‘Come on!’ Laurel grabs my arm, pulling me away. We head around the side of the house past the base of a tower, one of the oldest parts of the property. There’s a door, hidden in the stone wall, that if I opened it would lead straight up to my bedroom. But too many memories haunt those secret passages, and the only one I use now is the one to the roof from the library. Even that holds ghosts, but I can deal with them. Just.
‘Are we late?’
‘No.’ Laurel glances at me. ‘I’d just like to rest for a while before your parents request me.’
‘My parents?’ I know Laurel works for my family. But there’s something awful about the thought of my parents feeding from her. She’s myfriend.
‘They always request me at some point during the week. I guess they like to know that everything’s going well in the Safe Zone. Your mother asks me questions while your father … well… Then they swap. Anyway,’ she shrugs, ‘it’s what I do.’
I stop walking. ‘Why do you do it?’ I’ve never dared ask her this, never wanted to remind her that she was an employee, not just a friend. I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. I know why she does it. What choice does she have?
She stops as well. ‘My mother was a dancer. I’ve never known anything else.’
Laurel has no surviving family. None that she knows about, anyway. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.’
Laurel envelops me in a rose-scented hug. ‘Yes, you should,’ she whispers, kissing my cheek. ‘I know you mean well. And I love you for it.’ She pulls back. ‘I hope you make all the changes you want to make, Emelia Raven. And I’ll help you, any way I can.’
I blink back tears. ‘I love you, too,’ I say. ‘Anything I can do for you, I will. Just say the word. Even a trip to Bali.’
‘Bali? Well, that would be something.’ She smiles, then bumps me with her shoulder. ‘Come on. Let’s get inside.’
She continues around the house, opening a side door. It leads into a suite of three interconnected rooms filled with narrow beds and rows of dressing tables with mirrors, racks of skimpy clothing lined up along one wall. Glitter sparkles on every surface, trodden into the parquet flooring. There are a few dancers here already, some lying down reading, others fixing their hair and make-up, all in various states of undress. But when I enter the room, they all tense up, the conversation getting quieter, people tidying up or covering themselves.
‘I should come in the other way,’ I mutter.
‘Nah. This lot just need to lighten up.’ Laurel grins, scanning the room. A couple of people laugh, the tension easing. ‘I’m heading off on the early bus,’ she whispers, close to my ear. ‘So, I’ll see you later.’ No one needs to know we live together, and I appreciate her discretion.
I squeeze her arm, then slip out to the hallway beyond. Two guards fall into step behind me, keeping pace as I glide along the shadowed hallways, my feet sinking into plush carpet. And just like that, I’m Emelia Raven again. Heir to the throne and all that jazz. I round a corner and cross the huge foyer, ascending the golden stairs. The Halloween tree is gone, packed away for another year. But Michael and I brought a sharp-scented pine in its own red pot into my little house by the beach. Echo of an older tradition, evergreen. A symbol of hope, of renewal.
Here, in my family’s world, the symbols are all about power. Red moons for the Red Rising, Raven marks burned into human skin, silver and black livery like moonlight and shadow, the world of night my parents rule.
And I straddle both worlds, able to exist in light and darkness. Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong anywhere; not quite vampire enough, not quite human enough. I’m still trying to work out what kind of symbol I’m going to be. A positive one, I hope.
I sigh as I open the door to my room. It looks the same as always, except for the pile of clothes on the bed. Velvets and silks and beaded chiffon, dresses and skirts and blouses and, hidden under it all, a jacket, the leather so deep purple it’s almost black.
Okay, I don’t mind the jacket.
The rest of it, though… I think of the markets in the Safe Zone, the second-hand clothing in neat piles, folded to hide the worn patches. Geneva’s little shop, where she makes the most of what she can get, scraps thrown from the tables of her overlords.
I want to throw everything into the fire.
‘My lady? Forgive me for not meeting you at the door.’
I turn at the familiar voice. ‘Bertrand!’ I squeal.
My personal guard picks me up in his massive, muscled arms, swinging me around, his blue eyes alive with pleasure. The guards either side of my door are smiling as well. Okay, maybe things aren’t as formal as they used to be. I guess me getting kidnapped and nearly killed, then moving to the Safe Zone, has made me, somehow, more real to them. Especially to Bertrand. I knew how much he cared for me before I left; now he tells me, often, that he misses me when I’m gone. He’s also pushed for better conditions in the feed hall, humans now on four shifts of six hours, rather than three of eight. It’s a small but significant change.
He sets me down. ‘Your father is in the library.’
‘And my mother?’
‘She—’
‘Gorgeous girl!’
All the guards, including Bertrand, step back and bow.
My mother wraps me in her cool embrace, her hair like silk against my cheek. ‘Oh, I havemissedyou,’ she cries, kissing me. ‘Come, tell me what you’ve been up to.’
