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Sirus would do what must be done to keep her safe. He glanced over to the dragon. “It’s a contract,” he replied in a practiced tone of indifference. “I will see it done.”
Chapter Eleven
“You disappoint me, Aldor,” the High Priestess purred.
Aldor’s knees ached, but he ignored the dull pain as he knelt before her, his eyes locked on the floor.
The overly sweet scent of flowers filled his nostrils as he dipped his head lower. “I only wish to be of service, Mistress,” he replied in reverence.
Nestra moved about her grand solarium, misting and pruning the rare plants. Her silk shoes slid across the marble floor toward him, and a slither of nerves ran up Aldor’s back. Each of her soft steps felt like a nail driven through his chest.
“Then be of service,” she said with such chill he shuddered.
It’d been nearly a week since New York. Aldor had not found the Star. All his leads had led to nothing. His mistress was displeased.
When her path diverted away from him, Aldor’s tension abated slightly. His eyes flitted up to a pane of glass that held her reflection. She looked so innocent and serene as she gingerly tended to a large plant covered in vibrant yellow blooms. The slinky pale green dress she wore clung to her tall, slender form like a soft breeze. Her silver-and-blue-gemmed diadem blended with her pale blonde hair, which shimmered in the sunlight, making her look even more youthful and radiant.
His Mistress was beyond beautiful. She was a vision of perfection.
Aldor looked back to the floor when she shifted. She was also nothing like she appeared. Much like the beautiful flowers to which she tended.
“I will find it,” he declared.
Her soft, padded steps glided closer to him. His pulse quickened. “So you have pledged for decades,” she reminded him, “only to have my prize snatched from your grasp—again.”
Shame and guilt clawed tightly at him. All of the Temple had suffered her ire after the public failure in New York, but Aldor was the person with whom she was truly disappointed. He was the one her priests had lashed until they struck bone. There was no trace of his blood across the cool gray marble now. But his wounds were still healing, and he struggled against the pain as he knelt before her.
She was right to be angry with him. He had been close. So close. Twice. Each time, he’d failed.
Aldor hung his head lower. “Forgive me, Mistress.”
“My paladins were seen in the city,” she reminded him, her voice as calm as a tepid pond. “Paladins under your watch.”
“Forgive me,” he begged once more, his hands trembling as he bowed lower.
“The witches are but ants upon the ground. But King Thurin, his Court, they are a much greater nuisance. They demand answers.”
“I will fix this,” he declared, forcing his voice steady when she drew closer to him.
“No, I will fix this,” she corrected. “As I always do.”
She slid around him, her dress brushing the marble at his eyeline. Aldor said nothing. He was too terrified.
“Convince me. Why should I allow you the chance to earn my favor once more after such failure?”
Aldor was ready with an answer. His mistress had had him beaten, but he was still alive. She was still willing to give him a chance. He had practiced what he would say in this exact moment if it occurred. “No others have hunted the Star in earnest for years,” he told her, forcing his voice as even as he could manage. “This is no coincidence. For us to come so close and?—”
“You think it was one of Thurin’s spies?” she interrupted.
Aldor didn’t know for certain—he couldn’t—but he did suspect. He knew the king’s spies watched Nestra closely. And he knew mentioning them would perhaps direct her anger away from him and toward the king. “Yes, Mistress,” he replied.
She was silent for several moments. “I have been thinking on the disastrous events you let unfold in New York,” she mused eventually. Sweat trickled down Aldor’s forehead. “It is likely that if a vampire was involved, a contract was struck. And there is only one creature in the king’s Court that would stoop to such—measures.”
He glanced up and saw his mistress in the reflection of the glass, her face twisted in an unfitting look of viciousness. “Marcus thinks himself clever. He thought I wouldn’t be watching him. That I wouldn’t know he left the island weeks ago. To what ends…” She let out a deep breath of frustration. “Perhaps the time has come to make an example of our king’s lapdog.”
Aldor held in a breath as she slid up to him, the hem of her dress brushing against the front of his knees. Her long, pale fingers cupped his chin to raise his face. Her piercing blue eyes glared down into his own, and he shuddered, the way he did every time she looked directly upon him—the only person who ever looked at him without fear of his curse.
“I have foreseen the future,” she said, and his heart fluttered. “No creature will keep me from destiny. No king. No vampire. No spy. You are only half-blood, your soul trapped by the Mirrors, but the Light brought you to me.” She pulled her fingers away sharply. “Perhaps I was misguided to put my faith in you.”
