“Hello.” Her voice made the man almost fall down. What an idiot.
“Lady Jydda.” He stumbled over his words, his voice cracking on her name.
She walked sinuously toward him and forced herself to trail one fingertip lightly down his hairy, filthy arm. He shivered. “Glegnar,” she purred. “How are you? It's been far too long since we've talked.”
The man was swallowing convulsively. “Yes, my lady.” His eyes looked slightly glazed.
She rubbed one shoulder, acting as though it were tender to the touch. “Would you mind?” she asked, indicating that he should rub her shoulders. His touch was repulsive, but she needed to appear helpless. He was far too eager to cross the distance and touch the fine material of her dress as his rough hands kneaded at the muscles. She did her best to moan as though he were a master masseuse, but it only took a moment for the stench to become unbearable. She stepped away, making it appear as though she were merely looking around. Not that there was much to see in the barren stone corridor. “Thank you. Your touch is so soothing.” She shot him a fake smile. “So, tell me what's new in your little world.”
“Uh . . . um . . .” He was obviously grasping at straws. “Not much, my lady. We haven't got any new prisoners. Not since Ben.”
“Hmm.” She forced herself to look at him again, focusing on the least greasy part of his forehead. “I thought you may have heard the news. After all, you are a powerful man. Not much could possibly escape the attention of the man in charge of security in Westmarch.”
He straightened up more, squaring his rounded shoulders. “And what news would that be, my lady? I'm sure I know it already,” he hastened to add.
“I'm sure you do.” She brushed a strand of hair behind her shoulder, slowly. “It's merely the Destine. I was hoping you'd have more information for me.”
“More information?” The man was clearly mystified.
She walked a few steps away again, touching the rough stone wall. It was slimy, and she pulled back. “Well, you already know that she is here.” She could almost hear his brain struggling to catch up. “I just want to know why no one else seems to know.”
“Oh, I see,” he hedged. “Of course the Destine is here. Where else would he be?”
“She,” she gently corrected.
“Right, she, that's what I meant. She's been here for a while, now.”
“Mmm. Several months, I've heard. But why are we not celebrating her arrival? I'm afraid I don't understand.” She walked past him, knowing the scent of her perfume would waft over him, further muddying his mind.
“Right, well, there's, uh, a security risk, my lady.” His voice gained confidence in the lie.
“But surely you can protect her?” She raised one eyebrow flirtatiously.
“Oh, uh, of course I can. It's just that . . .” He waved one hand vaguely in the air, as though the gesture would explain it all.
Bored with his ineptitude, she clapped her hands together and said briskly, “Well, I'm sure it's time that this wonderful news was released to the castle at large. Of course, I don't have nearly as many connections as you. Won't you take care of it for me?” She laughed lightly. “I'm not sure anyone would believe me, anyway. What could I possibly know? I only sit on the council as an ornament.”
“Oh, no, my lady.” He scuffed the toe of one boot along the floor. “You're much more than just an ornament.”
She let her hand touch his face lightly, briefly. “How kind you are, Glegnar. At least I am privy to information I wouldn't have otherwise, even if my presence goes unnoticed.”
He snorted, his attempt at laughter. “Everyone notices you, if it isn't too forward for me to say, my lady.”
“Of course not,” she murmured, even as she turned away and strode from the man's realm below the castle. He had served his purpose, and she had things to attend to, such as a skin peel of both hands, and possibly any area exposed to the air that had touched that putrid excuse for a man. And the dress would certainly have to be burned.
Đ
Galia was concerned. She'd heard things, things that no one should know about. Now she had to decide whether to give credence to the rumors. After all, it could be a mistake.
She gave the guards a vacant smile as she passed into Integrity's room, lunch tray in hand. She had noticed the change in the girl after Evan had fed on her parents. It was something she couldn't quite grasp, not having any memories of her own family. Integrity must have been deeply attached to her caregivers.
There were no longer any signs of gratitude from the human girl. She seemed completely removed from everything around her. But that could be normal among humans. Galia hadn't much experience with them.
She went into the bathroom and straightened up. Integrity did not follow or try to strike up conversation. She continued to sit in the armchair she preferred, eating mechanically the food provided. She would probably eat cardboard, if it were put on her tray, and never notice.
The girl's changed personality bothered Galia, like a fly buzzing around her head. She couldn't seem to get away from it, but she didn't know what she could possibly do. Hoping to quiet the insect, even if only for a short time, she sighed and approached the mortal.
“Integrity.” She waited to make sure the girl was listening. “I'm sorry about your parents.”
For a moment the girl remained unchanged, then her face tensed. Galia watched in consternation as her eyes developed a film of moisture. Integrity struggled for a moment, then crumbled to the overwhelming tide. She buried her face in her hands and her shoulders shook with the sobs she strove to conceal. Acting instinctively, Galia dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around the trembling form.
Eventually, as all storms do, the pain washing over the girl passed. Her body stilled, the tears slowed, and her breathing regulated itself. Exhausted, Integrity pulled away listlessly, smearing the palms of her hands across her face. Galia watched the hard mask begin to slide back into place. Desperate, she asked, “Are you angry with me?”
Integrity looked at her blandly, the mask hovering in the air above her head. “No, I'm not mad at you. Why would I be?” She raised one shoulder slightly, then let gravity drag it back down.
“I fear that I've done nothing right with you. It's never been my intent to harm you.”
“I know.”
Galia rocked backward, sliding into a sitting position. She looked up at Integrity. “I should not have told you what we are. You were not ready.”
Integrity's face lost a measure of color. Gathering herself, she replied, “You were only trying to help. Besides, I didn't believe you.” She laughed callously. “I thought you were crazy.”
Galia laughed quietly. “So humans really don't believe in us?”
Integrity shook her head, smiling. “Nope. You guys are pretend.”
Galia wrinkled her brows in disbelief. “Mortals really can ignore the truth, can't they? How can they deny everything that goes on around them?”
Integrity shrugged. “I guess they just blame it on serial killers or something.”
“I suppose that's another name for us.” Galia's humor hit Integrity and made her laugh loudly, though she stopped abruptly. “What's wrong?”
Integrity frowned. “I guess I feel guilty for being happy. I shouldn't be. Evan murdered my parents in cold blood, and I just stood there.” As her face started to crumple in despair, the mask slid back into place. She looked away from Galia and fell silent.
After a minute or two, Galia murmured, “I'm here for you, Integrity, if you need me. I may not understand what you feel or think, but I'll try to.” She stood silently, gathered a few items that needed to be laundered, and left the room. She was more confused by the girl and her emotions than ever before. Integrity was a puzzle Galia felt driven to solve, no matter how difficult, though she wasn't sure why. She waved lightly at Paul when he told her goodbye, and strode down the hall. There was much left to be accomplished before the human's next feeding.
<
br /> Đ
The next time Integrity left her room was different than before. For one thing, Galia was the one who told her she was needed elsewhere. For another, Galia got her all dolled up to go.
“How am I supposed to fight in that?” Integrity asked, looking askance at the floor length dress. Not only was it cumbersome, the material didn't look like it would hold up under a stiff breeze.
“You're not requested to fight today.” Galia handed the gown to Integrity, then turned her back while the girl slipped it on.
“Then where am I going?” Integrity felt more nervous now; at least she knew what to expect if she were going to fight. In fact, some violence would feel good.
Galia began lacing the back of the dress, the thick ribbon pulling tighter, forcing her to stand straighter. Integrity fiddled with the long sleeves. The material shimmered between pink, gray, and an odd green color. Galia finished lacing the back, then turned Integrity around so she could assess her. She nodded, as though satisfied with the dress, then led Integrity into the bathroom and sat her on an intricate wrought iron stool.
As she began pinning Integrity's hair up, she answered, “You are to be presented to the public today.” Integrity jerked her head away, and Galia clicked her tongue. “Hold still.”
“What do you mean I'm being presented to the public?” Uncertainty laced her words, coloring them a much more vividly than the usual bland gray of her monotone.
Galia pried a hair pin open with her teeth, then said, “Apparently your presence is no longer a secret at Westmarch.”
Integrity started to shake her head in confusion, but stopped. “What does it matter? I'm just a stinking prisoner. Why would anyone care that I'm here? Is it because I'm not in the jail?”
Galia tilted Integrity's head forward. She sighed. “You're not just a prisoner, Integrity. You're much more.”
Integrity thought for a moment, her neck cramping. “Is it because I'm human?” Her stomach lurched. She still wasn't comfortable with the whole living-with-the-undead thing.
“Partly.” Galia moved around to Integrity's side, just barely into her peripheral view. After a moment, she continued, “I supposed I should tell you. I hesitate only because I don't want to burden you further.”
Integrity snorted. “Please. Like anything can be worse than the whole vampire thing.” She tried to keep her voice nonchalant, but she felt slightly off kilter, as though a small shove would send her over the edge.
“As you wish.” Galia adjusted a strand of hair, pinned it, then pressed on. “Some in the castle believe you to be the Destine.”
“Destine? What's a Destine?” Integrity wrinkled her nose as though she smelled something unpleasant. “Is that a bad thing?”
Galia tilted her head to one side. “I suppose that depends on how you look at it. It could be good or bad.”
“So what is this Destine?” Integrity's mouth felt dry, none of her fears eased.
“The Destine is a person of great power, one who will shape the destiny of the world at large.” Galia spoke slowly, as though choosing her words with care. “The Destine is said to have the power to bring the human race into subjection, allowing the people of the night to once more walk the earth unmolested.”
Integrity raised a hand to her hair, then laughed. “So I'm supposed to be some kind of vampire super hero? I'm not even a vampire!”
Galia moved to the front and adjusted Integrity's hair here and there, never making eye contact. “The Destine is supposed to be human, a girl of about seventeen years.”
Integrity blinked and swallowed before speaking. “So just because I'm a 17-year-old girl, I'm supposed to rule over the entire world?”
Galia smiled wryly. “No, just the humans.”
“Oh, that's so much better,” she replied sarcastically. “This is all a joke, right? They can't seriously believe I'm who they think I am. I'm just me! I'm weak!”
Galia finally looked Integrity in the eye. “Be that as it may, the council apparently has reason to not only believe you are our Destine, but to feel confident enough to show you off as such.”
“And what if they find out I'm not the Destine?” Integrity's voice was barely louder than a whisper.
“That I do not know. All I know is that I am to prepare you for presentation. And I have done so.”
Integrity looked over her shoulder at the mirror behind her, then stood and walked slowly toward it. She looked as though she were from a different age entirely. Her dress and hair looked as though they could have come straight out of a history book. Instead of feeling awkward or self conscious, Integrity felt as though she were a woman in one of Shakespeare's plays—pretty, but undeniably flawed of character. She rubbed her eyes roughly, gathering her protective shell back around herself. “Well, let's get this over with.”
Galia laughed lightly. “That's the spirit.”
Đ
Galia stayed behind when Integrity left the room, Paul and Bowman on either side. She wasn't needed where they were going.
Integrity felt odd in the dress, like she was somehow intrinsically different. She stood straighter; she even felt slightly more confident. Maybe resigned was a better way to describe it. Either way, her heart wasn't thudding painfully, just beating slightly faster than normal.
The trio paused outside a set of intricately carved doors. Bowman stood behind Integrity, while Paul moved in front of her. “Stay close,” Bowman ordered before speaking into his wrist radio. The doors swung slowly open.
Integrity flinched at the bright light that assaulted her eyes. She quickly forced herself to open her eyes normally, even though she couldn't see much, and put a calm look back on her face. Paul moved forward and she followed behind him, trying to stay in step with his longer stride. The low murmur in the room dropped rapidly until she was surrounded by silence so dense she could hear the soft soles of her shoes shoosh across the floor.
Still trying to regain normal use of her eyes, Integrity was unable to tell how wide the room was, or how many people sat there, but she knew there were more people than she had expected. The room was very long, and she felt oddly like a bride marching down a cathedral aisle while everyone looked on. It was not an idea she relished.
The long walk down the center of the room was over before she had time to gather her thoughts completely. Paul mounted a set of steep stairs before him onto a raised platform, more than waist high. Integrity gathered her skirt in both hands and prayed that she wouldn't trip. She heard Bowman tramp up after her.
Toward the back of the stage, she saw two elaborate thrones. She barely had a chance to notice the red-haired woman sitting in the chair to her right before she heard a voice speak to her left. Turning to face the speaker, she saw a man who appeared to be in his mid- to late-twenties. He wore an austere crown on his dark hair and a floor-length robe of some dark, expensive material. He was announcing her arrival.
“I give you the Destine.” His voice was oddly bland, detached. It reminded her of someone, but she couldn't put her finger on who.
Glaring footlights blinded the girl further, though she sensed movement from the audience, what she took to be restless shuffling. A strangled cheer broke from far away, and was quickly picked up until the noise was deafening. She wanted to cover her ears, but maintained her cool exterior. This isn't the reaction I was expecting at all, she mused. Can't anyone see through me? I'm no warrior!
Now Integrity could pick out sounds of dissent among the crowd, angry cries mixed with those of triumph. Bowman shifted closer to her, having drifted back at her introduction. Paul remained stationary.
The king raised his hands into the air, calling for silence. It took longer than the girl expected it to, but order was restored. The king spoke, his voice moderated. “The rumors you have heard are true. The Destine has finally come forth, and we have her here at Westmarch.” More noise broke out, and the king waited for silence. “We will now lay our plans in place. A most propitious time has come to us, and
we will use it to the utmost.”
Not fully comprehending what was being said, Integrity looked discreetly around the room before her. She could see dim light emanating from the walls on either side, drifting the full length of the room. She assumed they were some kind of wall sconces, and they were either lit by fire or had flicker bulbs installed. The ceiling was cast in shadow and she couldn't judge it's height without tilting her head back, which she was unwilling to do. I can't look mentally deficient, after all. No autism here. That's not very awe inspiring.
“We can't keep the poor girl standing here all day. She's only human after all.” Laughter mixed with complaints filled the air. “Fear not, you shall see your Destine again soon. We will have a celebration in honor of her arrival. All will be invited.” Bowman and Paul moved forward, each grasped one of her elbows, and she was being shunted toward the double doors once more. Only after they exited the room did she hope she hadn't looked horribly confused in front of all those people.
As they hastened back to her room, Bowman muttering into his microphone almost constantly, Integrity turned to Paul. “That's it? I got all dressed up for two minutes of show-and-tell?” Paul merely shrugged. “I don't get it. What was the point of all that?”
Paul squeezed her arm reassuringly. “I don't know. I'll never understand royalty.”
Integrity stumbled. “What? Royalty?”
He laughed. “Did you think it was a costume party? That was the king and queen.”
“But, they're so young!” Once again, her head was reeling. “Are they the king and queen of Westmarch?”
“Yes, and of all of our kind.”
Integrity could see her room at the end of the hallway. Time was running out. “How can they rule everyone when they're so young? Bowman's older than they are!”
Paul gave her an odd look. “Why be eternally old when you can be eternally young? Looks can be deceiving around here.”`
Integrity: Book One of the Destine Series Page 13
