‘Twenty?Absolutely not happening.’
‘Maybe you should get some rest, and we can talk about this later.’ My father stands. ‘It’s been a long night for us all.’
‘I’m staying here.’ I don’t want to go back to my room yet, to stare at the ceiling while frustration eats at my bones. Twenty fuckingyears? Why even bother to crown me at all?
‘Come and find me, when you wake.’ My mother’s cool lips brush my brow. Then she and my father are gone, leaving me alone with my turbulent thoughts.
I wonder whether my parents forget sometimes that I won’t live as long a life as they will. Or perhaps they choose not to remember. Of course I need guidance, still have a lot to learn. But I refuse to be a figurehead, unable to make my own decisions. I’m the only person who truly understands how it is to live both as a vampire and as a human. It’s an almost unbearable pressure, moving between the two. But I need to be able to stand on my own two feet, or I risk losing everything I came back home for.
I can see why vampires felt the easiest thing to do was to farm humans; perhaps, in their own way, they thought what they offered was fair. They need human blood to survive, after all. But I cannot comprehend the kind of blindness it took to turn away from the suffering they caused in the process. Even my parents were part of it; they participated in the Rising, along with the other Great Families. It wasn’t until I was born that they even considered thinking differently. However, is their way of thinking different enough to help me do what I want to achieve?
At the moment I’m still hopelessly, painfully naïve about the realities of my world, the ancient political structures I need to navigate, despite my experiences with Kyle and the North Wind. All I have to go on is my gut; I have to figure out what’s right, make my decision, and face whatever consequences might come with it. It felt like the right thing for me to come home, instead of running away with Kyle. It felt right for me to give the Channel Islands to the North Wind, too. And it feels right, to my very bones, to try and make things better for humans.
I rub my eyes, trying not to think of Kyle, of dancing with him in the moonlight. But he seems to haunt me here, a silver and black ghost in the shadows, whispering around the edges of my vision. He fucking knew, all along. Knew how hard it would be for me to do this. Even if he didn’t love me, he tried to tell me the truth.
I get to my feet, trailing my hand across my great-grandfather’s chain-mail tunic, the links making a soft whispering sound as though he’s trying to talk to me, a voice from the past. I wonder what he’d tell me, and whether this was what he wore when he fought for his crown. Now I have to fight for mine. Rage flares again at the thought of Oliver and Jacques. The old Emelia, the one they tricked into going along with them, is long gone. They won’t catch me so easily this time.
I stop at another mannequin. My mother’s wedding dress. A drop-waisted concoction of ivory tulle and pearlescent beading, the lace-capped veil still with small silk blossoms attached. She would have looked beautiful in it. She married for love, of course. I want that, too. But, as I touch the delicate lace, the trembling flowers, I wonder whether it’s the wisest decision. Yes, I have Michael, but for how long? Once I’m crowned, everything will change, and there’s no guarantee he’ll want to stay. I’ve been burned by love before. Perhaps I’m better to choose a consort with my head, rather than my heart.
My gaze goes to another white dress nearby. This one is corseted, silk and satin cut precisely to my measurements, the long full skirt beaded with jet black and silver feathers, the matching cloak with the Raven crest beaded and embroidered on the back, more glittering feathers decorating the long train and high collar. My coronation robes.
They used to scare me. In some ways, they still do. But it’s time for me to face who I am. To step into my power.
And show this world exactly who the new Raven will be.
* * *
After a restless sleep I find my mother in the practice arena. A large, circular space deep beneath the house, the earthen floor packed hard as iron, tiered seats all around. It’s pitch-dark down there. Unless I arrive.
I’m carrying a small portable candle lamp, set to low, and vaguely make out my mother’s slender shape seated in the front row. When she sees me, she raises one pale hand and lights start to glow around the room, enough for me to see by.
Wow.
My father, clad in light chain mail, is at the centre of the ring. His sword moves so quickly it’s like a ribbon of silver, tracing a star-shaped pattern in the air as he pivots and twists. I take in a breath, mesmerised by the beauty of his movements. There are a few guards seated around the ring, all watching intently.
‘You’re slow on the left side.’ Varin moves forward in a blur, his sword intercepting my father’s with a sound like the chiming of bells. ‘Out of practice.’ He laughs, the noise echoing.
Slow? If that’s slow then I’m literally a snail. I sit next to my mother. We have things to discuss, but I can’t take my eyes from the dance of steel.
My father moves again and Varin’s sword flies from his hand, the tip of my father’s blade coming to his throat. ‘Slow, am I?’ He laughs.
My mother gasps, her hands clasped together, the most adoring look on her face. It’s almost embarrassing. Father starts the same sequence of movements again, carving shapes in the air.
‘What’s that called, the exercise he’s doing?’ I whisper to my mother.
‘It is the Morningstar.’ Varin, lean and light-footed, comes towards us. ‘Humans have their eight-pointed star – eight precise movements designed to incapacitate an opponent. Vampires are the same, though there are sixteen movements for us.’ He smiles, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘Penelope, this must be your daughter?’
‘Oh, yes!’ My mother, still watching Father, blinks. ‘I’m sorry, Varin. This is Emelia. Emelia, this is Varin Darksolder, an old friend.’
‘Emelia Raven, Lady of the Night.’ Varin takes my hand and bends over it, brushing his lips against my knuckles. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. Tell me, have you done any training with a sword?’
I shake my head. ‘No…’ Something stirs in my chest as I watch my father. It’s as though the sword is singing to me, as though it’s a tune I should know but don’t yet. ‘I think I would like to, though.’
‘Oh, Emelia, are you sure? It’s so?—’
‘A moment, Penelope, if you please.’ Varin’s gaze narrows. ‘What do you see, when you watch your father? And hear?’
‘I see…’ I watch my father again. ‘I see light. I see patterns in the air. And it feels, sounds … I don’t know.’ I feel stupid.
