Chapter 26
SERA
Charles and I step back into the ballroom just as a gong resounds. The noise echoes through my skull.
If I was born under a blood moon and Charles’s theory is right, then I should be long dead. Yet somehow, I am still breathing. I have debuted in Society and spent two Seasons watching from the fringes before I found my way to the damned ball in Mayfair. Have they known all along? Did they drag me to Nighthaven and now Bath, all so they could kill me at the right moment?
I look frantically around the room for Nate. It is too much to speak into his mind. I need to stand in front of him and ask how the Court haven’t hunted me down and ripped me apart.
Ask whether he knew what he was doing when he chose me that night.
Perhaps they made a mistake. There is a chance that I slipped through the net and the Court tried to rectify it by having me pledge to the Blackwoods. Maybe Ambrose was meant to kill me. Or perhaps Valeria was going to do it herself until she realised I was bonded to her grandson and it would mean he would die too.
“Sera, I have to go back to Nikolai,” Charles murmurs. “But if you intend to come to the house, I might have an idea.”
“I need answers, Charles. I should like to look for them myself.”
“Very well. When the first trial is underway, all vampires will gather in the arena to watch. They will be distracted. Nikolai has already told me that human pledges may not observe.” He leans down, as if he would bid me farewell, and lowers his voice. “I will send word to Mrs Hawley with the arrangements. But the night of the first trial, be ready.”
As he walks away, I see him change back into the young gentleman Nikolai has demanded of him. He is all grins and clapped shoulders and booming, too-loud laughs. It does not suit him. It is like he has tried Rafe’s skin on for size and found it puddling at his ankles.
Around me, the vampires move towards the octagonal room Charles and I have just come from. I am swept up with them, pushed and cajoled until I am against a wall, penned in by monsters.
Inside, a line of the Tournament’s competitors carves a path down the middle of the room. They stand in front of the altar, waiting, and my breathing evens out a little when I see Nate and Rafe join it.
They are watched on all sides by the thirteen familiar thrones — their House banners hanging from the ceiling above them. There are other banners, too. Dozens of them. Names and crests and symbols I have never seen before. Each noble House seems to be represented, even if they do not have a seat at Court. It is an illusion, I suppose — that anyone might rise if they are strong enough.
I search the crowd for Lizzie and any signs of Agnes, but there is a steady stream of vampires pushing their way into the room and I can see neither of them.
Stand under the Blackwood banner. Valeria will want you and Elizabeth there to demonstrate our strength.
The warmth of Nate’s voice in my head is a relief. Of late, the bond has driven me to distraction with its relentless demands, but it has become a comfort, too. Perhaps this is why I haven’t felt compelled to break it — the tie between us might be the only thing that has kept me alive.
Nate spots me and our eyes meet.
What about Agnes?
Valeria sent her home. She would have put anyone off pledging for us.
What do you mean?
Charlotte has been taking too much, but Valeria has stepped in. She cannot let anything happen to her when Juliette died for less.
Guilt churns my stomach. It is a familiar feeling now, one that I hate. But it is strong nonetheless. I should have done more to help Agnes — burst through the door at the Crescent and demanded to see her.
I can feel your heartbeat, witchling. All will be well. We will speak when the ceremony is over — before you get any grand ideas about running off to House Azarov.
I wipe my top lip free of the beads of sweat pooling there. Nate needs to be calm for the ceremony — he has to pledge to Valeria without ripping her head from her shoulders. I cannot give him another reason to be furious. And he will only try to stop me if I explain why I need to be the one to go to the Azarov’s archives.
I move and stand beneath the Blackwood banner. Lizzie joins me. We do not look at Valeria, but keep our eyes firmly fixed on Rafe and Nate, who wait their turn at the altar draped in crimson velvet. It glitters with golden candelabras, their soft, flickering flames casting their light onto a large chalice and a long, ornately carved blade.
When the room stills, Genevieve Rassard’s voice echoes through the chamber. “Those who wish to compete in the Tournament will pledge their allegiance to the House they will represent. Each vampire is at liberty to choose their own House’s interests, or if they seek a match with another family, they may declare such an intention here tonight.”
Genevieve moves back to her own throne and the first competitor steps up to the altar. It is a female vampire competing for House Finch — one of the thirteen.
The ritual is the same with each vampire. They take the ancient blade into their hands and slice it across their wrist. I wonder if that is how they killed the babies in their cribs; the children out playing in their gardens —if that blade should have found my throat years ago.
My stomach roils again and I reach out for Lizzie, feeling the damp that has settled in my palm.
We stand together, hand in hand, watching as the blood from dozens of vampires pours into the waiting chalice until it is fit to overflowing.
There are scores of family names that are pledged to — not just the thirteen on the Court, but so many more that they become a swirling mix in my head. Most declare their allegiance to the matriarchs with seats on the Court, but there are a few ambitious households that wish to make a name for themselves.
“Whoever has the most vampires competing in their name is at an automatic advantage,” Lizzie mutters, her eyes firmly fixed on the back of Rafe’s head. “Most families have no hope of securing a position on the Court, so they form alliances with those who will. It is all politics.”
The next vampire goes to stand with House Moreau.
“Rafe was unsure what numbers were expected for House Blackwood,” she continues. “In the past, they have been a desirable family. But there are the events of Nighthaven and the night of the assembly to consider. I am not sure how many of their old alliances still stand.”
Lizzie goes quiet as Rafe steps up to the altar. He slices his flesh and lets his blood join the potion now brewing in the chalice. But unlike the creatures before him who have smeared blood across a square of bare flesh, Rafe takes his shirt off completely.
Lizzie gasps, her hand flying to her throat. There is little that alarms Lizzie, truly. Yet this has unsettled her.
Rafe throws his shirt to the ground, and it is now clear to everyone in the room the extent of his stature. His back and shoulders are a wall of huge, well-defined muscles — impossibly broad at the shoulders before narrowing to his waist. I am not sure if such things matter to vampires; whether there will be those of his own kind who are swooning at the sight of him. But Lizzie looks as if she might. And Elizabeth Fairfax is not the type of young lady who I believed would ever swoon at anyone before now.
“Trust Rafe to try to win over the crowd by flexing his biceps,” she croaks. “Although I have no complaints. I don’t believe I’ve ever really understood human anatomy before now.”
I glance at her, and she has not paled, but blushed feverishly.
When Rafe leans forward to dip his fingers into the chalice, it sends the tendons along his arms and through his shoulders, lighting up like a pathway — showing the connections more clearly than any book of science could surely hope to achieve.
Lizzie finally looks at her feet just as Rafe smears the concoction of blood over his chest.
“I declare my allegiance to House Blackwood. I will compete with honour for our glory and our legacy.”
I glance at Valeria, but her face, along with those of the other matriarchs, is a picture of neutrality. They are used to his showmanship. There is only one who surveys him with anything other than ambivalence.
“Who’s that?” I whisper to Lizzie, nodding my head towards the vampire who has stepped from her throne and pushed to the front of the line. She throws a wink at Rafe as they pass each other.
“Bianca Vespucci. Rafe is a great friend of her twin brother, Enzo.”
I had spotted Bianca during the Court’s assembly, but tonight she is mesmerising. Even I can hardly dare look away. Like her brother, she has deep tanned skin despite the eternal darkness she lives in. She seems to glow with it, as if her body is clinging to droplets from the sun. Her chestnut hair falls in a long, intricate twist down her back rather than raised to the gods like the styles the rest of the matriarchs are sporting tonight. She looks powerful.
If I was going to pledge to any of the thirteen, it would be her.
“I believe Rafe hopes to marry her.” Lizzie’s voice grows small. “Bianca’s star is rising now that she is on the Court. And although Rafe has not said as much, he must long for the family connection to Enzo. There was a part of me that thought he might pledge allegiance to her tonight — to House Vespucci.”
“Valeria would kill him,” I say. “And Rafe would never betray their House.”
“No, but I fear the idea of marrying Bianca will be the only match he will entertain.” Lizzie holds my eye for a moment, looking away from Rafe as he shrugs his shirt back over his shoulders. He does not re-button it, but leaves it hanging open as Nate steps in behind him at the altar.
I knew he would not do as his brother did, but even seeing Nate without his jacket, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, is enough to make my heart speed up. His forearms are huge — as thick as branches without an inch of flesh to spare. They are all muscle; the veins pushing to the surface.
Nate is not a showman, so the process is quick; his blood is in the chalice and smeared on his chest with his loyalty declared to House Blackwood before I can string two thoughts together. But then he turns and I think I may be the one to swoon, not Lizzie.
My mouth goes dry, butterflies taking flight in my gut, rising to my throat.
Rafe may be as huge and impressive as a Norse deity, but now Nate is the one who looks like he has been carved by the gods. His olive skin, the dark hair that falls into even darker eyes, the strong, broad chest covered in a layer of hair that fans perfectly out from his sternum and then trails down his abdomen… all of it makes my stomach flip. I want to run my hands across his chest, feel his heartbeat beneath my fingers, lose myself in the liquid black of his eyes…
It is impolite to stare, witchling.
But I cannot help myself; Nate’s presence demands attention, and he knows it. He doesn’t have Rafe’s bravado, but it is his quiet, steely allure that draws every eye in the room.
As he steps away from the altar, I feel his gaze as if it were a physical touch. There is a flicker of amusement in his dark irises, although his mouth stays in the same, immoveable half-snarl as he moves to join us under the Blackwood banner. He does not give away there is anything between us, but I am not sure the same can be said for my reaction.
I look up and catch Charles’s eye across the room. He is standing with the great swarm of Azarovs who are not competing. I wonder if Lev is amongst them — the vampire who inadvertently showed him my name in their ledger.
House Azarov is doing well — far better than the Blackwoods. I wonder what they have done to garner such support.
Lizzie notices me looking. “I saw you slip away with Charles whilst Rafe and I were dancing. Is everything well between you?”
“Yes, he seems fine.” The weight of another secret from Lizzie sinks like a stone into my stomach. I want to tell her about the luna child and the blood bond and my magic, but so much has been unsaid between us I find I do not know where to start. And I am not sure I could face it if she looked at me differently, too. “Nate tells me Agnes was taken home. It seems Valeria has stepped in to protect her.”
I feel Lizzie’s shoulders relax. “I truly hope so. Now Nate is back, perhaps we will find a way to have her join us instead of residing with Charlotte. We need to do more to protect her.”
“I agree.”
“We can find her a duke, too.” Lizzie squeezes my arm.
Nate comes to stand behind us with Rafe and I feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck; my body longing to sink into him. The need to look at him and be close to him after so many days apart almost overwhelms me.
Eyes forward, witchling. Our reunion tonight will be all the sweeter for the distance.
I know I am blushing, but do as Nate tells me — watching in silence as the line of vampires waiting to pledge grows shorter. Charlotte, Caroline Vossler, vampires I recognise from House Rassard and Moreau, all declare their intentions. Caroline has a great number of siblings, so the Vosslers have a strong turn-out. But as the line dwindles, every vampire that takes to the altar pledges to them, too.
Lizzie and I exchange looks as more and more nobles go to stand under their banners. With every vampire who passes by House Blackwood, I can feel Charlotte’s simmering fury. I half expect her to rush over to the altar and knock over the chalice at the injustice of it all.
She maintains her composure until the last few competitors. Four vampires, all from House Keller, will compete for House Vossler.
And then…
“Is that…” I crane my neck, trying to get a good look at the figure who has just approached the altar. He was not there a moment ago. “It can’t be…”
Lizzie looks away from Rafe, who she has turned to smile at, and follows my gaze. She sees him too. “Oh, lord have mercy on us all.”
There, gripping the dagger with long, dark fingers, is Benjamin.
“Rafe will kill him.” Lizzie winces, taking a step back as if she prepares for the blow herself.
Rafe and Nate stand with their shirts open, chests gleaming with the blood from the chalice. Neither of them are looking at the altar, but the moment they do…
“I, Benjamin Beaumont, pledge my strength, my cunning, my honour and unwavering loyalty to House Vossler. I will fight for glory and legacy.”
There is a rumble of surprise around the room, but neither Lizzie nor I are watching Benjamin or the reaction from the rest — our eyes are on Rafe and Nate.
Nate steps in front of his brother, his back to us and one hand on Rafe’s shoulder, holding him back as subtly as he can. Rafe looks as if his entire body will explode with rage. His skin is near purple with it, every vein in his chest and across his temple pulsing with loathing.
Charlotte is hissing, her fangs extended, held only in place by an ice-cold glare from Valeria.
“How fucking dare he?” Rafe spits. His voice is low, but every vampire in the room will hear what he is saying. “He mutilates my pledge, rips her apart and then comes here and betrays our family? With those slimy fuckers?” His hand gesticulates across the room to where the Vossler banner hangs. “How is it even possible? They are nothing more than rats above their station. Do we allow such ludicrous behaviour to stand?” He appeals around the room and when no one moves, he pushes Nate off and flies straight at Benjamin.
The moment Rafe reaches him, the air in the ballroom goes still and heavy, like the pause before a lightning strike. Even the flickering candles seem to hold their breath.
Benjamin turns slowly to face Rafe. “Cousin. It is good to see you.”
Rafe doesn’t speak. He launches himself directly at Benjamin, his hands flying to the sides of his cousin’s face. He tugs, as if he would rip Benjamin’s head clean off his shoulders. But Benjamin’s hands are there, fighting the motion.
I glance around the room, my heart hammering against my ribs. The rest of the nobility are watching the unfolding drama with avid, hungry eyes. They’re sharks scenting blood in the water, eager for violence.
Benjamin shakes Rafe off, and they stand, squaring up to each other, panting.
“You’re a traitor and a murderer,” Rafe bellows. “And I will have your head for it.”
It happens in a blur. Rafe lunges, hands outstretched like claws. Benjamin dodges, spinning away with such speed that when Rafe finally grabs him, they crash into the altar, sending the chalice and dagger clattering to the floor. Crimson droplets splatter over the marble like rain.
The watching crowd roars. I clutch Lizzie’s arm, feeling the tension racked through her as Rafe and Benjamin grapple and snarl, moving faster than my human eyes can track. They slam into walls, leaving cracked plaster and splintered wood in their wake.
Just as it seems Rafe might gain the upper hand, a voice slices through the chaos like a blade.
“Enough.”
The single word thrums with power, vibrating under my feet. Rafe and Benjamin finally freeze.
Genevieve Rassard glides forward, her silver gown flowing behind her like an icy river. Her ancient face is set in lines of cold disapproval. “I will not tolerate such savagery. If there is a grievance between you, it will be settled in the Tournament.”
She flicks her fingers and Rafe and Benjamin spring apart as if yanked by invisible strings.
“You will face each other in the first round. Let the victor’s fangs speak the last word.”
The assembled vampires murmur, already placing wagers on the outcome. I feel sick to my stomach. Benjamin killed Camilla, but before grief sent him wild, he was more human than the rest of them. But if it is a case of him or Rafe…
As the cousins stalk to opposite sides of the room, I meet Nate’s gaze over the sea of bloodthirsty faces. In his dark eyes, I see my revulsion and dread reflected back at me.
I will not lose my brother, too, he mumbles into my head. We may need your help with this one, witchling.