now. She couldn’t back down or back out. It was time to face the event that changed the course of her life forever.

  There was a subtle shift and the scenery around her changed. She wasn’t in the rose garden any more. She was standing outside of Martin’s Rectory in the late afternoon sun.

  It was customary for every Robart queen to choose a primary charity to support. Her father told her that it was good for the people to see the royal family out in the city getting their hands dirty side by side with the common people. It made them trust that the ones who ruled them understood their plights. Because the King usually had matters of state to attend to, it often fell to the Queen to be the face of the royal family to the public eye.

  Even though it was a royal duty, Angeline always felt that her mother truly enjoyed her charity work and that it brought her great satisfaction. Her mother loved the architecture of Martin’s Rectory. She often told Angeline that it reminded her of where she grew up. Looking at the multitude of stain-glassed windows that depicted scenes of much of the Robart family history, Angeline now understood what her mother meant. All along the walls inside the Clan’s underground city of Tanagor, there were depictions of epic battles. Although there were no windows to allow natural light, the gorgeous glass paintings reflected the light of the candles and seemed to glow with a life of their own. She felt a flash of deeper understanding of her mother now, and it pleased her.

  Then she remembered why she was there, and what she was about to witness again, and a pit of dread grew in her stomach. She crossed her arms around her stomach as she saw the approaching royal carriage. She would give anything to stop what was going to happen, but she was nothing more than an invisible figment in her own memory. She couldn’t stop it then, and she couldn’t stop it now.

  The carriage pulled up outside the steps of the rectory, and the door at the top of the stairs opened. A small man exited and stood there, waiting for the horses to settle and the guards to open the carriage door.

  The man, Vicar Allkin, had been running Martin’s Rectory for almost twenty years. He was also the official religious delegate to the royal family. He participated in Eric Robart’s Ascension ceremony. He officiated Eric and Melinda’s wedding ceremony. He baptized Angeline when she was three months old. He was considered a part of the family.

  That was why, as the Queen emerged from the carriage, her guards didn’t accompany her up the steps as she moved to greet the Vicar. Their attention was focused on the little girl making a valiant effort to get out of the carriage while making a fuss about not wanting any help getting to the ground.

  What happened next was so fast that Angeline still wasn’t sure that she knew exactly how it transpired. From her vantage point now though, a full ten feet away from the steps, she could see everything clear as day, and it was even more hideous than she thought.

  Melinda reached down to raise her skirts up higher to navigate the steps safely. In that moment, Vicar Allkin pulled something out from inside his jacket lapel. The sun glinted off the edge of what Angeline could see now was a wickedly sharp knife. She swore that she heard the sing of the blade as it swiped through the air. She couldn’t be sure if it was that movement or something else that caused her mother to look up. Then the arc of the blade connected dead on with the middle of Melinda’s neck.

  Angeline screamed, but it didn’t help. The splatter of blood that erupted from Melinda’s throat told her immediately that from that first cut, her mother’s life was over. As blood seemed to rain down from the sky, the guards finally realized that something horrible was happening. But as they charged up the steps, Vicar Allkin brought the knife back down. He swept down the remaining two steps to meet Melinda. Even as he caught her crumbling body, he drove the knife deep into her stomach.

  Melinda’s body contorted, and she tried to push him away, but Vicar Allkin didn’t let go. He twisted the knife twice before the guards reached him, yanking at his arms. In the confusion, Melinda’s body was left without any support, and she flung backwards, pummeling down the steps where she landed at little Angeline’s feet.

  Then it was as if Angeline were seeing the scene through two sets of eyes, her own, and that of her five-year-old self. Her mother, bloodied and bruised, lay at her feet. Little Angeline shrieked even as her adult self did, and landed heavily on her knees, cradling her mother’s head in her hands.

  “Mother! Mother!” Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her hands were coated in blood even as she tried touching her mother’s face and body, wondering what she could do. It was clear her mother was injured badly.

  She had never felt so utterly helpless in her life. All around she heard yells and screaming, and then strong arms pulled her upwards. She struggled against them with all of her might calling and reaching out for her mother. The guard who held her shoved her roughly into the carriage.

  “We must get the Queen and Princess to safety!”

  Even as two of the four guards detained Vicar Allkin, the other two looked dumbfounded at what to do with the Queen bleeding out at their feet.

  Angeline could see that her mother was trying to speak, but the wound in her throat made it impossible. Melinda pointed at the carriage multiple times. One of the guards leaned down.

  “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I don’t understand,” he said. “Do you want us to try to move you into the carriage?”

  Even though her agonizing pain was obvious, Angeline watched Melinda mouth three words, “Daughter. Palace. Command.”

  The guard jumped to his feet and slammed the side of the carriage. “You heard the Queen. Get the Princess
back to the palace. Now!”

  As the carriage swept past her, Angeline saw the guards gingerly pick up her mother’s body and carry it up the stairs into the rectory. She stepped closer to the steps now, uncaring of the tears that fell down her face. She watched her mother’s body disappear inside the doors, and knew that less than a few minutes later her mother would draw her last breath. Death came on swift wings for Melinda Robart. It gave Angeline only a small measure of comfort that her mother’s last words were intended to make sure that she was safe.

  She barely noticed the guards and the small man who still stood on the steps, but her attention was drawn there when she heard her name.

  “Angeline.”

  Her head swept back and forth. She couldn’t find the source of the voice.

  “Angeline.”

  It wasn’t coming from around her. It was coming from above her. She looked up and directly into the eyes of Vicar Allkin. A shudder ran down her spine. She was in a fragment of her memory. This had never happened, but it was as if the man somehow knew she was there.

  He mouthed two words, and she couldn’t help it. She began to scream and beat at the mental walls of her mind to release her.

  She woke up, her throat hoarse, beating against the arms that held her. She heard Connor’s voice whispering in her ear as he shook her.

  “Shhhh. Angeline, wake up. It’s just a bad dream.”

  She shook her head violently. “No, that wasn’t a bad dream. It was a warning.”

  Connor’s eyes narrowed.

  “He told me,” she said, knowing that what she was saying made no sense. “He told me that I’m next.”

  “Next for what?”

  The shivers began then, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever stop. “That I’m going to die.”