Chapter 32
Sidney
The great hall hummed with predatory energy, a cage disguised as a sanctuary. From the elevated galleries, spectators leaned over the railings, their eyes tracking the remaining candidates like hounds scenting blood.
I stood among the competitors, flanked by Zane and Finn. Noir crouched at my feet, still bound, his manic grin visible through a tangle of beard. My missing stake gnawed at the back of my mind. Who had it now? A servant who’d moved my belongings? A candidate? Mathias himself?
I forced my attention back to the present, scanning the line of survivors.
The numbers didn't add up. Ten of us had survived to this moment—ten out of the twelve who had exited the labyrinth what felt like a lifetime ago.
A fraction of the twenty-five who had first vied for the crown.
Yet only six stood here. Four were unaccounted for… and Felicity was among them.
My chest tightened at the thought that she might be dead.
To my right, Razira waited in perfect stillness, silver hair gleaming under the light.
Though worry still gnawed at me, it was a relief to see her.
She'd survived the trial and, somehow, passed Lord Clement’s interrogation.
To my left stood Tierney, spine rigid, every inch of her carved from military discipline.
Mathias remained nearby, beside the artifact on its velvet pillow, hands clasped behind his back as he regarded the survivors. “Two candidates have not returned. If they fail to appear before the final candidate presents their prize, their fate lies with the Flask.”
The iridescent liquid inside of it rippled.
A rumble followed, then came the scrape of claws against the crystal.
Two figures pushed free of its neck and expanded, canine in outline, their bodies moving with the fluid shimmer of blood in motion.
Their eyes were dark and hungry. Leaving a trail of crimson pawprints, they paced at the base of the dais, tails lashing, eager to be released.
A current of unease swept through the line of candidates. Though instinct urged me backward, I remained rooted, unwilling to show my fear. Beside my boots, Noir let out a growl like a territorial dog. I nudged him with my calf.
“And two have returned empty-handed,” Mathias’s voice cut cleanly through the chamber. “They found the House of Whispers too vast, or perhaps their own courage too small.”
The creatures lifted their heads at his words, nostrils flaring as if already catching the scent of the missing. Their attention slid past the rest of us without interest, yet their presence still sent prickles down my spine.
I focused on our dwindling ranks. Felicity’s absence weighed on me like a crushing stone. A burden I shouldn’t feel for someone I was destined to kill. But Felicity was out there, and those hounds were waiting to hunt her down.
A creaking sound pulled my awareness toward the entrance. The double doors opened, and two vampires entered under guard escort.
Cordelia stumbled forward first, a contestant I’d never spoken to. She was loud-mouthed and hawk-nosed, her teal gown torn and stained with dried blood. “The House of Whispers was too well fortified. I couldn’t—”
“Silence.” Mathias’s voice sliced through her explanation. Power flickered in his eyes, and a feminine echo hid partially beneath his words. “The Flask of Dominion does not accept excuses.”
The container brightened, and the drop within swirled faster.
Cordelia’s eyes widened. “Please, I tried. I nearly had one, but their guards—”
The Flask’s inner light intensified to a blinding degree. Cordelia’s scream began as a sound and ended as something else. Her body convulsed. The essence of her streamed from her mouth and eyes in ribbons of red mist.
The crystal vessel drank it all down.
When the light faded, Cordelia’s corpse collapsed. Nothing remained but a dried husk, lips pulled back from fangs in a final rictus of agony.
My gorge rose, and I swallowed quickly before I could show weakness by vomiting at the sight.
I’d seen death arrive in many ways, but this…
this was gruesome in a whole new way. I forced my attention away from what remained of Cordelia.
If Felicity didn’t arrive soon, I feared the same sort of demise was coming for her.
The second candidate, a willowy blonde named Ramona, fell to her knees. “Mercy. Please. The goddess—”
The Flask pulsed again.
This death was slower. Ramona writhed on the marble floor, her screams echoing off vaulted ceilings as her essence unwound in crimson threads. The Flask pulled the life from her in measured sips while we all watched in shades of horror.
When it finished, two corpses lay on the ground. Guards moved forward to collect the remains. Above us, coins changed hands, the soft clink of metal punctuating the silence. I curled my lip, disgusted that the betting continued unabated after they’d watched the Flask consume two vampiresses.
“Let this serve as a reminder.” Mathias surveyed the remaining candidates, his gaze lingering on each of us. “The Flask demands success. Bring it mediocrity, and it will feast on your failure.”
The doors slamming open broke the answering silence in the hall.
Felicity stumbled through the threshold, her yellow bodice ripped and stained with dark patches.
She dragged a bound vampire by a chain around his body, her Devotion trailing behind with pale faces.
A few cheers and groans filtered down from above as more coin was exchanged in the wake of their arrival.
I stepped toward her, my mask slipping, showing her the stark relief I felt crashing through me. She offered a weak, lopsided grin.
“I got him, Ilya,” she whispered as she took her place in line. “Almost lost an arm, but I got him.”
I guided Noir with me as I shifted, taking my spot beside her.
She put her free hand to her forehead, swaying. I reached out to steady her, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my hand. It grounded me in a way it shouldn’t have.
I reminded myself of the mantra that’d kept me alive this long: Focus and observe.
Analyze and adapt. I had observed a genuine friendship forming.
I had analyzed the truth that Felicity would have to die in order for me to claim the throne, or kill me to take it herself.
Now I needed to adapt to the reality that part of me did not want to execute her, even though I would have to in order to survive. Only one of us could be queen.
My revenge plan had been absolute. Every Sanguine bloodsucker would burn.
Yet Felicity did not fit the shape of my hatred.
She hadn’t tortured me as a child or murdered innocents for sport.
Her greatest crime was being born a vampire and entering the trials.
As I stood beside her, I struggled to find the justification to condemn her.
Claws scraped on marble nearby. One of the blood-red hounds broke from its pacing and approached Felicity, its liquid form rippling with each step. It leaned in, nostrils fluttering as it drew a long breath over her. Felicity stared at it, frozen.
It turned away. The creature slipped back toward the artifact, its crimson form stretching and thinning as it leapt into the Flask, vanishing into its innards.
The remaining canine did not follow, its eyes fixed on the heavy oak doors, still waiting for its opportunity to pursue the prey that had yet to arrive.
I looked back at Felicity. “You’re bleeding on the marble.”
She glanced down at the drips at her feet. “So I am. How careless. The vampire I wanted put up more of a fight than I anticipated.” She pressed a hand to her side, and her fingers came away red. “But I got him in the end.”
“Him?” Noir whispered. He craned his neck against the rope, squinting at Felicity’s captive.
“Look at that scrawny creature. That's Lord Farquhar.
I've had coughs more threatening. Standards in this House are dropping faster than a lead pigeon. He looks like he still asks for permission to take a nibble, while monsters like me enjoy a good bite.”
He shot me a suggestive wink, utterly shameless. My cheeks heated, despite where we were. He was different, no question, but also strikingly handsome when he smiled like that.
“If I promise you bananas, will you be a good boy?” I whispered.
Noir barked and mimicked an attentive dog’s sit, eyes wide and expectant.
Mathias cleared his throat, his gaze soft on Felicity. “Do you need a healer, Lady Felicity?”
She shook her head and drew a steadying breath. “I’ll be all right, Lord Regent.”
“If that is the case, then let us begin,” he said. “Tierney Sutcliffe, step forward.”
Tierney advanced, her posture straight as a drawn blade. With the controlled force of a commander presenting a seized asset, she brought her captive into the torchlight. The nobleman stumbled but stayed upright, his ruined silks hanging in tatters.
“This is Lord Varos, a House of Whispers councilman.” She circled him. “He thought his walls and guards would keep him safe. They did not.”
A ripple of amusement moved through the gallery.
Mathias regarded her, his voice carrying easily across the chamber. “The Flask approves.”
Tierney gripped the nobleman’s chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. “You’ll serve me.”
The hall erupted, voices clashing in a frenzy for blood. Mathias raised his hand, a single, precise gesture that sliced the uproar in half. “The candidate has spoken.”
One by one, the others presented their prizes. Razira inducted hers into the ranks of her Devotion.
The next competitor, Vanya Temelain, a dark-skinned vampiress with braids bound tight against her skull, dragged her prisoner into the circle.
“The Flask accepts,” Mathias announced.
She didn’t pause. “Send him to the fighting pits.”
Guards rushed in to drag him away. The galleries exploded into bloodthirsty cheers, silver and gold clattering as spectators settled their bets.