Chapter 18
They entered with such silent, synchronous beauty that for a moment, I forgot to be afraid.
I swayed on my feet. Did that just happen? Dread crashed down around me, obliterating the dazed, heady memory of the kiss.
Casimir hissed in my ear, “Remember that they can glamour you. Be on your guard.”
I nodded. Every cell in my body surged with electric awareness.
It was impossible not to stare as they approached.
Always stunning, tonight the Daemons of the Bloodthorn Order were positively preening with shimmering elegance.
Devereaux’s charcoal suit, accented with silver buttons and matching cufflinks, complemented his cornsilk blonde hair, which hung in sleek tendrils around his neck.
A fluttering movement caught my attention, and my gaze landed on the pale blue wings of a butterfly, pinned to Devereaux’s lapel. I stared in horror at the struggling creature as bile burned its way up my throat.
Behind Devereaux, someone snickered. It was Evren, his cruel beauty rendered even more dashing in a velvet suit of forest green, the formal alternative to the one he’d worn in Norlander Hall. Veronika was swathed in shimmering silver, her hair cutting a sharp line against her jaw.
A simple keyhole neckline flattered her sharp collarbones, and she wore no jewelry, save for a sterling cuff at her wrist.
I realized she, too, bore the eye-mark on the underside of her wrist, though hers was partially concealed by the cuff. The others flocked around them, forming a half circle.
“What a pleasant surprise,” Devereaux said by way of greeting.
Despite his polite demeanor, the cold gleam in his silvery eyes reminded me that he was every inch the cunning vulture.
I stiffened as Evren assessed me from the shiny heels on my feet to my dark, sleek curls.
I glanced down to see that my dress had ridden up, and the tattoo was once again visible.
Silently cursing, I tugged it down, but too late—he’d seen.
His lips twisted into a smirk, relishing my discomfort.
“She a new pet of yours, Wrayburn?” Evren taunted.
I recoiled at the word pet.
Casimir offered him a cold smile that did not meet his eyes.
“Never you mind, Evren,” he replied coolly.
His voice was calm, but the way his muscles coiled with tension was apparent as he angled his body in front of mine, shielding me from Evren and Devereaux’s scrutiny. “Either way, she’s off limits.”
Evren’s smirk twisted into a scowl. “You never did like to share,” he commented, and I stiffened at the implication behind his words.
How well did Casimir really know these Daemons? The others, whose names I could not immediately recall, merely looked bored.
Evren sneered. “She’s not even pretty.”
I bristled, not at the insult, but at the burning, bitter residue that coated my tongue like campfire smoke. Evren was lying? That was… interesting. But which statement was the lie? When someone told multiple lies in a row, it was hard to catch the right one.
“Tell me, Evren, do mortal girls often reject you? I only ask because you sound quite bitter,” I said, giving him a saccharine smile.
He scowled in return. Let them see that I could play their game, too.
“My tastes are not so debased as the Darkseer’s, girl,” Evren spat. “Mortals are far beneath my notice.”
I shifted in discomfort as I caught the edge of steel on my tongue. Evren was lying, and I didn’t know what to do with that information.
“Yes, unfortunately, we are all too familiar with your tastes,” Casimir said wryly.
Beside him, I stiffened. Was Casimir referring to Evren’s courting of Isolde?
Casimir continued, “Remember this, Bludkravk, it’s not your looks that make women scorn you.” He flashed me a wicked smile.
A flurry of titters resounded among the nameless ones who stood just behind him, and even Veronika was fighting to hide a smirk. The thrill of watching Casimir defeat Evren in a verbal sparring match was enough to make this evening worthwhile.
Evren’s nostrils flared with outrage. “How dare—” he began.
But Devereaux interjected, “Come now, Evren. It’s pointless to deny what all of us have sense enough to see. And tonight, dear Miss Farrow looks positively delicious.” Beneath the faerie lights, his teeth gleamed most unnaturally.
Beside me, Casimir had gone tense. I glanced at him in time to watch comprehension flash briefly across his face, and in a blink it was gone. Nausea roiled in my stomach. I was beginning to regret the several glasses of champagne I’d downed earlier in the evening.
Veronika suddenly turned her elegant head in my direction. “Why don’t you let these three idiots finish their sparring match?” she suggested with a nod toward the manor. “August is waiting for you in the foyer.”
I stared at her in bewilderment. I’d just seen August not half an hour ago. What did he want now? Though I had to admit that the offer to get away from the veranda was tempting.
With a meaningful glance to Casimir that I hoped conveyed my silent request that he come and find me afterward, I exited through the wide French doors.
If the party had been wild prior to our venturing out onto the veranda, by now it was positively riotous, the air thick with sweating bodies and the sounds of drunken bacchanalia.
I pushed through the throng of writhing bodies in the foyer, the silky material of my dress sticking to my skin in uncomfortable places as sweat pooled along my back and at the nape of my neck. I quickly realized it was going to be impossible to locate August in this crowd.
“Arden,” a voice shouted above the din. “Arden, over here.”
I spun around to see August’s flaming red hair emerge into view. He stood on the staircase and waved a hand, urging me to follow him upstairs.
I made for the staircase, trying to catch up, but August had already disappeared from view.
At the top of the stairs, I found myself standing in a long, dark corridor.
I took a tentative step into the narrow hallway, my gaze passing over the ornate family portraits framed along the wall, pausing when I reached a large door at the end of the hall, hesitating with my fingers on the knob.
“August?” I called out. Only silence met my inquiry. No one else was up here. Where the hell was he? Out of the shadows, a hand reached out to seize my wrist. Another pressed flat across my mouth, stifling my surprised gasp for air.
“August!” I yelped, whirling around as he removed his hand from my lips. “What the hell are you doing up here?”
“I didn’t want us to be overheard.” He was panting slightly, his eyes wild.
Something in their expression alarmed me. He still did not let go of my wrist. For the first time, I noticed he’d changed from his original oatmeal-colored tweed suit into an onyx blazer and pants I’d never seen before.
“What’s going on?” The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.
“Come on, not here.” He tugged me into an unoccupied bedroom.
It was too dark up here. He was acting strangely, and that manic look in his eyes…I was afraid of it.
“No,” I said, pulling back. “Tell me what’s going on, right now.” I resisted his grasp, but he held on tightly.
August’s nostrils flared in irritation. “Come on, Arden.”
But as he tugged at my arm, I caught the tail end of a glittering, metallic flavor in the air.
It wasn’t the usual burnt ash or the corrosive flavor of deceit on my tongue; rather, it reminded me of blood oozing from a bitten lip, just the barest glimmer of iron.
I’d learned years ago never to ignore my strange ability, and tonight was no exception.
Something was wrong. I yanked my wrist free.
“You’re not August,” I breathed.
The gleaming smile August offered in return made my blood run cold. “You’re smarter than you look, Little Arrow.” He spoke in a voice that was not his own. August’s features shifted and warped until he was no longer standing before me.
Zhara.
My first thought was that I had detected her glamour.
Tasted it for the deceit it was. My second thought was that I was in deep fucking trouble.
I was standing in a secluded bedroom with a Daemon of the Bloodthorn Order.
The third was that Veronika had set me up, and I’d fallen for her ruse.
The last thing I thought of was my dagger, concealed beneath the rippling silk of my dress.
That Zhara had no inkling I was armed was my only source of consolation against the fear that trickled down my spine.
Oh, fuck.
I swallowed hard as her obsidian eyes bored into me. Even in the dim light, they gleamed with cold malice.
“You ruined my fun,” she hissed softly. Her tight-fitting black bodysuit was made of a glassy, almost liquid material that moved to the shape and form of her lithe body.
Her eyes were heavily shadowed with a deep shade of onyx that matched her painted lips.
She wore no jewelry, allowing her to remain nearly undetectable among the shadows.
She was watching me warily, like a predator assessing its potential prey.
“What do you want?”
Zhara ignored my question and moved closer, a cat stalking a mouse.
“These parties are all the same,” she muttered, her voice like rough coal.
“Drunken mortal fools, falling all over themselves, drinking our wine until they make themselves sick. And in the morning, their maids clean up their mess so they can do it all over again.” Her laugh was a gravelly rasp at the back of her throat.
“It is very tedious, you know. Dealing with these mortal emissaries. Sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth it. ”
It unnerved me that she did not answer, but I decided to play along. “Why even come to the party then?” I inquired.
She sneered. “You know why. It’s the same reason you and the Darkseer are in attendance.”
Shit, so they knew we were searching for the Heir.
“Tell me, girl, did you find her?”
“Her?” I repeated, catching her slip-up. “The Heir is a woman?”
She scowled at her error. “Whoever they are, the Heir will soon be nothing so much as bones in the ground after Devereaux plucks the secrets from their head.”
Her teeth, I now realized, were sharpened into gleaming ivory points. Even barring any supernatural abilities, those fangs would likely do serious damage. I was trembling, trying to think around the wild pounding of my heart.
“But—you need the Heir,” I argued. “You could even use them as leverage against the Queen—”
Her dark eyes flashed. “Need them? As if we Daemons need a mortal fool!” She unleashed a guttural laugh, the sound echoing against the walls, and bared her teeth.
She was closing in, pressing me up against the wall. A gilded frame dug painfully into the back of my skull. I was trapped.
First August, and now some unknown girl was in danger, all because someone’s ancestor had made a foolish bargain to act as Keeper for the Daemon Queen. And now, me.
I needed to calm down. Focus. I had to keep her talking to buy myself time.
Soon, Casimir would wonder where I’d gone and come looking for me.
She could easily kill me. I ran through my options.
Beg for my life? No. Tell her about the bargain with Casimir?
No, the Order couldn’t know about that, but maybe…
If I could plant a seed of doubt in Zhara’s mind, it might make her hesitate long enough for me to escape this room.
“If you hurt me, Casimir will come looking for you,” I warned, forcing my voice to sound commanding. Zhara’s gaze was icily penetrating, but I continued, “I… belong to the Darkseer, and attacking me will only incur his wrath.”
“I don’t believe you,” she hissed.
“See for yourself!” I cried, and in my desperation, I yanked up my dress to expose the tattoo on my thigh, just visible in the slanted light from the foyer. Casimir. “He will kill you if you harm me.”
Zhara bared her teeth in a feral growl. Suddenly the edge of a blade was pressed against my throat. I gasped at the feel of the cold metal against my skin.
She crooned, “He may very well try, but I do not fear the Darkseer, girl.”
Shit.
“Okay,” I said, thinking wildly. “What about the Book of Erebos?”
She froze, the pressure of the blade slackening slightly as her eyes widened.
I hurried on. “If you have any hope of getting answers from the Book of Erebos, you will leave me unharmed.” I panted against her. “I’m the only one the Vrag Kigna will speak to.”
“Liar,” she crooned, glaring into my face, teeth bared. The glint of her sharp canines was visible in the dim light. “Why should I care about the Book?” she hissed.
“Because,” I croaked against the pressure of the blade against my vocal cords, “you need the Book to—” But I didn’t know what they needed the Book of Erebos for. So I guessed: “—To complete your blood ritual.”
Her pout creased a line in her blood-red lipstick. “You know what I think, girl?”
Her lips were so close I could feel her hot breath on my skin as she hissed in my ear.
“I think that a party is no fun without a little bloodshed.”
I winced as the blade pressed tighter against my jugular.
I could feel beads of blood trickle wetly down my throat and onto my dress from the pressure of the blade on my skin.
My breaths came in short rasps. I knew I had to take control of the situation before she slit my throat.
Zhara’s nails dug into my right wrist like talons, and my own dagger, strapped to my thigh, was out of reach.
Sweat joined the blood trickling down my neck as Zhara rasped, “I think you’re a bold little liar who never learned to hold her tongue. And I think it’s past time someone cut it out.”
Panic gripped me like a vice, and I couldn’t stop the flow of tears from streaming down my cheeks. She was going to cut out my tongue. She was going to maim me, leave me choking on my own blood like an animal—
She growled in frustration, lowering her blade. “But just in case you’re right about the Darkseer’s wrath…” she said. “I won’t kill you.”
I gasped in relief at the absence of the blade. She was going to let me go.
“However, perhaps it’s safest to leave no trace of my hand in this.”
She conjured a goblet of blood-red wine from thin air and grasped a fistful of hair in one hand, yanking my head back and forcing the cup to my lips with the other.
My scream became a drowning gurgle as she poured the contents of the goblet down my throat. I choked, clawing at the hand that grasped my hair hard enough to make my eyes water, but she held fast, keeping my mouth hinged open.
With enough force to fracture bone, Zhara swung her fist into my jaw with blunt force. I fell to the floor, spluttering and coughing even as I scrambled backward, my palms slipping on the spilled wine.
Zhara loomed over me, the triumph in her expression all too clear.
The damage was done. I’d swallowed enough to be poisoned.