Chapter Thirty-Four
Samara
Pythia startled out of her trance, blinking at us in confusion, and immediately sped away from us. The oracle ignored my whispered plea, and only Demos’s hand stopped me from chasing after her.
That, and the frantic realization that, even if I asked her to elaborate, with Demos listening to every word, she might say something about my necromancy.
Millions dead at my feet. Bile rose in my throat. What had she seen? Dead witches, voids? Dead vampires? The threat to hang me was disturbing, but I didn’t expect to live long. I only hoped to survive long enough to make a difference.
But I might make things far worse.
“Sometimes it’s like that with Thea,” Demos said with a cautious look down the hallway once the door shut behind us.
I was surprised he’d offered that. It almost sounded like reassurance, but I wasn’t comforted. “The cryptic weird voice thing?” I tried to make light, as if her words weren’t obviously weighing on me.
“Thea’s can be even more dramatic.” His mouth twitched up, though his gaze remained focused ahead.
I tried to recall any instances of Thea acting like that. “I hadn’t noticed it.” Sometimes she made comments about seeing things, but that was all. I wished I’d asked her more about the magic. Being a void, it had always felt like an off-limits topic.
“She’s gotten better at controlling it over the years. It’s rare, and usually involves visions of corpses. Sometimes mine.”
“And that doesn’t concern you?” Millions dead at your feet wasn’t exactly a comforting fortune.
He shrugged. “I don’t presume to know how their magic works, but I do know I won’t be turning into a corpse on my second death. You’ve seen vampires die the second death before, right?”
“Yes.” I’d seen them. Killed one. They disintegrated into dust, like all the years caught up with them at once.
“It’s probably more figurative. Perhaps being a vampire inherently makes the magic more difficult to understand.”
I didn’t believe Demos, but I ached for him to be right.
We returned to the chamber without any books.
Demos stayed in the main room, so I helped myself to the book Raphael had left out on his side of the bed, curling up against the pillows.
I told myself I’d picked his side because it was closest to the book and I couldn’t be bothered to move, not because of the way his cedar scent still clung to the pillows, and it made me feel a bit comforted after Pythia’s words of death.
The book was, of all things, an adventure novel. I’d gotten a few chapters in when Raphael returned. Demos left with only a few words to his king about our trip to the library, none of them about the strange encounter with the oracle or our meeting with Sir Ferro.
When Raphael crossed the threshold to our bedroom, his gaze flicked from me to his book in my hands. I snapped it shut and slipped it back onto the table.
“I was just borrowing it.” I pointed to a stray piece of ribbon I’d tucked in the book. “I saved your page.”
Raphael looked much the same as when he’d left this morning, but I sensed there was still something off. Not nervousness, nothing as crass as anger. Just a hint of tension stretched over his shoulders and jawline.
“You know you’re welcome to any of my belongings.”
Did I know that? I threw my legs over the side of the bed and stood to avoid replying. At the same time, Raphael pulled a cloak from my closet.
We were going out, apparently. I didn’t protest. At least, I didn’t protest until he led us from the castle without an escort and over to a long white-stone building with a familiar wooden sign hanging off the entrance.
A blood den. I swallowed sharply. I’d agreed to live like a vampire in exchange for Raphael’s help breaking the bond. I needed his cooperation to be able to flee. But could I drink from someone else? I still felt so out of control when I drank. What if I hurt them?
“I’m not thirsty,” I said to Raphael when he stopped us in front of the entrance. It was true. Normally, the thirst was unending, but after having his blood earlier in the day, the ravenous ache was still held at bay.
“That’s fine.”
“Raphael,” I hissed. “I don’t want to drink from any donors. Please. I’ve gone along with everything else.”
He paused before the entrance and turned back to me. He towered over me, red eyes almost glowing. “I don’t want you drinking their blood either. We’re here for something else.”
The words were the barest comfort as we entered.
Raphael spoke to the hostess, who smiled wide enough to show the tips of her fangs while I studied the surroundings.
It was a different incarnation of what I’d seen in Damerel.
Luxurious fabrics on every surface, pillows and low couches lining the hall, with several doors dotting the walls.
Most were closed, but a few were open, with men and women perched against the doorframes.
One of the men winked at me, and I turned my attention back to the hostess, who was now gesturing for us to follow her down a different hallway.
The hostess led us to an empty room, with a promise to send someone in momentarily.
There was no bed in the room, but there was a chaise lounge with an impressively impractical number of pillows on it, each embroidered with bright blue and white thread.
The marble floor was covered with a rug of the same colors with an intricate pattern. Not a drop of red to be seen anywhere.
“Why are we here if not to feed?” The rooms must have had some enchantment because the sound was muffled even for my vampire hearing. That left us with a small amount of time to speak freely.
“You’re going to practice thralling.”
I’d wondered when he would bring that up again. “Why here, then?”
“By paying donors, we’re not doing anything out of the ordinary—vampires coming, exchanging coin for discretion and services. And these ones aren’t in the palace’s pocket.”
That answered my question of why we had come here instead of taking Cosette up on her earlier offer to send donors when we’d arrived.
“Why didn’t we do this before, then?” The visit with Flo had been rather cloak-and-dagger.
The look Raphael gave me said I was missing the obvious. “Would you have considered it?”
It was unnerving how well he knew me. Because he was right—even a few days ago, I would have refused to set foot in the den.
But now I wasn’t thirsty, and I’d seen it—done it—once before with Flo.
Though compelling another was still unnerving, I could admit it wasn’t actually damaging, at least not how I’d done it.
A knock at the door saved me from admitting that I was, in fact, becoming more comfortable with Raphael’s world.
The man who eventually entered was the same who had winked at me when we’d entered.
He was well dressed and in good shape, with muscular forearms showing from his rolled-up sleeves.
He wore clothing in the southern style, loose and light, with golden skin under it evidence that he spent time in the sun as well as the blood den.
I estimated his age to be about mine, if not a bit younger, but he moved with confidence I doubted I’d possess even with another decade.
The donor gave us a bow. “Talo, at your service. May I ask who I have the pleasure of serving tonight?”
I gave a slight curtsy. Maybe it wasn’t needed with the difference in status, but since he’d bowed it only felt appropriate. “I’m Sam.”
Talo swaggered into the room, and we settled on the chaise once I evicted eight of the largest pillows. Raphael took a position at Talo’s back, where he could see me. He didn’t say a word to Talo about our task, even as Talo loosened the top button of his shirt.
I slapped a hand over Talo’s before he could continue. That had Raphael narrowing his gaze. Had I used too much strength? Talo only looked at me, head cocked. “My lady?”
“I’m not here for that,” I said. “I want to practice thralling you. I won’t harm you or make you do anything physical.”
I wondered if Raphael would say anything against it, but he simply hooked his fingers in his pockets and watched.
“For what purpose?” Talo didn’t look upset by the proposition, just slightly confused.
I thought quickly about how to handle this.
I’d tried actions with Flo, but there was more that this power could compel.
“I want to ask you a series of questions while you try to avoid answering. When we’re done, I’ll thrall you to forget the specifics of what we did.
You won’t remember anything special beyond a pair of vampires coming for the usual reasons.
” I added that last bit apologetically. “Are you willing to do this?”
Talo relaxed, spreading his knees out a bit as he leaned back against the mound of cushions behind him. “Sounds like the easiest half hour of my night.”
I smiled the barest bit. Okay. I wasn’t making him do anything he was against. “Before we begin, I want to know if there are any topics that are off-limits.” It was the minimum of courtesy I could offer, to respect his privacy.
“My true name and anything about my family,” he said decisively. “But beyond that, ask me anything you like. I’ll do my best not to answer.”
He gave me another wink, and I was glad Raphael was at his back, because he probably would have done worse than growl if he saw it. Self-conscious, I put a few more inches between us.
I focused on his tawny eyes.
“How old are you?” Silence, then I realized perhaps I’d phrased it wrong. “Tell me how old you are, Talo.”
Talo blinked at me.
A beat, then— “Am I supposed to feel something?”
“Ideally,” I said ruefully. “Tell me what you had to break your fast today.”
More silence. I wondered if Raphael would interject, but he let me try a few other questions without comment. What had he taught me last time? It was about my intent. I wanted to learn to control my powers in the abstract, but I didn’t truly care about what the man ate or his age.
But there was a truth I wanted.
“Tell me your honest feelings about working in the blood den.”