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“No notturno is strong enough to wield a compulsion that’s effective on my sister.”
“Then we wait for the report from the dungeons,” the commander says. “It would be helpful if you would confirm by reading her memories.”
“What makes you think I haven’t?”
“Well, what did you get?” I ask.
“He calls himself Nottuza,” my brother says.
Damn, he’s gotten so good at mind reading, I couldn’t even feel the intrusion. Usually, I feel Et’enne’s magic like a prick behind the eye or pressure in the brain.
“That’s right,” I say.
“Except, he’s a fraud. Nottuza is long gone, so long that most notturnos don’t even remember him. The only reason I recognize the name you call him by is because Professor Piston obsessed over the history of the vampire race.”
“Because he himself was a vampire,” I say.
My brother smiles. “I didn’t think you remembered him. In any case, Nottuza is long dead.”
“Hefeelsold, Et’enne.”
“How so?” the commander asks.
“I don’t know. I can’t explain it other than that he feels old. Besides, his fae language is harsh and accented.”
“That could be because he spent time away from the fae courts,” D’Artaron argues.
“It’s not him,” my brother says.
“How can you be sure?” I ask. “Some vampires are over a thousand turns old. Not many, but there are some.”
“Nottuza is the first fae to have risen from the dead and become a vampire. The entire race of people are named after him. Notturnos.” Et’enne moves to sit down, and we sit with him. My brother starts sipping from my champagne. “June is talking in my head.” He taps his temple, indicating he’s communicating with his fae-ted mate telepathically. “Says hi. She wants me to tell you a story about this male.” Et’enne purses his lips while listening to the fate who sees all that’s come to pass.
Impatient, I start tapping the table, then get another drink.
“Speak!” I screech, and plop onto the chair. I lean toward him.
Just as my brother opens his mouth, El’jah bursts onto the terrace covered in a rainbow of pixie glitter and wearing leather pants and a long pink wig. A papier-mâché unicorn horn sticks out from his forehead.
“Grab a chair,” I say.
He sits at the other end of the table where our mother used to sit. She’s no longer living with us in the court since she snatched Et’enne’s queen a while back. My brother is crazy about June, and my mother isn’t.
“We’re having a family get-together and it’s not about food, so one of us is getting bartered, Fleur. Or both of us.” El’jah peels off his thick fake eyebrows, one then the other. Once done, he rubs his forehead. “Are you selling me and Fleur to the kings in the lands unknown?” El’jah whispers playfully. “Please let it be just her, for I never want to be sold to the king. I don’t kneel for guys. Just girls.” He pouts. “When they beg nicely.”
Et’enne massages his temples. “So you won’t tell me?” he asks out loud, but we know he’s talking to June.
“She has to!” I screech again. “She must.” I must know who this vampire is, or I’ll drive myself crazy looking for answers. I dislike mysteries. And where are the commander’s people to confirm I’m not making up the dungeon escape story?
El’jah grips the unicorn horn and pulls. “Ouch.” He pulls again and scratches his face. The horn’s not coming off. “The little girl glued it on permanently, it seems.”
“Little girl?” I prompt.
“An actual child. I made a round at the school today. Et’enne is making me work.” El’jah keeps picking at the base of the horn.
“How dare he?” I mock.
D’Artaron comes around the table and grips the horn. He rips it away, a piece of El’jah’s skin coming away with it.
