by Irina Argo
“I don’t believe that our Queen will be that easy to kill. She’s too powerful.” Crossing his legs, Lex sat on the floor facing the couch.
“They keep her drained, though.” Erec held his hand above the candle’s flame so that it touched his skin, turning his hand to expose different areas, sinking into the pain. It was Amitis’ ritualistic gesture, a way to reconnect with and acknowledge the pain their people were going through. “We need to send her more power. All of us. Every Amiti we can summon must come together, combine our energies, and send them to Arianna.”
They worked all night to contact all the Amiti they could find, calling all who were able to come to Brussels. Most Amiti would have to travel via ordinary means, so they wouldn’t have time unless they were already close by, but elders with highly developed powers could transport themselves through mirrors. It would be the first time they’d used Mirror Skill to bring their people together in almost twenty-two years; the last time had involved summoning everyone to Greece for Istara’s execution. This time, the reason was again the Queen, but the goal was quite the opposite.
They chose a secluded space, an old, empty mansion Lex had spotted a few days earlier in the suburbs of Brussels. Surrounded by vast, landscaped grounds behind a locked gate, the property was on the market and its owners had already moved out, making it ideal for the ritual they were planning. They didn’t even need to provide their own mirror: there was already a huge one affixed to a wall in the entry hall, and they used it to open the portal.
They had to begin the ritual about an hour before sunrise, and by then they’d managed to locate almost sixty Amiti elders and a handful of younger Amiti. The rain had stopped for the time being, so they held the ritual outside, gathering in a circle among the centuries-old oak trees behind the house.
Erec lit a thick black candle, and after touching the flame to the center of his palm handed it to the woman standing next to him. She repeated the gesture, keeping the candle at her palm a little longer than Eric had, and then passed it to the man at her left, who did the same. At the same time, Kassi, Lex, and four other Amiti elders, who stood evenly spaced around the circle, had each lit their own candles and begun the same process, holding the flame to their palms and then passing the candles to their neighbors. After all seven candles—seven being the sacred number of Hathor—had circled the whole group and returned to the one who lit them, they were set down in the wet grass, and the Amiti tightened the circle, taking each other’s hands.
Almost immediately, the wind picked up, blowing out all seven candles in a single gust and then growing stronger and stronger as it circulated among them. As it continued to build, bending and breaking the branches of the oak trees, the area it covered grew, too, reaching wider and higher. The cloud cover over Brussels began to seethe and swirl, shifting until it formed a spiral over the Amiti, waiting to collect the energy they were gathering.
When the force of the power the Amiti were generating reached its apex, as one they all released and raised their hands, sending the energy out into the atmosphere. Everything went quiet and still.
Quiet as before a massive thunderstorm.
Chapter 83
Anock stood at the window watching the fading night sky. He’d been staring like this for hours, praying that the sun would never rise. And nature seemed to be responding to his entreaties: huge, dark-violet clouds were billowing across the sky, writhing and coiling into a spiral like at the birth of a tornado. It was totally anomalous weather for Europe—and it created the illusion that the sun was refusing to rise. Was it a message from the Goddess? Was Sekhmet, the Goddess of the Sun, trying to tell them that she would not condone what was about to happen down below, in the basement of this building?
“Anock,” called Blade from the doorway. “The preparations are complete.”
Numbly Anock turned and followed Blade to the elevator that would take them to the chamber of Sekhmet.
The Guardians’ chamber was constructed of large grey stones that had been fit together to form a huge dome. Sections of the stones’ surface had been smoothly sanded and etched with ancient Egyptian reliefs strategically highlighted by the dozens of torches positioned around the chamber. In the center, the black marble statue of the Lioness Goddess rose twenty feet above them.
The execution was to be a closed event. Only the Royal pride, the Guardians, and the hunters—at Crian’s insistence—were permitted to be present. There was too much risk involved to allow others to witness it. The present guest list was plenty, and besides, Anock thought, it seemed somehow ... distasteful to turn it into a spectator event. The death of the Keepers would be announced at a gala ceremony to be held at the mansion. That would be fanfare enough.
Most of the Guardians, some hunters, and Crian and Etain were already there when Anock arrived. But where the hell was the Royal pride? Surely they’d know that he expected at least a representative member to be here? But there’d been no communication whatsoever; he didn’t even know whether to wait for them or not. Anock hated them for doing this to him. He was in a hurry now, wanting only to end this torturous process. Irritated, he texted Theores—are u guys coming?—and got a terse just go ahead.
Fuck. Anock took his seat at the oversized red velvet chair that stood like a throne on the elevated stage facing the statue of the Goddess. It was where the King would normally sit, but in Tor’s absence, Anock, as his second in command, would take his place. Fuck.
The executioners were in position: two of them, wearing black hoods, stood to the right and left of the idol of Sekhmet, the muscles of their bare, massive chests and arms gleaming in the torchlight.
“You may begin,” Anock said, not hearing his own voice. “The Queen goes first.”
Two of his warriors disappeared behind the massive door and returned with Arianna. They’d skipped her last bleeding to leave her with just enough energy for her final trial, and it was astonishing how quickly her beauty had returned. The last time Anock had seen her, she might as well have been a corpse; today, she was paler then usual, but exquisite again.
Despite her weakness, she walked steadily, her back straight and her head held high, staring straight ahead with dry eyes. She wore a floor-length, multi-layered gown of black chiffon. The layers floated and whispered, flowing like liquid as she walked. Anock had personally chosen her gown; he couldn’t stand the thought of her dying in the bloodstock uniform. She should die with honor, as befitted a Queen. The gown was a token of his respect for her.
A bolt of pain shot through Anock. It was incomprehensible that this young, perfect body designed for love, life, and joy, would be destroyed in just a few moments. Her mystical goddess’s eyes would close forever and her lips would never smile again. She’d be reduced to a handful of ashes.
And what would happen to her spirit? Was there an afterlife? Having an immortal lifespan, he’d given little thought to whether he believed in what was supposed to happen afterward. As far as he’d been concerned, that kind of thinking was for frail-bodied humans; naturally, anyone with that short a life expectancy would find the idea of permanent death unbearable. But now Anock longed to believe that death was not the end, just the transition to another plane of existence. He wanted Arianna to go to her Goddess and be loved by her. Maybe one day Tor would join her and they could finally be happy together, basking in their love. Maybe.
Anock kicked the thought out. Tor was immortal; he wasn’t going anywhere.
Please Goddess, let it be over soon. Anock’s pain was becoming unbearable, his self-control wearing thin, and he feared that his façade of disinterest was about to crumble. His vision grew blurry, his eyes stinging, and it took all his strength to remain still and simply observe. Sekhmet, let me trade places with her. If only he could.
* * *
Arianna glanced at one of the hooded males, her eyes traveling to the huge, heavy sword in his grip. Glowing with the reflection of the torches, the blade seemed to be alive, but
cold and apathetic. It had nothing to do with her, and yet it promised to deliver her a deathblow. It was just the blade’s job, the same as for the hooded male. He also had nothing personal against her; he’d just sever her head and go have lunch with his friends.
It was so surreal how mundane her death would be. Twenty-two years of dreams and aspirations, joy and despair, pleasure and pain, love and hatred, efforts to understand herself and the world—and all these would end in a fraction of a second. A freezing fear crawled up her spine like a poisonous snake.
She lifted her eyes to Sekhmet’s. Please, Goddess—Grandmother—give me the strength and courage to get through this.
A flare burst through Arianna, as though a charge of energy had been projected from the Lioness’s heart into hers. She stared at the idol, trying to determine what had just happened. Had it just been a hallucination, or was the Goddess really supporting her? The Lioness’s dead, unseeing eyes gazed back, straight into her soul. Arianna’s breath began slowing and her heartbeat steadied. She’d asked for help from the warrior Goddess, and it had been granted: Sekhmet had tapped into the warrior spirit inside her.
Now she was ready to face her executioner. She regarded him without blinking, proud to claim victory over her fears. As if from a long distance away, she heard the reading of the charges against her and the executioner asking her to kneel before the Goddess. Raising the hem of her gown, she obeyed. Hold on. You can get through this. It’ll be fast. Don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing any weakness.
* * *
Suddenly, the door opened and Tor burst into the chamber, with Theores, Leon, and Rune at his heels, looking anxious and disheveled. The rushed decision and late arrival were totally out of character for Tor—but, Anock supposed, nothing was out of character for him right now, given the agony he was going through.
Everyone dropped to one knee to greet the King. Tor gave them a quick nod of acknowledgement and made his way to Anock.
Anock rose to his feet. “I’m sorry, Sir—Your Majesty—we didn’t expect you. Please, have a seat.”
“I don’t need one.” Tor’s normally stormy grey eyes were lighter and softer. He put his hands on Anock’s shoulders. “Anock, I trust you to go through with the established plan.”
“Of course, your majesty.” Anock’s intuition was hollering into both his ears that something was wrong. Why would the King come here only to reiterate that Anock should follow the plan? Hadn’t Anock been doing that?
“Anock. My son.” Tor pulled him closer and looked deep into his eyes, his gaze so intense that Anock could actually feel Tor’s love pouring into him, saturating even the darkest corners of his soul. “I also ask you not to interfere with whatever happens.”
Anock stared at Tor, puzzled.
“Give me your word, Anock.”
Anock’s brain was pounding with danger signals. But it was Tor making the request, so whatever the problem was, it wasn’t as if Anock would have a choice about whether to do as he said. “You have it, Sir.”
“Thank you, Anock.” Tor hugged him tightly and then added softly, “I love you, my son.”
He turned around and walked over to Arianna, who was watching him transfixed, still on her knees in front of the statue of Sekhmet. For a moment Tor just stood before her, his gaze locked on hers, and then unexpectedly he dropped to his knees and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her to his chest, burying her head under his chin. She jerked and pulled back, her eyes flaring open.
* * *
Arianna had thought she was already dead. She had lost all perception of her body. Tor’s appearance at her execution was beyond comprehension. She wanted to shove him away, to hate him, but at his touch, all her hostility melted away, his embrace like fire melting the heart she’d worked so hard to freeze. She was assaulted by the emotions swirling through her, propelling her to heaven and smashing her back to hell as if she was dying and being reborn over and over again.
And then everything grew still, and she felt as if she were suspended in eternity. The revelation dawned on her: her life was worth living for this moment alone. In a state of utter paralysis, she was unable to speak, think, cry ... she could barely breathe. The universe had come to an abrupt halt and ceased to exist; the only reality that remained was this man holding her in his arms.
Dear Goddess, how much she hated him ... how much she loved him.
“Why are you here?” She whispered, but her voice sounded shockingly loud as it pierced the silence.
Tor rubbed his cheek on hers and hid his face in her hair, and Arianna could feel all his love for her in this simple gesture. “I tried to forget you, but I can’t. I love you, Arianna. You are ... you’re my life. I can’t save your life—I can’t betray my people—but I can’t live without you, either. So I’ve come here to die with you.”
“What?!” Theores and Anock shouted. Tor raised his hand for silence.
“I am still the King here,” he said, his voice clear, leaving no room for objection. “Anock, you gave me your word that you’d follow the plan. Now honor your word, my son. After we die, execute the other Keepers and choose a new King.”
A shocked silence permeated the chamber. Arianna could hear the heartbeats of everyone around her, could sense their horror. She stared at Tor, her mind refusing to process what he’d said.
Tor addressed the executioners. “I go first. I want her to know that she’s not alone.” Then he turned back to Arianna, his eyes fathomless. “I will wait for you there, my love, on the other side. Forgive me, if you can.”
Before she could say another word he lowered his head and moved his gorgeous platinum hair aside, exposing his neck. “Do it.”
The executioner raised his blade, and over the course of that one instant everything changed for Arianna. She could tell that the version of herself that watched the sword begin its upward arc was gone, transformed into a completely different being by the time the blade stopped moving.
Her vision was razor-sharp, her eyes drawn to the flickers of light reflecting off the blade that dared to be raised over the man she loved. She caught her own reflection in it and saw the glowing eyes of the Lioness, and then wild, primordial rage blinded her, roaring through her as though the Sun itself had gone supernova—and She was Arianna.
After what seemed like centuries, she stood blinking in the darkness and quiet. She stood on a mountain of rubble, dust swirling around her, the black marble statue of Sekhmet lying in explosion of chunks and shards at her feet. And Tor, covered in blood and dust, blinking back up at her. The residual energy shuddering through her was rapidly dissipating, leaving her heart steady and her mind clear.
~ End of Book One ~
Glossary
Amiti
A subspecies of immortals created 8000 years ago by the goddess Hathor as a counterbalance to the goddess Sekhmet’s creation of vampires. Like other immortals, Amiti have a long lifespan and can reproduce with each other, other humanoid supernaturals, or humans. When born, they are virtually identical to humans; their powers begin to develop when they reach complete physical maturation at around 21 years of age. At around the same age, they begin to emit a unique energy recognizable to vampires in close proximity to them (or using devices to enhance their ability to feel that energy). As a defense, Amiti learn to shield that energy, but as with all of their powers, their ability to do so can be compromised.
Amiti blood has unique properties, including the ability to heal others and receptivity to the will of the Amiti whose body created it. Within the blood-bond, for example, Amiti can command their blood cells in a vampire partner’s body to create pleasure or pain, to heal or even bring the vampire back to life, or to kill the vampire. Amiti blood that has been “artificially” drained—via catheter or cutting, for instance—loses these unique qualities, although it retains most of the exquisite taste and scent that make it desirable to vampires. Legend holds that some Amiti have learned to control their blood even wh
en it is removed from their bodies outside of the blood-bond.
Amiti blood also regenerates quickly after any type of blood loss, and Amitis’ bodies generate extra blood during lovemaking in order to preempt depletion when they feed their vampire partners.
Amiti powers. All Amiti possess three powers: (1) shapeshifting to mimic or impersonate specific humans, living or dead; (2) shielding themselves from vampires’ ability to sense them; and (3) the blood-bond, a physical and spiritual connection between Amiti and vampire partners that activates the properties of Amiti blood in the vampire and enables enhanced communication and sharing of powers.
In addition to these three powers, over time each Amiti develops one or more individual powers; the number, strength, and type vary from individual to individual, and continue to develop and accumulate with age. Powers may be physical (for example, manipulating air, fire, water, earth) or mental/psychological (for example, empathic aptitude, clairvoyance). Generally, Amitis’ powers are innate—that is, Amiti are born with certain powers hidden inside them, and those powers manifest as they grow older. However, certain Amiti roles bestow additional powers: the Queen has the Gift of Ra, and the Keepers’ powers correspond to the Mysteries they keep. Moreover, some powers, such as the Mirror Skill, can be cultivated by virtually any elder, experienced Amiti.
Blood-bonding with vampires can serve as a catalyst for activating or strengthening Amitis’ powers. Conversely, power can be limited or extinguished through bloodletting.
Amiti are sensitive to a metal alloy, silver steel. Used in the environment or in constraining devices, it weakens their powers; and when introduced into the bloodstream via weapon or injection, it can completely debilitate or even kill them, depending upon the Amiti’s overall strength and health.
