Chapter 37 #2
I shook off his protests, my eyes never leaving Devereaux’s, but Casimir forced his way into my head, his inner voice deafening and relentless.
“I will never forgive you if you do this!”
My thigh prickled painfully as I fought to shut him out.
“And why, my dear Miss Farrow, would we want to spill your blood?” Devereaux inquired. “We have already gone to the trouble of vetting these donors as excellent blood candidates. Sinclair, Riordan, and Iyer all come from good breeding stock.”
At this, Casimir’s protests abruptly ceased. He was relieved, I realized, and I hated him for it.
“We’re wasting time,” Evren growled. “The moon is ascendant and we need to begin—”
“Let Arden leave before you begin,” Casimir said, ignoring Evren and appealing directly to Devereaux. “Dev, please.” I had never heard Casimir beg before.
Devereaux merely arched his brow.
“Shut it, Darkseer,” Evren grunted. He strode over and kicked Casimir in the shin, causing his grip on my arm to slacken. I twisted free as a second blow sent Casimir crashing to the floor, where his skull struck against the hard stone.
“Don’t hurt him!” I screamed, but Evren only laughed.
Casimir didn’t move. He was out cold.
“Thank you, Evren,” intoned Devereaux. Before I knew what was happening, he reached out a pale hand and ensnared my wrist. A dull warmth spread over me, coaxing my muscles to relax.
Unable to resist the temptation, I succumbed to the proffered bliss, my limbs going limp on a sigh.
As though through a fog, I felt myself being led by two cloaked Daemons, ushering me toward the center of the dais where Neha, Gwen, and August already knelt.
Devereaux began to read from the Book of Erebos.
Dimly, I saw that Neha was trembling, her eyes wide with terror.
August’s eyes sought mine, and against the glamour dulling my senses, I realized that he was afraid for me.
All his efforts to keep me away from the Order tonight had been in vain.
I was sorry for any guilt or remorse he might feel now, but nothing he could have done would’ve changed the outcome.
The cloaked Daemons released my hands, but the slow, benumbed feeling lingered in my limbs.
Gwen kneeled on my left. Unlike the others, her eyes were fully closed.
Perhaps the bloodmagic was affecting her more strongly.
“G-Gwen,” I slurred. “Wake up,” I urged her.
She needs to get out of here, I thought.
When she didn’t respond, I gave her shoulder a weak shove, but Gwen was immune to my attempts to rouse her.
Abruptly, the warm haze thickened along my limbs, making my arms feel like jelly.
Moving as sluggishly as if I were underwater, I reached out to twine my fingers with August’s and offered him a small, tremulous smile. It was all I had left to give.
His hand was cold, but his grip was surprisingly firm.
I silently thanked the gods that Casimir was unconscious.
That he would not have to witness any bloodshed.
My grip on August’s fingers tightened as my vision began to blur, and I guessed that Devereaux was the cause.
He must be using bloodmagic to lull us into a trance to prevent any unpleasant resistance.
All around me, the Daemons echoed Devereaux’s chants in an unfamiliar language—the Blood Tongue, I guessed.
But Gwen, Gwen was safe. Dragged off to one corner of the dais by a cloaked Daemon, trembling but alive.
My limbs went weak with relief. It was my one consolation that Gwen, at least, would survive.
I finally began to understand a sliver of what my father had done for me, though his efforts had been entirely too late and in vain.
I was doomed, and I accepted it. It was a relief, really, to stop fighting.
I sank lower onto the dais, allowing my head to loll to the side.
Bloodmagic was so very potent compared to softmagic, I thought dimly. My eyes fluttered closed on a sigh.
“Fight it, Arden,” a singular voice cut through the chanting, clear as a bell. Casimir? Impossible, since he was unconscious. Why would he waste his last ounce of strength trying to convince me to fight off the magic?
I wavered on the edge of bliss, preparing to embrace the abyss, but again, that nagging voice pierced through my mental walls. “Fight the bloodmagic. Now!”
But I was so tired, and the warm, fuzzy feeling only got lovelier the longer I succumbed to it. It wouldn’t be long now…
The voice was shouting now. “Arden! Open your eyes!”
The spell broke, and I became aware of several things at once: a slab of cold stone against my cheek; the metallic taste of blood flooding my mouth—my blood?
—the acrid scent of burning candles, or maybe incense, and the sound of someone groaning nearby.
I nearly gagged as blood pooled against my lips, but I knew it wouldn’t be wise to move just yet.
The others must believe I was unconscious.
Cautiously, I peeled one eye open, just enough to make out the hazy scene before me.
I was lying on the stone dais. Someone—Devereaux or Evren—was scooping up the blood pooling onto the floor with a flat shell, and cursing because they’d spilt it.
A Daemon I didn’t recognize was chanting words I could not understand in a low tone.
I felt no pain, not yet. Not my blood then.
August lay motionless beside me, but I could just make out the rise and fall of his chest. Still alive.
Please let Gwen be okay. I prayed they hadn’t gotten to her yet.
The figures at the center of the room muttered under their breath.
I caught words here and there as they were repeated.
“Sanguinus, Sirenix, Serpens.”
August whispered the translation under his breath:
“O blood of blood; thy eternal flame,
Sirenix, mistress of secrets, we beseech your mercy
From the essence of three
You shall restore our rise
As we spill this sacred blood
For your imbibing.
O Lady Sirenix, accept our sacrifice
We Daemons bow down to your power.”
Devereaux was chanting, muttering prayers from the Book of Erebos as he invoked the magic he’d lusted after for decades. Dully, I wondered if adding the Heir’s blood, my blood, would make him even more powerful.
Abruptly, I felt Casimir’s presence like a soft intrusion against my mind. I let him in, despite the cloying taste of metal that arrived on the wings of his glamour.
“Wait for the right moment, Arden. You will know when it is time.”
With a staggering rush of adrenaline, I remembered the dagger still sheathed at my thigh.
“Every opponent has a weakness. You must root it out and exploit it.”
And there it was, their weakness. In keeping with their low estimation of mortals, the Order had been too arrogant to bother checking to see if I was armed before beginning the ritual.
For whoever’s blood still swirled onto the dais, dripping onto the floor, it was likely too late. But hopefully, I could still save Gwen, August, and Casimir. I could still save myself.
Devereaux believed us all to be too dazed or unconscious to fight back. Beside me, August’s muttering was cut off by a choked gurgling noise. I forced myself not to flinch. Oh gods. August. A scraping sound grated against my ear as someone collected the blood as it gushed from his neck.
I would be next.
A warm hand rolled me over, tilting my chin upward and exposing my throat. The hand felt too small to be a male Daemon’s. A rasping voice hissed in my ear, “You’re dead, Farrow.”
And then, the unmistakable chill of a blade against my throat.
My eyes snapped open. The cloaked figure froze in surprise.
It was a female Daemon, the little one with yellow teeth.
I cut off her cry of alarm by plunging the tip of my father’s dagger into the hollow of her throat.
Blood streamed from an artery in her neck, spraying into my mouth and eyes.
The room erupted into chaos.
The body of the female Daemon I had slain fell to the dais with a thud as several of the cloaked Daemons screamed in horror.
My gaze collided with Casimir’s from across the room, where Evren held an obsidian blade to his throat.
The Umbra Noctis. He must’ve found it in Casimir’s jacket.
But Evren didn’t need a dagger to kill Casimir.
He was already so drained by the poison surging through his bloodstream, one hard shock from Evren’s glamour would probably finish him off.
No, the blade was merely a display of power to ensure my cooperation.
The few drops of antidote Casimir had imbibed had long since worn off. He was conscious, but very weak. The whites of his eyes were a pale, sickly yellow as he stared back at me.
“Stop! Stop!” Devereaux screeched, furious at this interruption.
“Please forgive our gross oversight in neglecting to disarm you, girl,” Evren sneered, pressing the blade to the pulse point of Casimir’s neck. A few drops of blood beaded beneath the blade. “It seems we underestimated your very mortal desire to live. Now, drop the knife.”
I glared back at him from the dais, my own dagger gripped tightly in one trembling hand, painfully aware of August bleeding out beside me. I didn’t dare glance at Neha, who had been bled first. Gwen sat beside me, pale but unharmed.
In my periphery, I saw a shadow emerge onto the dais. A Daemon, intending to disarm me. But I was ready for them.
In one smooth motion, I kicked backward, catching my attacker’s ankle and forcing him off balance.
The male Daemon cried out as his back hit the floor with a thud.
Without hesitation, I seized his wrist, twisting his arm around his back until I heard his shoulder give a satisfying crack.
He wailed in pain, but fury and fear had made me ruthless.
Keeping his arm painfully tight behind his back, I brought my dagger to his throat, pressing hard enough to draw blood.
The eyes of the cloaked Order members followed the red droplets as they trickled slowly from his throat; some widened in shock, others narrowed in vengeful fury.
“Move, and I’ll slit your throat,” I hissed in my captive’s ear.
Devereaux raised his hands submissively.
“Arden, let us speak plainly.” Despite his calm demeanor, he was clearly furious, the polite mask he so assiduously donned slipping in the chaos.
“You might get lucky enough to kill one or two of us, but you cannot win here tonight, not when there are so many against you. Drop your weapon.”
“Fuck you.” I held my dagger tight against the Daemon’s throat, eliciting a whimper.
“What do you plan to gain from this little show, tonight? Hmm?” Devereaux inquired.
“Kill Draylithen if you must.” He sighed, waving a dismissive hand. The male Daemon called Draylithen whined in protest, the sound vibrating against my blade. “It won’t save you or your Darkseer.”
He was right, I knew. Killing this Daemon wouldn’t change anything.
Evren’s lips curled, revealing a row of pearl-white teeth.
“He’s right. The venom will soon take him.
Your Daemon is doomed without the antidote, whether I open his throat or not.
” He pressed the blade harder against Casimir’s skin, eliciting a soft hiss of pain as a rivulet of blood ran down his neck.
“Oops,” he snickered, grinning maliciously.
“I suppose now there’s more than one poison coursing through his blood. ”
I bellowed in rage. “You fucking bastard—!”
Evren had cut Casimir with the Umbra Noctis. Oh, gods. The poisoned blade.
“Drop the knife, girl. I won’t ask again,” Devereaux snapped.
Casimir was out of time. I had to make a choice. Either drop my dagger and trust that Evren would release Casimir, or fight through the Daemons until I was inevitably slaughtered, with Casimir soon after. It was no choice at all, really. Unless—
“I’ll drop my knife after you give him the antidote,” I said, lowering the dagger slightly.
I didn’t know how long it would take for the Umbra Noctis to wreak its havoc on Casimir’s system, and now there was another unknown blood poison to contend with.
But he stood no chance of surviving without first addressing the Hydra Datura venom.
I forced my voice not to tremble as I spoke.
“Make a bargain with me. Swear you will not harm my friends further. Agree to let them go, and I’ll do whatever you want. ”
Evren barked out a laugh. “That’s not how this works, idiot girl. You have no leverage. You have nothing to offer us.”
Steeling myself, I shoved the captive Daemon aside and swung my elbow against his skull. With a yelp, the Daemon fell into a pathetic heap on the dais. Panting, I lifted my dagger to my own throat and locked eyes with the Siphoner.
“If you kill them, you’ll never know the council’s secret.” It was my last bargaining piece, my deadly inheritance as the Heir to secrets I never asked to bear.
Let them see, I thought savagely. Let them see what happens when they fuck with Malcolm Flynch’s daughter.
“My name is Arden Farrow-Flynch. My father was Malcolm Flynch. I’m the Keeper’s Heir.”