Chapter 5
Sidney
The carriage wheels beat a steady rhythm against the cobblestones as we rolled toward the Krudelbach mansion. I worked my fingers beneath my borrowed bodice, mapping hiding places for my weapons.
Dressed in intricately beaded burgundy silk, I felt less like a hunter and more like prey. The beautiful fabric, designed for appearance and not for combat, draped over my daggers, making any quick, silent retrieval impossible.
A gnawing unease settled in my gut. I was used to a swift draw, to the reassuring weight of steel ready in my hand.
Every instinct screamed at me to alter the fabric, to ensure a clear path to my blades, but I couldn't risk drawing attention to the change in the attire.
The vulnerability seeped into me, a chill more profound than any draft.
Hidden under my sleeve, the fang bracelet pulsed on my wrist, its bone-white surface as warm as living flesh. Magic coursed through my veins, foreign and nauseating.
“Focus and observe. Analyze and adapt.” Dr. Hillman’s old advice settled my nerves, as it always did. Scientific methods could be applied to most scenarios. I just had to gather some information and adapt to my new disguise.
The scent of leather and horse sweat drifted through the carriage windows. I located the brass speaking-tube mounted beside the window and lifted it to my lips. “What’s your name?” I asked the coachman.
“Eoseph, miss.” His voice crackled through the device, distant and tinny.
“Tell me about the Krudelbachs.” I kept Ilyana’s aristocratic inflection steady.
“What would you like to know, miss?” The metallic distortion couldn’t hide the wariness creeping into his tone.
“Everything.” I let impatience sharpen my response, the kind Ilyana would use with servants. “Their habits, their relationships, their standing in court.”
“Well…” The speaking-tube amplified his nervous throat-clearing into a harsh rasp.
“Her…uh…your family has always been loyal to Queen Nemea, though some say Lord Krudelbach grew distant from his daughters after the war with the House of Whispers rekindled.
Meals once shared have become solitary affairs in his study, and the lively debates he'd once encouraged at dinner are replaced by strained silences or his complete absence. Your sister, Tahlia, manages most of the household affairs now.”
I kept him talking and sharing details about Ilyana’s daily routines, her preferences, and the handmaidens she favored. His information might just save my life if someone tested my knowledge. Each fact added another thread to the illusion I needed to wear like a second skin.
“People think the trials are a death sentence dressed in ceremony. Begging your pardon, miss, but Ilyana was a vampire who didn’t have a chance. And you’re not one of them. It’s not too late for me to steer this carriage somewhere safer.”
Neither am I one of you. “Many people think many things,” I replied coolly, then said nothing else for the rest of the ride.
The Krudelbach estate rose against the dawn sky like a bruise. Dark stone caught moonlight with an oily sheen, and tall, blackened windows stared down at us.
The topiary lining the drive stood in perfect formation, each sculpted shape unnervingly still, as if waiting to attack. Moonlit gardens shimmered on either side, their petals glowing faintly.
I had surveyed this place while studying Ilyana’s habits, memorizing the rhythm of its guards and the silence between patrols.
Yet walking its paths now, cloaked in her likeness, nothing stirred recognition.
The architecture remained unchanged, but the air carried a sharper chill.
The estate itself seemed to sense the lie beneath the illusion and listened for a misstep.
Delicate lilac fragrance slipped into the carriage as we approached the main entrance. My skin prickled with awareness, every hunter’s instinct screaming alert.
“I won’t need the carriage until tomorrow evening,” I told the coachman as he helped me down. “I have preparations to make.”
“Of course, miss. I will repair the damage to the carriage to not alert the others’ suspicions.”
I glanced at the puffs of white stuffing emerging from a headrest, then at the broken window, and nodded. It must’ve been part of his payment.
“Should I tell the household you’re not to be disturbed?”
“Yes, of course.”
Carrying my supplies, I stepped into the mansion and past the Krudelbach servants without a glance, each stride measured, silent, untouchable.
Grace propelled me through the grand foyer and up the curved staircase, each footfall a beat in a choreography practiced under sterile lab lights between sleepless nights.
Movements once rehearsed beside test tubes and beakers now unfolded beneath chandeliers and marble.
Every gesture, wrist poised, chin lifted, had been refined under the clinical gaze of preparation.
Still, I needed to avoid contact and limit the chances of others seeing through my ruse.
Every curve of the manor matched the intelligence I’d gathered.
The opulent corridors stretched before me, marble and mahogany everywhere, with portraits of deceased Krudelbachs glaring down from gilded frames.
Ilyana’s room awaited on the third floor, in the east wing.
I found her quarters and slipped inside.
The door latched behind me. I drew a sharp inhale, as if surfacing from being underwater for too long. My chest ached, not from fear, but from pressure and restraint.
Ilyana’s chambers were an explosion of burgundy and gold, lavish to the point of vulgarity. A half-empty glass of blood sat on the vanity, already forming a sticky ring on the polished wood.
My stomach churned as hunger stirred within me. I tore my eyes from the glass.
I removed the slayer’s kit from my bag and laid my tools on the plush velvet chaise, then pulled the weapons from my thigh holster. I inspected each piece: the matched daggers with their gleaming silver edges and my two remaining stakes.
Beside them, I placed the vials: consecrated water, several flasks of rupture, my healing serum, and empty syringes.
I wasn’t sure whether the Sanguine guards would seal off my access point to enter and exit the mansion, but I’d packed additional vials in case getting in and out proved more difficult than anticipated.
Finally, I placed out a selection of ration bars. They were thick, bland bricks of sustenance, each as nutritious as a full meal. Since I would be heading into the heart of vampire territory, I would be relying on them to survive.
I turned to her wardrobe. The doors flew open, releasing a cloud of stale perfume.
I searched inside, past frivolous silks and gossamer-thin fabrics, seeking structure, layers, and darkness.
My fingers found the heavy nap of a velvet gown, its blue so deep it was almost black.
The full, pleated skirt would serve as an arsenal, hiding stakes strapped to my thighs.
I added a black satin dress with a complex, ruffled bodice that would provide ample cover for a sheathed blade.
Pushing aside silks and satins, I located what I needed: three ball gowns in varying shades of burgundy—clearly her favorite color, judging by the number of variations filling her closet.
Behind the formal wear, I discovered her trial outfits: leather combat attire, supple and well-oiled, with reinforced panels across the torso—new and never used.
My gaze fell on the leather armor I had worn earlier, now folded in my satchel.
For a moment, I contemplated using it for the trials.
It was practical and worn-in, but it wouldn’t fit on Ilyana’s body.
I would still take it with me, just in case I had the opportunity to hunt vampires in my true form.
No one would question me. It was armor, after all.
Before beginning to alter her clothes, I discovered the adjoining bathroom.
It was a cavern of marble and gold fixtures, featuring a tub large enough for three and gilded faucets shaped like serpents.
The sheer excess was obscene, a brutal contrast to the stone basin at the temple or the cramped washroom tucked behind the servant’s wing in Nemea’s mansion.
I allowed myself one indulgence. I reached into the band beneath my bodice and pulled out my engagement ring.
The cool metal nestled in my palm. And yet, it carried everything.
I slipped it onto my finger where it hung loosely and turned it with my thumb, watching how the gold caught the candlelight.
It grounded me as a reminder of why I was here.
Zane. Revenge.
I turned the faucet handle, and water surged forth, striking the basin with a satisfying hiss that faded into a quiet roar. Steam curled around me as I sank into the tub, and I sighed with relief as heat seeped into every aching muscle.
I didn’t remove the fang bracelet. Even submerged, I didn’t dare risk it. The disguise clung as tightly as the rage coiled beneath my ribcage.
By the time I emerged, the bathwater had grown cold, my skin was pruned, and my thoughts were somewhat clearer.
I wrapped myself in linens so soft they might have been woven from clouds, then collapsed into a bed that embraced every inch of my weariness.
For a while, I slept the daylight hours away like someone who still had a soul to lose.
Yet the nightmares crept in, turning rest to ruin.
I startled awake to the sensation of thorns digging into my flesh and turning my blood into a crimson rain.
When I inspected my arms for damage, all I saw was the delicate, unbroken skin of an aristocrat.
I moved about the room sluggishly, checking the shadows for unsheathed claws.
Satisfied, I fastened the chest band, tight, familiar. The ring returned to its hiding place above my heart, the only safe place for it. No room existed for sentiment. I only had one night to complete my work here.