Chapter 38 Scion of No One #2
“But before all of that, there is something else that I, personally, would like to address. When we came together here last to welcome our new queen, accusations were made that I hoped to control her. Slanderous accusations that I wished to puppet her for my own purpose and gain. There was no time to refute those claims at the coronation, in light of what transpired . . .”
Hundreds of angry eyes turned on me.
I shot the crowd a beatific grin.
“. . . but now that we have reached a calmer place, I stand before you all, making that proclamation. I do not have designs on the Sanasrothian throne. I do not wish to control Saeris Fane, regent of this court.”
Unrest stirred by the head of the table to my right. I didn’t even need to look to know Zovena would be at the center of the angry muttering, but yes, there she was, glowering at Taladaius. I could almost see the steam piping from her ears.
Tal, ever the practiced orator, ignored the disturbance and continued his address.
“I do not want, nor have I ever wanted, power over the other Lords of Midnight, and I will happily prove that to you all, right here and right now. I, Taladaius Helyer, once eldest son of the Helyer household, Keeper of Secrets and Lord of Midnight, do hereby rescind the gift of my blood!” He lifted his arms in the air again and turned away from the crowd to face us, his features stormy, eyes as steely as thunderheads.
He winked at Saeris, raising his voice even louder so that it boomed throughout the hall.
“Without rancor and with the deepest respect and humility, I call back my blood, Saeris Fane, queen of Sanasroth. I revoke my lineage and my patronage, so that you may stand alone in your task, and I may do the same. I call upon the gods and the demons of this realm. It is my will!”
I braced for the clap of Tal’s hands, knowing what would come with it.
The shock wave tore through the hall, causing the ground to buck beneath the palace.
The disruption was gone as quickly as it had come, but the smell of sulfur lingered in the air, burning the back of my nose.
Next to me, Saeris grimaced. She looked at me, confusion written all over her face.
“What the hell?” she whispered.
And then she pitched forward and vomited a jet of blood into the empty ice bucket Tal had given her before his grand speech.
It’s okay. It’ll be over quickly. You didn’t drink much of his blood, I told her.
It was a rare and messy business, the rescinding of the blood. I’d never seen it performed. I’d heard tales of it happening, though. Over the centuries, Malcolm had sired every single high blood in this court. Occasionally, one of them had displeased him, and he’d had reason to call back his blood.
He had gathered his court around him and made an event out of it, using the spectacle to publicly shame his offspring, but also to demonstrate to his other children what would happen to them if they stepped out of line.
A high blood would live after a rescinding.
On paper, very little changed. They were still alive, inasmuch as any vampire was actually alive .
. . but they were outcasts. Cut off from the royal blood.
Malcolm had often gone a step further and officially shunned a high blood once he had recalled his blood, and that?
Well, that was a death sentence for most.
Tal couldn’t shun Saeris. He’d said plenty of pretty things about no rancor and respect, but what he did here tonight did shame her, according to the precedent that Malcolm had set.
It was selfish—something so utterly unlike Tal that when Saeris had mentioned it before, I had assumed the suggestion of it would never come to anything.
And yet here we were. I would be pinning the bastard up against a wall later and demanding to know what the hell he was playing at, him being so concerned about Saeris not appearing weak in front of the court.
Saeris bore the display with considerable dignity, given that she was vomiting blood in front of an entire court who loathed her. It was over quickly, as I’d assured her it would be. A few mouthfuls of blood were all that was owed.
When she was done spitting into the silver bucket, Tal took it from her, bowing low.
“Thank you. I’m sorry.” Quick as a flash, he faced the crowd again, garish green light washing over his skin as he addressed the court.
“Behold! Saeris Fane, first of her name. Scion of no one. Rise for your queen!” he bellowed.
It couldn’t be denied: He put on a damn good show when he felt like it. To what end, I couldn’t fathom, but still. He had the entire Blood Court on their feet, reluctantly holding their glasses in the air.
“May she be the last monarch this court sees!” Tal shouted, snatching a glass up from a passing thrall’s tray. “May she overcome all, for the glory of this holy court. May she usher in a new era and a new beginning for the people of Sanasroth! To Queen Saeris!”
The toast was a confusing one. Had any of the vampires present been faintly sober, they might have questioned Tal’s unusual tribute, but half the court was already in its cups, and the other half were catching up.
A sea of glasses went up in the air, the light glancing off their gold-edged rims in a dazzling display as all of Ammontraíeth called out my mate’s name.
“Queen Saeris!”
Silence followed quick on the heels of the shouting, as the high bloods drained their glasses. It didn’t matter that they were probably cursing her name to themselves as they downed their wine—they still drank.
Blood and wine, after all.
Blood and wine.
Seemingly pleased, Taladaius descended the dais steps and set his glass on the table to the right.
“And now, there are five loyal members of this court who would ascend to the position of Lord, to safeguard a tithing of its power and become a court protector. I call forth Kavan Dahlish to present his case!”
Kavan Dahlish was a brute. At well over seven and a half feet tall, he towered over everyone as he bulled his way through the crowd and came to stand at the center of the five-pointed star.
The moment he turned and bowed toward the dais, I knew him.
His thick dark hair hung all the way down his back; in life, he had been a fine warrior.
Courageous and brave. Funny, too. His nose was flat, pressed to his wide face having been broken many times.
I had been responsible for one or two of those breaks, courtesy of some rowdy sparring sessions that had ended in blood on both sides.
His eyes were flat and dark now, where once they had been blue. They narrowed imperceptibly as he nodded first not to Saeris, but to me. “Commander.” There was no warmth in the greeting. Even less warmth to the greeting he paid Saeris. “Your Highness.”
My skin prickled all over; my tattoos were rioting beneath my clothes.
How foolish of me. I’d made a grave error.
Malcolm had stalked the killing fields of so many of our battles.
The crows fed from the fallen, plucking out their eyes.
Malcolm had done the fucking same. Only, he had taken their souls instead of letting them pass peacefully into the beyond.
The tallest. The strongest. The ones who had still been putting up a fight. Because Kavan wouldn’t have gone quietly. Malcolm would have forced him to take his blood . . .
How many of my warriors had he taken that way, plucked trembling from the verge of death and made to swallow from his foul veins before they were ended and turned to his will?
Rage painted my vision red. A futile, impotent emotion.
What was I supposed to do with the hate that roiled in my gut, for a male who was ash on the wind?
There was no one to scream at. No one to blame.
There was only the warrior whom I had called friend, who had died on my watch and been condemned to an eternity of debasement and depravity as a result.
“I’ve served this court for two hundred and seven years, Highness. During that time, I have trained many captains in the art of siege warfare. I have piloted several battalions of the horde in successful campaigns. I have cast the armies of our foe at the gates of hell and pitched their bodies in.”
A low droning sound drowned Kavan out.
He stared at me as he rolled off a litany of atrocities that had earned him praise and commendations from Malcolm, and my blood ran cold as ice in my veins.
The training he had received from me. The skills I had taught him. All of it, turned around and used against us.
Kavan had known how to wield his weapon. He had stood in the shadows and watched as the monsters who had killed him tore apart the friends he had once sworn to protect.
As he spoke, the acrimony in his eyes, the accusation, was clear. You left me here to this. What did you expect?
“I may not be one of the longest-serving members of this court, but I have brought glory to Sanasroth and upheld my master’s will. I propose that I be selected as Ammontraíeth’s newest Lord of Midnight, specifically as Keeper of Warfare.”
Are you okay?
Saeris’s eyes were on Kavan. She showed no signs of having noticed my discomfort, but we were sensitive to each other these days. I could sense when she was tense. Worried. Apparently, she could sense when I was so deeply on edge.
I’m fine. I’m okay. He was just . . . he was one of mine.
Oh, gods, Fisher. I’m so sorry.
To the warrior, she said, “Thank you for your service to this court, Kavan. I will consider your petition thoroughly before I make my decision.”
The warrior bowed deeply. His gaze lingered on Saeris for a second before it slipped to me, dark and tense. Once, his eyes would have been full of laughter and fire. Now they were cold and full of hate.
It broke me.
How could I have been so fucking blind?