‘I can help with that, too,’ my father says. ‘And your mother will need to be informed when she returns.’
A short while later I leave the War Room, feeling wrung out. Punishment has been agreed, Raven guards dispatched to break apart the hunts. A statement is being prepared for the press. All I can do, really. Now I need to feed, and perhaps go for a walk to clear my head. But, as I head down the hallway, a hand catches my elbow. I turn, expecting to see Joaquin. But it’s Michael.
‘What do you want?’ The words snap out more fiercely than I mean.
His brow lowers. ‘We have a conversation to finish.’
‘We do not.’ I keep my voice low, aware of nearby guards, of other ears that could be listening. ‘At least, not here.’
‘Then when? Where?’ His hand is warm on my arm.
‘I don’t know.’ My voice gets louder on the last word.
He leans in closer, almost as though he’s going to kiss me. My heart skips a beat. But all he does is murmur the words ‘I’ll be waiting, then,’ before releasing me and walking away.
I watch him go, my breath catching in my throat. Then I realise Bertrand is waiting, and turn on my heel, walking in the other direction. After about ten minutes of pacing the long hallways, I realise I left the book I wanted in the War Room. With a sigh, I head back there, Bertrand still in tow.
When I open the door, the room is dark. That’s odd. I’m sure we left a candle lamp on. There’s enough light from the hallway to gild the relief map on the table, the faint glitter of blades on the wall.
‘I won’t be a moment,’ I say to Bertrand, taking a step into the room. I touch the switch but nothing happens. Something moves in the shadows. I turn, but the door is pulled shut behind me, separating me from Bertrand. I hear him cry out. And I’m in darkness.
I’m also dead.
ChapterThirty-Four
JUST A GAME
But as I think this, I’m already moving. I fling myself towards the wall, reaching out, tapping into that extra sense of seeing in the dark that Joaquin helped me unleash. My hand closes over the hilt of a sword and I pull it free, swinging it in front of me. It’s so much lighter than the practice blade that it feels almost effortless, the steel part of me.
There’s a curse. A hand closes around my throat, pinning me to the wall. My heart pounds, adrenalin coursing through me like lightning. There are thuds outside the room, more shouting. The hand around my throat tightens, lifting me so my feet leave the floor. Fetid breath fans across my face, the scent of violets. Gasping, I change my grasp on the sword hilt. I think of Michael, his hands gentle on mine, taking me through the motion of the strike. And I bring the blade up, hard.
There’s a scream. Liquid spatters my feet, and I slide down the wall as my attacker releases me.
The door flies open with a crash. ‘Emelia!’ Joaquin’s voice is a howl of rage. Faint golden light from the hallway illuminates a scene of devastation.
I’m sprawled, panting, in a pool of rapidly spreading blood. A black-clad vampire is curled next to me, groaning, bleeding heavily from a deep wound to his stomach. I can’t seem to move, or breathe, gripping my sword so tightly the hilt cuts into my fingers.
Joaquin glances from me to the other vampire, surprise flashing in his dark gaze. I realise, with a start, that it’s one of Joaquin’s entourage, faint light catching his jade earring. With a growl Joaquin picks him up, tearing him limb from limb in an absolute frenzy. Blood sprays, and I flinch from it, sobbing. There are a lot of guards around us now. One tries to take my sword, but I don’t want to let go. Then I hear my father’s voice.
‘Where is she?’
He enters the room, eyes widening as he takes in the gore spattered up the walls. He crouches next to me, cupping my chin. I flinch, despite his gentle touch.
‘Emelia.’ His voice is so soft. ‘Look at me.’
I wrench my gaze from the horrors around me. I’m shaking so much my teeth chatter, but I don’t know if that’s because I’m sitting in a pool of blood. I focus on my father, on his lean features, his eyes filled with love, the small crease between his eyebrows that I know means he’s worried about me. My breath starts to slow.
Guards mill around us, removing the body, bringing in cloths to soak up the blood. Joaquin squats nearby, his hands dangling between his legs, his expression distant. I suppose he’s just lost a friend. I still don’t really understand what happened.
My father gently uncurls my stiff fingers from the sword. He lays it to one side, his eyes never leaving mine. ‘You’re safe now. Will you let me help you stand?’
I nod. He takes my hands in his and rises, bringing me with him. I shudder as my skirt touches my legs, the damp folds sticky. I retch suddenly, reminded of Jessie, the scent of violets sickening. My father holds me up, rubbing my back.
‘Can you walk?’
Another nod. I will not be carried. Not here.
‘What in darkness is this!’ Varin’s voice. ‘Prince Joaquin, what has happened here?’
