Page 92 of Blood Curse

Bryony moved closer to my side. She didn’t hide behind me. She also didn’t pretend twenty-three hungry newcomers were harmless.

I picked up one of the sealed bottles left on the table and broke the wax.

“Stay where you are.”

I used the same voice I had used for rooms and blankets. The Crown didn’t touch it. The vampires stopped because the alternative was hurting someone who had just crossed the country to join them.

I carried the open bottle to the dark-haired man. His eyes had gone black around the irises. He kept both hands locked at his sides.

“Take it,” I said.

His fingers shook when they closed around the glass.

“I nearly moved.”

“You stopped.”

“She stopped me.”

“Then remember to do the same for her.”

He drank. The tightness in his face eased after the first swallow.

Mara opened three more bottles and pushed them across the table. The vampires who had fed earlier passed them towards the newcomers instead of keeping them. One glass went from hand to hand until it reached the woman on the bench. Another went to the man with the cracked chair under his fist.

Nobody waited for me to assign the work. Someone brought a basin for Elias. Two others wiped the blood from the floor before the scent could spread. A vampire from the first group gathered the wet coats and carried them towards the laundry passage, grumbling when muddy water ran down both sleeves.

The Night Hall changed around us.

It still held old tables, dark stone and the memory of a court that had failed. Now a woman swore while Elias stitched her leg. Someone upstairs shouted that they had found the room with dead roses. Laughter answered from two corridors at once.

Harrowmere sounded inhabited.

For the first time since I had returned, it felt that way too.

“Good,” I said. “Mara, take the blankets. Bryony, come downstairs with me.”

Mara relieved the maid of the stack and pointed her back towards the kitchen. The girl left quickly, though she managed one curious glance at Bryony’s Crown on her way.

The blood cellar sat under the north stairs. Stone shelves covered three walls, each packed with dark sealed bottles. Adrian had stored enough to survive an attack. He had also kept the best stock on the highest shelves, as if hunger respected rank.

I took down six bottles and passed them to Bryony.

“Am I helping or being used as a trolley?” she asked.

“Both.”

“At least you’re honest.”

Mara came down behind us carrying empty glasses. “I counted. We have enough for three nights if everyone drinks sensibly.”

“They’ve crossed half the country,” Bryony said. “Sensible can wait.”

“Two nights, then.”

“Order more,” I said.

“Already done. The regular supplier can deliver tomorrow after dark.”