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“From what I hear through my connections, the Underground Queen is indeed remarkable. Are the rumors true that she was a bishop’s consort until she spurned his advances, and he transported her husband and four sons to a blood farm?”
I nod, thrilled at the leader’s history. “Yes, and she went to that farm and slaughtered all the overseers and freed everyone! She is a miracle to many, including me.”
My eyes fall, and I sense my Halo dimming because I haven’t contacted her over the past couple of months. Mom insisted on Verena accompanying me on all my missions. I spoke to Jesula once on my last.
So much of me has felt on autopilot—whether sleeping whole uninterrupted nights without another body in bed, listening to reports to hear if Neo returned from his honeymoon, spending my days touring the Tenth Court and subsequent Court O’ Nines castles, and uniting more with Nita and Quillion.
The carriage descends. Outside the window, we draw closer to those Iron Walls where hundreds of vampire blood pawns and knights act as border patrol, especially near the gates. I set my jaw, muscles tensing.
“Thank you for sharing part of your history with me, Elysia.”
Quillion doesn’t ask for anything else, but he does shift his ascot and unbuttons his collar to reveal a portion of his chest. I’d once viewed the scarified stripes on his flesh upon our first meeting due to the blood bath circumstances, but now, he willingly reveals those stripes. I part my lips, marveling.
“I know you have your scars, too, Princess. Even if none can see them. But as one who had a whip used on his flesh until the marks sealed permanently, I can attest that we need more Elysias in this world who care.”
I rub my lips together and curl my fingers toward his skin, seeking the windows of my friend’s soul. Quillion nods, granting his assent. Gratitude overwhelms me at his sharing of his trauma. I roam my fingers across the raised flesh of his scars and feel his rushed intake of breath, his silver veins awakening. For the first time since I’ve known him, Quillion’s fangs emerge from his gums. I don’t retreat quite yet and trace the trenches of his brands even after his pupils dilate with a crimson storm.
“Forgive me, Elysia. Dominix was the only other I’d ever allowed to touch them.” I lower my head and let the heaviness of his revelation settle upon me, honor in that heaviness. He inhales again and then buttons his collar, prompting my fingers to retreat. I whimper at the knowledge, a tear tumbling down my cheek.
“Your husband…”
“My bondmate, yes.” He binds his ascot back in place and surrenders more knowledge to me, a portion of his history. “He was also human.”
I lift my brows, my lips parting in surprise. “The whole time?”
“All 56 years that I was faithful to him until his death.” He chuckles as if recalling an inside joke. “He insisted on my burning his body and scattering his ashes where we first said our vows. He said if I took one drop of his corpse blood, then he’d be the personal Cathy to my Heathcliff.”
“Well…” I shrug and flick his ruffled ascot before giving him a kiss, “you certainly look the part. In Kitty’s words: flouncy old fossil. Thank you for sharing with me, Quill.”
“It was Father who whipped me, Elysia,” Quillion alerts me while the carriage rumbles to a stop.
I nod. “I had my suspicions. And Neo—”
“Advocated for me, yes. Would you like to know why?” A hint of a smile tugs one corner of his mouth, a contrast to the shadows around his eyes from his trauma. Heart in my throat, I cup his shoulder and peer up at him from beneath my eager lashes. “Every time he whipped me, I retched all over Father’s boots. Didn’t matter that I’d bowed before him a hundred times at his festivities, vomiting was my brand of defiance. And Neo loved it.”
The Neo I know. I have to believe he’s in there somewhere. He and Quillion are still friends. Neo still loves Nita. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, Neo exists and not merely Neoptolemus, Prince of Destruction. I am battling with one of his masks.
Somehow, I must remind him that I am where the mask doesn’t exist, but something deep inside my core fears I won’t be able to use the same methods as before. I won’t be able to trade fire and blood or lightning. A deep spark of holy fire ignites within me.
“No wonder you don’t like the parties.” I bite my lip, understanding why Quillion refused to attend Neo’s Court Tax celebrations. Then, I remember my encounters with the Father, and I use his shoulder for leverage and murmur jubilation in his ear, “So, you and I have one big thing in common, Quill. I also vomited on the Father’s boots!” With flutters in my chest, I giggle and reach for the door handle with Quillion following me outside…to the overwhelming scent ofdeath.
The gaiety in the carriage shatters, bowing to the stench. The same feces, iron of blood, the salt of sweat, and flame and smoke from the human blood farms. Except this is magnified by a hundred!
Countless Tenth Court knights and bounty hunters fly beyond the Walls to gather the healthiest and the youngest and transport them beyond the Walls. Many parents willingly surrender their littles, hoping they will have a better chance at life—any chance. Hosts of others are ripped from their arms.
Some elite vampire groups from the Court O’ Nines form volunteer parties to drop care packages, but they are few and far between.
I hone my vampire vision so it feels like my eyes cross an abyss of souls. On the border of choking, I stare at the small pockets of landfills where the dead have been compiled, where some knights are setting fire to those pockets, scattering their ashes to the wind.
Regret consumes me, and I bow my head, wondering if their souls are already lost to Limbo. While Quillion receives a report from a blood pawn, their voices fade as I wade into emotions of loss, rage, hurt, and guilt. I settle most upon lament. Sweeping my gaze across the tent city, my gut clenches at the expanse of haggard bodies huddled closer to each other around a legion of bonfires to battle the bitter chill in the air.
A million twinkle lights…
Heart slamming against my chest with my Empath merging with the righteous fire of my Halo, I stand upon the iron balcony and curl my fingers around the railing. Masses flick their heads to me, bodies twisting. Dozens more emerge from their tents while others forsake their bonfires to stare at me. What? All my breath turns ragged and shallow. Lungs constricting from the emotion, I struggle for air.
Quillion touches my back and leans over to express, “It’s the first time one of Neo’s brides has ever come to the border.”
I refuse to cry because these people don’t need my tears. I steel myself, breathing in deeply. They need my hands. They need the Halo in my heart. Though I can’t take my eyes off the assemblies below me, I battle all those emotions surging through me.
