‘The heir has been chosen.’ Varin’s voice rings across the field. The crowd parts as he approaches the dais, clad in hissmoke-dark chain mail with the Raven crest, holding his unsheathed sword. He places it, point down, on the first step. ‘Who brings her to be presented here?’
The words of ritual. A warrior with a sword, should my claim not be accepted by the crowd. Vampires are tough to kill, but it’s not impossible. With light, of course. But also metal, razor sharp, wielded quickly enough to sever head and limbs, to create wounds from which there’s no healing. My hands are shaking.
‘I bring her.’ My mother’s voice, clear and pure as a bell. ‘Blood of my blood, my child, born of my body. Emelia Isadora Raven. Last of our ancient line.’
‘Are there any who would challenge this claim?’ Varin, hands still on the hilt of his sword, turns to the crowd.
I hold my breath. I don’t think Mistral are here. Any objection, and Varin has a choice. He can defend me. Or he can side with the challenger, and kill me.
I don’t believe he’d do the latter, not if he wanted to live long himself. My father would destroy him before anyone else could. But tension ripples across the dais as we wait the allotted three beats. The crowd rustles again but, thank darkness, no one says a word.
‘And so it is.’ Varin picks up his sword, flipping it so it lies flat across both open palms. He kneels before me, offering the weapon.
I take it from him.
Again, there’s precedent here. If I suspected Varin of being anything less than loyal, if this first act of fealty was tarnished in any way, I could kill him with his own weapon. I wouldn’t dream of it. The arms master has become a friend over these past weeks. I smile and wait for Varin to meet my gaze. His hazel eyes twinkle.
‘I accept your fealty, Varin Darksolder.’ My voice doesn’t shake, and I’m thankful for that. ‘Arise, as my champion.’
Varin rises, smooth and lethal in his chain mail, taking his sword back. If he were to strike me down now it would be considered the deepest treason, his name and family hunted down and eradicated. He turns to the crowd, taking a wide-legged stance a step below me, his unsheathed sword held point-down. The message is clear. My mother steps forwards.
‘I, Penelope Raven, do officially hand my crown to my daughter, Emelia Raven, on the occasion of her eighteenth birthday. As is tradition for all Ravens, across the centuries.’ She smiles, gleaming and triumphant. It is a triumph for her, I realise. Over adversity, over the years spent fearing losing me, of me dying or being rejected as ruler, simply because of my humanity. Vindication of the decision she made to fight for mefrom the moment of my birth. My heart swells with love, for all that she’s done to bring me to this moment. I glance at her, my eyes full of tears. Not part of the ritual, but I don’t care. This is about family.
She returns my smile, a faint tinge of red in her onyx gaze. The crowd cheers, howling their support to the stars and bright moon, clapping and stamping. Music starts, a wild beat, as the festivities begin. As I take the next step towards my crown.
ChapterTwenty-Six
MY MOTHER’S DAUGHTER
I’m more relaxed on the second night of the Gathering. The tough part, where someone could have challenged us, is over. Joaquin is supposed to arrive tonight, and I want to see where it can go between us. I sit on my throne, sipping a drink, the Raven ring heavy on my finger, the ruby catching the faint light, like old blood. It’s strange to sit here, holding power in my hand; I can see how easily it could overwhelm me. The crowd below dance and mill about, a sea of silver, grey and black, flashes of jewels and beautiful faces. I should join them.
It’s not like there aren’t people I know here: Corinna Eligor, and a few others I recognise from Versailles. Representatives from Darkwing and Karanlik have arrived, too, their ships spotted offshore a couple of days ago, their coaches joining the others this evening. They’ve greeted me, unofficially, Darkwing’s manner friendly yet distant, Karanlik more effusive. It’s progress, I suppose. I spot Deryck Vindhof in the crowd. He winks at me, outrageous as usual. He danced with me last night, dipping me and twirling me, making me laugh.
Perhaps he wouldn’t be a bad choice for lieutenant. I have to choose someone tomorrow night, and I’ve been mulling over the very short list of options. Whoever I pick needs to be aligned with my views, and willing to work with me to change things for humans. But they also need to be noble, and strategically connected. Mistral have held the role several times, most recently for my mother, but they’re not an option. Ravenko have also done so, in the past, but Stefan is unsuitable for obvious reasons. I like Deryck, he seems to like me, and I think there could be real friendship there. I just wish I knew more about his politics. And that he didn’t remind me so much of Michael.
I’m about to stand when there’s a rustle of anticipation, spreading through the dancing crowd like a wave. I sit up, craning my head.
Joaquin. He heads towards me, his entourage following, all rippling power. My parents are also on their way but he arrives before they do, waiting at the base of the stairs, his dark gaze on me. I stand, but otherwise don’t move. I don’t know the steps of this dance, and don’t want to get it wrong.
‘Emelia Raven.’ Joaquin’s voice rings out. The rustling crowd becomes quieter. ‘I come to offer you Jaguar’s support. But also, on a more personal level, I wish to tell you this.’ He puts one foot on the first step. I stare at the curving strength of his thigh, his broad shoulders.
‘I come to pay court to you, lovely Raven. To repair what once was broken. What do you say?’ His mouth curves at one corner. I remember how it felt to kiss him there.
Oh, he is absolutely what I need.
He holds out his hand. I descend the stairs to take it. And we enter the dance.
Dancing with Joaquin is as it was at Versailles, his strength overwhelming. I don’t mind, really. Not when I’m pressed against his muscular chest, his violet and musk scent curling around me, that sensual mouth so close to mine. After a few songs someone taps my shoulder. Joaquin pauses, raising an eyebrow.
‘May I cut in?’ The cool voice awakens memories, of a dark nightclub and a bone-crushing embrace. And Kyle, protecting me.
I glance at Joaquin. He shrugs. ‘If you’re all right with it, then I am.’
I turn. Stella Ravenna, my cousin, is standing there. ‘Stella. How nice to see you again.’
‘And you.’ She smiles, and I can see her trying to make it sincere. I wait. ‘My father said he saw you at Versailles.’
‘That’s right. He told me you missed me. And I thought that was weird, because we never hang out.’
