by Keary Taylor
“That is a dangerous fear to loose, my dear Alivia,” Rath says. He leans forward, his black eyes fixed on me.
“But it’s a fact, dangerous or not.” I say it simply. “I’m no longer afraid of the members of the House killing me. And I’m not scared of Jasmine.”
Rath twirls the ring he always wears between his fingers. It’s huge and bulky, and, no surprise, it bears the Conrath raven crest. “And what do you want to do with these realizations?”
I shake my head again. “I don’t know that, either. But I think I need to prepare for the arrival of the King. Sooner rather than later. I think he might have sent spies to watch me.”
I realized it earlier as I studied my crown on the desk in the office. Jasmine thinks she already knows me. Why would she need a spy? The faceless enemy with the snake brand should have no concern over me.
But if word started to leak out into the vampire world that a Royal Born might have a daughter, the King certainly would have a reason to spy on me.
“If this is true,” Rath says, suddenly sliding his ring back into place, “then I think you need to seriously consider those names on your allegiance board. With the King coming, you will need strength at your side.”
“So, is this the beginning?” I ask quietly. I twirl another glossy puzzle piece between my fingers. I found it lying on the floor just outside my bedroom just an hour ago. This one features a corner of Ian’s booted feet and a chunk of the porch.
“The beginning of what?” Rath asks.
“A revolution.”
I HAVE TO CONSIDER EVERY aspect of this situation.
A few days ago, I told Jasmine that I was going to take the House from her. It was an act of revenge—take from her what she loved in exchange for taking from me what I loved. Circumstances have changed, but now I need her vampires to protect myself from the King.
How do I make my first move? I know I will start with Lillian. But how do I reach her and how do I ask her to come to my side? I don’t have her phone number—I certainly can’t just call her up at the House. And while I think she’s an ally, I’ve learned that people, or rather vampires, are not always what they seem from the outside. Can I really count on her leaving Jasmine?
There are seven members of Jasmine’s House. Can I gain them all before the King arrives?
A weighty consideration: if the King is coming, am I safer to resurrect sooner than later? I’ve heard of his games and demented sense of entertainment. Hunting humans, vampires fighting other vampires to the death. This human body is weak. If I’ve learned anything about myself in the past few months of living in Silent Bend, it’s that I need to take matters into my own hands.
Can I also take my own life?
There is a small whisper inside of me saying not yet to my impending death.
One of my biggest concerns in all of this is Ian.
How is he going to react to all of this? To all of my plans? I want him at my side. I’m desperate for his support. For his acceptance.
But it’s a stupid question.
Ian is going to hate every bit of it.
Sunday evening, we sit in a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor of the ballroom, looking out the giant glass doors that let out onto the veranda and gaze out over the river. We don’t touch, we simply sit side by side. Quiet. Observant.
It’s twilight. The sun has set and everything is cast only in a dim glow. I know even this much is painful for Ian, but here he is, with me.
“You’ve been distracted lately,” he observes. I glance over at him. He isn’t looking back at me. He’s just staring out, I think at Henry and Elijah’s above ground tombs. “I kind of thought you’d be busy telling me not to hate myself and that none of this is my fault, but you haven’t. I’m grateful for it, but it just seems out of character. What’s on your mind, Liv?”
I look away from him, back outside. My eyes scan the trees, the scrubs. I search for spying eyes, the same as I’ve been doing since I was in the cemetery. “I need to tell you something that is happening, and I need you to keep an open mind.”
“I don’t particularly like the sound of that.” He admits it harshly.
“Don’t be an ass, Ian,” I growl at him. “This is serious, and I have to handle it as an adult and as a Conrath.”
He must not like the sound of that, either, because he doesn’t say anything. The thin line of his lips just becomes thinner.
I’m annoyed, but it’s hard to be too much so when it’s a miracle that he’s even sitting here for us to be able to have this conversation. “Someone has been watching me.”
“Like the House spying on you? They’ve been doing that for months,” he says.
I shake my head. “I was with Sheriff McCoy when it happened. He’s the one who actually saw him. Luke didn’t know the man.”
“So you haven’t actually seen anyone spying on you?”
“Yesterday, I know I saw someone disappear into the trees. I’d just gotten dressed and looked out the window in my bedroom. There was someone there.” I reach into my back pocket and pull out the puzzle pieces. A third one was taped to the front door earlier today. This one has pieces of me, as well as the bag Beth had packed for me when I hid at Ian’s house.
I lay the pieces together on the floor in front of Ian. There’s still two pieces missing, but the picture is clear.
“Ian,” I say quietly. I want to reach over and take his hand, to give it a reassuring squeeze or something, but his reactions still have me on edge. “I don’t think it’s someone from around here.”
He takes a moment to process this, studying the picture. To mull over what it means. “This is the day I brought you back to the Estate,” he says. He touches the edge of one of the pieces. “Liv, this was months ago. Who…who took this?”
I look back into his eyes, waiting for him to put the mental pieces together. “The King. He sent a spy.”
I nod. “Somehow, he got wind that Henry Conrath might have a child. And you know why he would have interest in checking out a female royal heir.”
We’ve both heard the story now. Of how King Cyrus cursed himself and his pregnant wife when he changed her to a vampire against her will. She would wither and die after certain amounts of time. It was a mystery how long she would stay dead for, but eventually, she would be reborn in the royal line, as a new person with a new face. Once that female died and resurrected, she would eventually start remembering her past lives and the King would once again be reunited with his Queen.
Queen Sevan has been dead for more than two hundred and seventy years. I can almost feel the urgency of the King. Surely, she must resurrect soon after being gone for such a long time.
“I’m not saying that I’m afraid of the King.” My heart starts racing, anxiety and dread overcoming me at finally confessing what I haven’t wanted to tell him. “But I feel vastly alone. Like he is this giant wave that is coming to crush me, and I am a tiny, lone ant on the beach.”
“You’re not alone,” he says with annoyance as he looks at me with offense. “I’m here. And Rath certainly counts for something.”
“I am well aware of the capabilities of you both,” I say, attempting to stay calm and even. “And I am very grateful to have you both here. But…I wonder if just the two of you will be enough.”
“What are you implying, Liv?” The tone of his voice drops lower and lower with each syllable.
I don’t look up at him for quite a long time. I trace my finger along the pattern in the blanket, swirling, connecting, through folds and canyons in its surface.
I hate this feeling—the feeling of shame and guilt.
I am a Conrath.
I am a Royal Born.
I am a ruler.
I should have no shame. No guilt. I do what I have to do.
“I’m going to build my own House. It’s time for the House of Conrath to be restored.”
He stares at me a long moment. I watch the muscles clench in his jaw, see the way his shoulde
rs tense. The frustration that builds behind those eyes that can’t lie. “No good will come from it. You’ve seen what Jasmine has done to this town.”
“I am not Jasmine,” I say through clenched teeth. “I need allies, Ian. And you’ve said it, Lillian said it, and even Markov implied it. That this is what I was born to do. That I will be great at it.”
Ian is angry. He’s a mess right now and I just poured a gallon of salt on his wounds. I understand.
That doesn’t mean his harsh disapproval doesn’t sting.
Instead of using biting words and yelling this out, he only stands and walks away.
Leaving me alone.
Again.
MONDAY.
If I’m going to be a ruler, I need to get all of my affairs in order. And I left a very kind and understanding man hanging without a word.
At just before five in the morning, I slip out of my bedroom and walk down the hall, past the bedroom Ian is sleeping in. He never returned to me last night. My heart aches as I walk past the door and down the stairs.
I don’t want to wonder if things will ever be the same between us again. But deep down, in the space deep in every person that whispers unfailing truth, I know. Everything has changed.
I take the keys to the Porsche, and on the driver’s seat, I find another puzzle piece.
I’m getting tired of this. Of this spy always watching me. Of him breaking into my home. He’s good. I have Ian and Rath, and neither one of them have heard a thing.
This is getting old.
I head into town. The streets are quiet with only a few lights on and dawn still an hour from breaking. I pull into the small, familiar parking lot and climb out.
It smells like heaven inside. I’m flooded with memories. From just a week ago. From months ago. Years of my life have been spent in bakeries, my hands caked in flour and dough.
That will never be the same, either.
“We don’ open for another hour, but you welcome to come back then,” a voice calls from the back.
I weave between the tables and step into the back.
“Hi, Fred,” I say tentatively.
He turns to face me. Sweat coats his brow, despite the winter temperatures. A streak of flour is spread over his right cheek. He has a rolling pin in his hands.
“Well, look who decided to show back up.”
His voice is certainly annoyed. But it doesn’t carry the bite he’s entitled to.
“Yeah,” I say, leaning against the counter. “Things have been a little crazy lately.”
“Well, I’ve certainly been hearing some crazy stories, and your name’s been mentioned,” he says as he goes back to work.
“May I ask what stories have been told?” Everything in me tenses and my palms break out into a cold sweat.
“Just stories about the dead and doomed love.” He coats his hands in flour before moving on to the next step.
I reach out and place a hand on his shoulder. He looks back at me, and I hope he sees the desperation on my face. “Please, Fred. I need to know.”
He holds my gaze a moment longer, and his eyes soften. He goes back to working. “Things been bad around town as of late, you know that.” I nod. “Rumors been flying around that despite the animosity between Mr. Ian Ward and Jasmine Voltera, he’d gone and fallen in love with their new little project.”
My heart starts climbing up my throat to take up residence.
Fred glances over his shoulder at me, and there’s a new darkness in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. “Yeah, that’s right, child. I know all about the vampires and the House and exactly what your daddy was. What you’ll become one day.”
I swallow once. It’s the first time someone has actually acknowledged everything, outside of the House, Rath, or Ian. “You know all of that, and you still hired me?”
Fred looks back at what he’s doing. “My people were once enslaved and treated like nothing. My family has been in this town for over two hundred years. I know stories. The Conraths, both of ‘em, owned most of ma’ family. They treated us with respect and kindness. Two centuries have passed. Freedom. Change. But trust me, child. I know what it’s like to have people look at you and judge you for something that is beyond your control. For something that you should never be ashamed of.”
I don’t have words. It takes me a while to absorb everything he’s just said. Our families have history. Oppression. The dark past no one up north wants to ever talk about.
“Thank you,” is all I am able to offer.
He grunts and gives a little nod. “So, as I was sayin’, I heard he went an’ fell in love with you, and I understand what kind of danger that put the both of you in. Next, I hear that Ian Ward hasn’t shown up for work and that his gran’mama is in mourning. People start talkin’.”
There was no obituary for Ian. There were literally only three people at his funeral, besides the pastor. What did that man say? And, how much?
This is a small town. Word flies.
“Then I hear somethin’ about the dead walkin,’” Fred continues. He looks back over his shoulder at me. “But no one believes that one, cause everyone knew George and Cora Ward, and that neither of them was a Born vampire.”
“We don’t know what is happening,” I say with a shake of my head. “The only person who might have some answers is Lula. Ian won’t go see her and I’m too terrified.”
“You is a smart girl, after all,” he says with a chuckle. “But never mind all of that. You came here to talk to me.”
I take a deep breath, preparing myself to say what I have to say. “As much as I love working here, as much as I needed the normalcy the shop gave me, things have changed. I thought I could pretend that my father’s name had no grasp on me, but I was wrong. I can’t ignore it.”
“The past is a difficult thing to run from.”
I nod. “Things are going to happen. Big things are coming. And I’m afraid I’m going to be at the center of it all.”
“Play carefully, daughter of Henry Conrath,” Fred says as he washes his hands. He dries them and finally turns to fully face me. “The eye of the storm is the most dangerous place to be.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
Fred gives a nod, and then we’re done. I say goodbye and step back out from behind the counter.
Just as I’m opening the door, I nearly run right into someone.
“Daphne,” I say in surprise. I reach out to steady the both of us. A warm smile spreads on her face and mine.
“Alivia Ryan,” she says with that thick accent. “I was beginin’ to think you was gone for good.”
I shrug, but she obviously can’t see it. Daphne is blind, as in totally without eyeballs. “Yeah, I had to quit unexpectedly.”
“That is unfortunate,” she says. It’s chilly out here, probably a mere forty degrees, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it. “I’ve missed your company.”
“Me too,” I say. And, I realize it’s true. Our early morning, short chats were pretty much the only normal part of my life here in Silent Bend, Mississippi.
“Is everything alright, my dear?”
My chest tightens and the chill sinks in to my bones. “I don’t know. Not really. I constantly feel like I’m being manipulated into making choices that are changing who I am.”
She contemplates this for a long moment. Her dark hair whips in the wind and I worry her skeletal frame will be blown away. “Change either brings out the best or the worst in us. And sometimes, it shows us who we really are.”
“I guess,” I say, kicking a rock off the sidewalk with the toe of my boot.
“Don’t let people manipulate you, Alivia.” Her voice suddenly grows hard, her tone sharp. “Take charge. People will twist you if you don’t twist them.”
Her last statement is a little shocking to hear, but I don’t get a chance to react to it, because a truck pulls up and the newspaper deliverer hops out. “Morning,” he says sleepily as he hands me the stack of newspape
rs Fred scatters over the tables in the shop.
I mutter a good morning back and he pulls away.
I’m about to take them inside for Fred when the headline catches my eye.
“The Conrath Fires: A Look Back.”
“You okay, Alivia?” Daphne asks.
“Yeah,” I reply absentmindedly. I slip a paper off the top of the stack. I open the door, help usher her inside, and drop the stack on a table. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”
It’s freezing outside, so I make a beeline for the car. Once I’m inside, I start the engine and blast the heat. Finally, I hold the newspaper up.
On October 13, 1875, one of our town’s greatest tragedies took place.
Few facts are known and much speculation has arisen as to what exactly happened that night. The Conrath family name is well known in our community and on that night, Elijah Conrath was killed.
Suspicion and distrust often come hand in hand with the name, and on that night, more than a hundred and fifty years ago, it boiled over.
Elijah Conrath and three of his comrades were dragged from their home and hanged in the well-known Hanging Tree. Henry Conrath was also attacked, but it is unknown if he survived that night or not. What we do know, is that more than thirty deaths took place mysteriously that same night.
While little is known about that night, it is certainly not forgotten. The name Conrath still instills feelings of fear in certain members of Silent Bend. Best of luck to the late Henry Conrath Junior’s daughter, Alivia Ryan, who just months ago moved into her father’s Estate.
Best of luck.
Best of luck?
I toss the newspaper in the passenger seat and peel out of the parking lot. Once again, I’m flying on the roads. I’m angry and impatient when I have to wait for the gates to the Estate to open. I barely get the car into park in the garage before I’m tearing out of it and into the house.
