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He concluded she was twenty, just invoked her blood. She may very well have come to the ball to seek him out. He and Morbid were the only males who carried a shard of Darkness. Did she mean to ask him to see her through her Ceremony of Blood and lose her nerve?
After a woman invoked her blood, she could see what was necessary to survive her ceremony. If she survived, the woman would raise with a tendril, capable of healing or injuring as she chose. During the ritual, women surrendered their virginity and plummeted toward the Darkness. The darker her shard, the harder she fell. A trusted court member or a blood priest or priestess performing the ritual would breach her and keep her from falling until the danger passed.
He’d seen to one ceremony more than twenty centuries ago. Lyssa requested their court see her through her ritual. The duty would fall to the darkest unattached court member. Belind brewed a concoction that roused his body to comply, but Lyssa had been ritual. He did what was needed and left her bed when the danger passed.
His night breeze would be different. He would worship and honor her. The brewed concoction he’d once taken to rouse his body would be unnecessary with her.
Rune phased to his research suite within the palace. His surroundings faded in the blink of an eye, and his suite came into sharp focus. He stood in a large well-lit room with tall arching ceilings. Large ornately carved double doors swept up the wall. The carved railings and bookshelves both matched the door’s design.
A long, gilded table was the dominating piece of furniture here, near a few steps leading to a raised platform. A carved banister separated it from the ground level. Against the wall of the platform were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves containing the tomes Rune selected himself or requested from the librarians.
While considered fashionable to Artithians, Rune found the architecture garish. Preferring his keep with its gray stone walls. He sat at the head of the table, neatly arranging the books beside him.
He leased this suite from the reigning Artithian house. Over the twenty centuries he kept this room, he’d seen the ruling house change a number of times. Some had been peaceful, an old king without heirs abdicating his throne for a strong relative to take his place. Others were bloody.
Rune paid little attention to the affairs of mortals. They aged and died within a minuscule amount of time. No different than animals.
He opened the shard registry, reading over the entries. Reviewing every entry dating back the last two weeks, he noticed she wasn’t listed. He’d read it again to be sure.
Her family could have bribed the archivists to keep her from ending up on the lists dark courts purchased for recruitment, but she would still be recorded. Rune phased back to the bookshelf holding the most recent shard registries. He brushed his fingertips along the spines, searching for the shard registries specific to Artithia.
Rune pulled the book when he found it and leaned back on the carved railing behind him. He flipped the pages open, reviewing the Artithian entries. She had to be here.
Hours passed as he poured over every entry made during the past three months. His fingers grazed over the pages as he read. Rune rolled his stiff neck. How could she be this strong and not be documented?
Lancing pain shot through his skull and Rune’s fangs lengthened.
The Ra’Voshnik broke from its confines to circle Rune’s mind, growling its displeasure.Tear the bird king’s wings from his back,it grated.
Be silent,Rune growled at the creature as a second stabbing pain seared his mind. The High Council was led by the short-lived. A safeguard Belind put in place.They help keep perspective. She decreed.
Rune lost track of time looking for his night breeze. His meeting with the High Council was overdue. Be damned if the Artithian King ever learned to communicate through Rune’s talisman instead of channeling power through it. Spelling it to share the pain he caused could prove to be a motivational tool.Or an act of war depending on the bird king’s mood.
Rune sent a warning growl to silence the bird king and returned to his research suite. He reached across the tether to his night breeze and withdrew when he felt her metal shielding remained in place. That she kept a tether to his mind but refused to communicate with him perplexed him. If she visited him again tonight, he would learn her name.
He debated asking for a listing of all dark-bloods from the past week and decided against it. That he intended to court a woman would provide Necromia with ample gossip. He didn’t need that fire lit before he had a chance to pen a letter of intent to her.
Rune ran his hand through his hair, reminding himself she recently came into her power. He needed patience. The newly documented dark-blooded entries would update tomorrow. The scribes were typically a week behind. Recording the backlist into a spelled tome, then updating each copy linked to it. Rune vanished the heavy leather-bound book so it would travel with him unseen.
He phased, materializing at the center of an airy building separate from the Artithian palace. The open-air, domed structure served as the meeting place for the High Council.
The white and gold constant throughout Artithian architecture gleamed in the sunlight. Rune inherited his mother and father’s blood. He was a Pure Blood like his mother, but his father’s blood laced him to Hell and allowed him to walk in the sun. While uncomfortable, Rune didn’t burn like others of his kind.
He knelt in protocol on the raised, circular platform called The Eyes. A long, narrow table followed the platform bending in a half-circle. Rows of seats provided space for anyone who wished to witness court announcements, bindings, or blood debts.
Today the large domed building held no audience. A private meeting between Rune and the High Council. Rulers of each realm made up the committee, seated at their table at the edge of The Eyes. Rune assumed his father’s mantle as Hell’s ruler but held no interest in serving on the High Council. As a compromise, Rune’s younger brother Jareth served in his stead.
“Shadow Prince.” Jha’ant, the Artithian King, spoke his title in protocol.
Rune rose, canting his head and said, “Apologies for my tardiness.”
Jha’ant cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “I’ve grown concerned. There has been no progress against The Crumbling.”
Rune never cared for explaining himself, never tolerated the opinion of a short-lived creature. He obeyed the High Council Belind created so long ago because honoring the way they ruled was all he had left of them. “I exhaust myself on the matter.” Rune said, thinning his lips as he pinned Jha’ant with his gaze. “Destroying a realm would be a less daunting task.”
The Artithian King averted his gaze and turned to Morbid. “You assigned him to the task. Is it beyond his capability?”
Kill the talking bird,the Ra’Voshnik growled through his mind.
