Page 151 of Blood Curse

“Good.” She kissed me, slow and satisfied.

Her smile warmed me more than the fire.

We stayed in bed until the light outside faded and Bryony’s pulse settled. She ate again. I listened to her complain about the broth, then watched her finish it.

A quiet knock came at the outer door.

Mara spoke without entering. “The court is gathering for blood in an hour. Attendance remains optional, including yours.”

Bryony looked at me.

“You can stay,” I said.

“I know. I want to see how they live when the Crown isn’t making a spectacle of it. If my pulse changes, I leave.”

The Crown gave no response while Bryony chose to attend the court’s ordinary blood gathering.

27

BRYONY

The blood cellar looked less threatening when nobody was starving in it.

Dark bottles filled the stone shelves, but Mara had sorted them into neat rows and marked the dates in chalk. Two empty crates waited by the stairs. Clean glasses stood upside down on a long table, and a bucket of sand had appeared beside a stack of cloths for spills.

It looked like a pub cellar run by people who considered murder an annoying waste of stock.

Stellan came down the last step beside me. He had tied his silver hair back, exposing the sharp lines of his face and the concern he was trying not to turn into an argument.

“If you change your mind, we leave.”

“I know.”

Mara lifted a bottle from the middle shelf. “Black wax first?”

Stellan took the crate from Elias. “Which stock is safest to open?”

“The black wax. It was sealed before Adrian started buying whatever he could find.” Elias added, “The Crown reacts to open blood. If the hunger changes, say so early.”

“I will.”

Elias kept his attention on me.

“I mean it,” I added.

The Crown sat cold against my scalp. The smell in the cellar was faint while the bottles remained closed. I could feel the blood inside them anyway, dozens of dark little weights pressing at the edges of my attention.

I didn’t want to drink any of it.

The Crown did.

Stellan watched my face. “Still all right?”

“Yes.”

I picked up two glasses and carried them upstairs. Stellan took the crate, and nobody tried to remove the glasses from my hands as if human fingers had become decorative.

The Night Hall had changed again. Fires burned at both ends. Court members had dragged the long tables away from the dais and arranged them in loose groups. Some sat with coats thrown over chair backs. Others stood near the windows, talking over one another while bottles and glasses moved between them.