Samara
Pythia startled out ofher trance, blinking at us in confusion, and immediately sped away from us. The oracle ignored my whispered plea, and only Demos’s hand stopped me from chasing after her.
That, and the frantic realization that, even if I asked her to elaborate, with Demos listening to every word, she might say something about my necromancy.
Millions dead at my feet. Bile rose in my throat. What had she seen? Dead witches, voids? Dead vampires? The threat to hang me was disturbing, but I didn’t expect to live long. I only hoped to survive long enough to make a difference.
But I might make things far worse.
“Sometimes it’s like that with Thea,” Demos said with a cautious look down the hallway once the door shut behind us.
I was surprised he’d offered that. It almost sounded like reassurance, but I wasn’t comforted. “The cryptic weird voice thing?” I tried to make light, as if her words weren’t obviously weighing on me.
“Thea’s can be even more dramatic.” His mouth twitched up, though his gaze remained focused ahead.
I tried to recall any instances of Thea acting like that. “I hadn’t noticed it.” Sometimes she made comments about seeing things, but that was all. I wished I’d asked her more about the magic. Being a void, it had always felt like an off-limits topic.
“She’s gotten better at controlling it over the years. It’s rare, and usually involves visions of corpses. Sometimes mine.”
“And that doesn’t concern you?”Millions dead at your feetwasn’t exactly a comforting fortune.
He shrugged. “I don’t presume to know how their magic works, but I do know I won’t be turning into a corpse on my second death. You’ve seen vampires die the second death before, right?”
“Yes.” I’d seen them. Killed one. They disintegrated into dust, like all the years caught up with them at once.
“It’s probably more figurative. Perhaps being a vampire inherently makes the magic more difficult to understand.”
I didn’t believe Demos, but I ached for him to be right. We returned to the chamber without any books. Demos stayed in the main room, so I helped myself to the book Raphael had left out on his side of the bed, curling up against the pillows. I told myself I’d picked his side because it was closest to the book and I couldn’t be bothered to move, not because of the way his cedar scent still clung to the pillows, and it made me feel a bit comforted after Pythia’s words of death.
The book was, of all things, an adventure novel. I’d gotten a few chapters in when Raphael returned. Demos left with only a few words to his king about our trip to the library, none of them about the strange encounter with the oracle or our meeting with Sir Ferro.
When Raphael crossed the threshold to our bedroom, his gaze flicked from me to his book in my hands. I snapped it shut and slipped it back onto the table.
“I was just borrowing it.” I pointed to a stray piece of ribbon I’d tucked in the book. “I saved your page.”
Raphael looked much the same as when he’d left this morning, but I sensed there was still something off. Not nervousness, nothing as crass as anger. Just a hint of tension stretched over his shoulders and jawline.
“You know you’re welcome to any of my belongings.”
DidI know that? I threw my legs over the side of the bed and stood to avoid replying. At the same time, Raphael pulled a cloak from my closet.
We were going out, apparently. I didn’t protest. At least, I didn’t protest until he led us from the castle without an escort and over to a long white-stone building with a familiar wooden sign hanging off the entrance.
A blood den. I swallowed sharply. I’d agreed to live like a vampire in exchange for Raphael’s help breaking the bond. I needed his cooperation to be able to flee. But could I drink from someone else? I still felt so out of control when I drank. What if I hurt them?
“I’m not thirsty,” I said to Raphael when he stopped us in front of the entrance. It was true. Normally, the thirst was unending, but after having his blood earlier in the day, the ravenous ache was still held at bay.
“That’s fine.”
“Raphael,” I hissed. “I don’t want to drink from any donors. Please. I’ve gone along with everything else.”
He paused before the entrance and turned back to me. He towered over me, red eyes almost glowing. “I don’t want you drinking their blood either. We’re here for something else.”
The words were the barest comfort as we entered. Raphael spoke to the hostess, who smiled wide enough to show the tips of her fangs while I studied the surroundings. It was a different incarnation of what I’d seen in Damerel. Luxurious fabrics on every surface, pillows and low couches lining the hall, with several doors dotting the walls. Most were closed, but a few were open, with men and women perched against the doorframes.
One of the men winked at me, and I turned my attention back to the hostess, who was now gesturing for us to follow her down a different hallway.
The hostess led us to an empty room, with a promise to send someone in momentarily. There was no bed in the room, but there was a chaise lounge with an impressively impractical number of pillows on it, each embroidered with bright blue and white thread. The marble floor was covered with a rug of the same colors with an intricate pattern. Not a drop of red to be seen anywhere.
