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“Then you’d better keep going. Take your crown and remember to reward our bravery later. The spear of Denvato is with you.”
“Honor her memory instead,” Amir said, appearing next to us like a ghost, in blue robes and a single black feather against his bare chest. “Denvato will take care of itself.”
“Deal,” I said.
I took a last look across the sweeping rooftops of the citadel down below; the gilded domes lit by fires, the streets filled with blood and screams. Rolling dark clouds fought the bright gleam of the crescent moon, in the moody night sky above me. I let my lungs fill with the smoky night air, as if I was preparing to dive underwater. And then I returned into the royal palace to finish what I’d started.
21
Iretraced my steps, through the broken door into Jessica’s posh apartment, until I found a long, wide corridor filled with gold paintings and marble busts, leading to a large engraved door.
I pushed the heavy doors open, my sharp eyes adjusting to the darkness, careful for more traps. I dragged the sword behind me, letting it scrape, listening to the echo on the empty walls. The silhouette of my torn dress was framed in the arched marble doorway.
The throne room was so large I had to squint to make out the distant features. Eerie red emergency lights blinked in pulses, illuminating tall gothic ceilings, marble pillars and a long red carpet leading to a raised alcove, trimmed with ornamental decorations of embossed gold.
It was a slightly cozier version of the renewal center, with narrow ironwork windows instead of stained glass, and empty stretches of smooth stone instead of tight rows of wooden pews. This was the king’s private chamber, visited only by trusted allies or groveling sycophants. But I had the feeling Nigel had stripped the walls bare, in preparation for his own dominion.
Pale blue moonlight came through the windows, casting muted patterns across the stone floor. Nigel sat alone on the raised alcove in the center, on a tall leather seat made of oak and black velvet. More modern than a throne, but with the same authority. A crooked crown of jagged black iron framed his temple, and his furry cape was lined with gold and red satin. He looked like a shiny ring in a cushioned box.
The line of curates around him scattered or hid, scuttling away in their dark robes, their curls and ornaments bouncing. But Nigel seemed in no hurry to press on with his ceremony, studying me as I approached. Was it already over? Was I too late? I followed the red carpet, looking up at the golden hanging chandeliers, their bulbs black, expecting an ambush from above. Soft music was playing, like an organ hymnal, but I couldn’t see a band and it felt distant.
As I rounded a pillar, I saw the toothy smirk of an elite with long hair and fine garments, but he faded into the shadows. The scent of elixir was strong, but not overwhelming, and mixed with incense. I guessed there were only a handful of elite in the room, including Nigel. I counted them, standing in the shadows, their eyes bright. Pale faces withdrawn. But none of them attacked. They were waiting for something. For me.
Which meant, Nigel was going to fight this battle alone. Had our plans worked, or were there more elite on our side than I’d guessed? Maybe they were just waiting to see who won. Maybe they could still be swayed.
“Red,” Nigel said, with a condescending glare towards my gown. “How gauche. Tobias’s idea I suppose, meant to show the triumph of human blood over vampire magic. Sorry, but that’s not going to happen. You have no idea how powerful we are.”
“I have some idea,” I said, raising my sword. Nigel leaned back lazily, as if he were already bored with my audience. The gold threads sparkled from his dark suit when he moved. His black hair was pulled back away from his brow, giving his face a bony, stern look. With the scar and milky eye, he looked older than I remembered. He could have covered it up, I realized, but he didn’t. It was part of his costume.
“I see you got all dressed up for your performance, as well. Too bad nobody else showed up.”
“No matter, it was pageantry anyway. You’re right, there’s no use performing anymore. The compounds are mine, I own them. Like chickens you keep in a pen; you take their eggs until you feel like wings. Some you let breed. Some you eat for breakfast, others for dinner. The kingdom is mine. As you can see, the curates have already crowned me.”
“That’s not a crown, it’s a can opener.”
“As my first royal decree,” he said, ignoring me, “arrest this treasonous whore.”
He waved his hand and a line of soldiers filed in from the sides, and a handful of elite blocked my exit through the main door behind me. The soldiers were strong men, with black capes and swords, but even with five drops of elixir, they were no match for me. Any more and they’d go mad, and probably turn on Nigel, consumed by thirst. I checked my wrist, before remembering I’d removed my bracelet earlier. No more measured doses. Just all of him against all of me. I sipped more elixir anyway, tossing the empty vial to shatter just as the first guard lunged at me.
I stepped under his blow and punched him in the nose. It felt like a tap to me, but his head snapped back hard enough to send him tumbling into the corner. The next I sidestepped as he swung, then kicked his sword away, and without planting my foot, twisted around and kicked the next in the chest. He spun backward, taking out two guards behind him.
The rest of the soldiers paused, circling nervously with their swords raised toward my throat. I blew my hair out of my eyes, with a dagger and a sword in each hand.
“How’s Damien?” Nigel called, still seated in his makeshift throne.
“He’ll live, which is more than I can say for you.”
“You think you can take me?” he smiled.
“Let’s find out,” I shrugged. “You feeling lucky?”
“Silly girl, a king doesn’t fight his own battles.”
He snapped his fingers, and a row of young girls appeared. I didn’t recognize them, but I could see the elixir burning in their remaining eye. The other was covered by a black patch, that matched their loose, dark lace gowns, thin as negligees. Their skin was painted with red and gold decorations, that glistened from their cheeks and arms.
“My little spy told me all about your visit,” Nigel said, curling his finger to the side. Rivka appeared to stand behind him, in a fancy black ballgown. “She came straight to me, of course, and told me everything.”
Rivka batted her eyelashes at him and he stroked her hand.
