Chapter 5 #2
I changed into some pajamas I discovered in one of Ilyana’s drawers and opened my sewing kit. With practiced stitches, I worked hidden pockets into the seams and slits in several of her gowns. My fingers worked smoothly, guided by muscle memory from years of maintaining my own gear.
The stakes needed accessibility but invisibility. The daggers required sheaths that wouldn’t show through the fabric. By dusk, I had transformed Ilyana’s wardrobe into an armory disguised as aristocratic fashion. Now I had to get used to wearing such garments.
As I secured myself in a newly modified gown and slid the last blade into its hiding place, I caught my reflection in the vanity mirror. The face looking back at me was Ilyana’s, but her eyes were those of a slayer—cold, calculating, and ready to kill.
A sharp pounding at the door made me jump.
“Sister? Open up! We need to talk.” A woman’s voice, young and fraying at the edges. This had to be Tahlia.
I remained silent, hoping she would leave.
“Ilya, I know you’re in there. I can hear you moving.” The door handle rattled. “Open the door.” Something heavy slumped against the door, followed by a long sigh that carried her frustration.
Still, I said nothing. Yet Tahlia persisted.
“This is madness. You don’t have to prove anything to them. Since when do you care what anyone thinks? So what if Fiorella called you weak? So what if she dared you to enter the trials? You’re throwing your life away!”
A piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Pride. A rival’s taunt had goaded Ilyana into a suicide mission. Pathetic.
“Everyone knows the trials are for the strongest houses, for those with powerful retinues,” Tahlia continued, her voice growing desperate. “They’re about survival, cunning, and ruthlessness. You haven’t even been training.”
I moved closer to the door, pitching my voice to carry Ilyana’s tone. “I’ve made my decision.”
“Why? You don’t even have a Devotion! None good enough for you, and now you’re out of time. Why are you doing this?”
“Because I have to.”
“No, you don’t! You could leave the city, travel to our cousins’ estate in the outer territories. Father would understand—”
“I said I’ve made my decision, Tahlia.” I let ice creep into my words. “Nothing you say will change it.”
A long silence stretched between us. When she spoke again, her voice carried an edge of frustration and trembled with unshed tears. “Then may Eona have mercy on you, because the other contestants won’t.”
Her footsteps retreated down the hall, leaving me alone with the echo of her grief.
For a second, a flicker of guilt coiled beneath my ribs, faint as breath on glass.
In her fear for her little sister, that bloodsucker sounded almost…
human. My hand hesitated on the door handle, fingers trembling against the cold metal.
My chest tightened, and I found myself pressing my forehead against the door.
When I pulled away, I touched the hidden ring above my heart and caressed the metal through the fabric.
I had monsters to slay.
The next evening, I sat in the carriage, wearing one of the modified gowns.
The whisper of silk brushed my skin, too soft, too vulnerable.
I was accustomed to leather, not fabric that could tear at the first sign of trouble.
Yet this was my armor now, not steel and leather, but lies and illusion.
I just had to hope it would be enough to keep me alive.
My weapons pressed against my body, invisible beneath the elegant facade. Ilyana’s satchel rested on the bench beside me, its contents packed for the trial ahead. Hidden by my sleeve, the bracelet of Ilyana’s fangs pulsed softly on my wrist, maintaining the magical disguise.
“The House of the Sanguine,” the coachman announced as we approached.
Even from a distance, the vampire court’s seat of power stole my breath with its arrogance.
Built on Pythia’s highest hill in the Gilded Yard borough, the mansion loomed like a fortress of white stone and dark iron, its towers piercing the night sky. Massive walls surrounded the grounds, but the architecture beyond them flowed in curves and spires.
A crowd was gathered outside the estate. Hundreds of vampires turned their pale faces upward in anticipation, their voices creating a low murmur of excitement. They came to witness the contestants’ arrival, eager to see who would risk everything for a chance at glory.
As our carriage joined the queue, I caught sight of other candidates stepping out to present themselves to the crowd, draped in finery sharpened to weapons.
They moved with the grace that marked them as apex predators, but I could already see the underlying tensions.
All of them traveled with their Devotions and entourages of lesser vampires.
I came alone.
“Miss,” the coachman said quietly, “are you certain about this? It’s still not too late to—”
“It is too late,” I cut him off. “We’re already here. The Sanguine Court doesn’t tolerate cowardice.”
My research had revealed that the magical artifact used to approve contestants would kill anyone who tried to withdraw once accepted. It was the reason so few attempted the trials. The commitment was absolute to the bitter end.
My turn came. Focus and observe. Analyze and adapt.
Eyes followed my carriage as it approached the outer gate. They expected her, the prodigal Krudelbach. The foolish girl who’d answered a dare.
I adjusted my gear one final time as the carriage rolled to a halt.
The coachman opened the door, and I stepped out into the hush that followed.
Pressure built with every stare, a silent verdict tightening around me.
Then came the whispers, like dry leaves skittering across stone, as the crowd recognized Ilyana Krudelbach.
“She came alone,” someone murmured.
“No Devotion? That’s suicide.”
“The Krudelbachs have lost their minds.”
Oh, if they only knew who was underneath this disguise.