Chapter 16 #2
Zarathos looked pleased he’d gotten his way. “Show me the path you will take when you return, then to the scepter, and then the fastest route to exit.”
Her heart sank. The fastest route to leave her behind.
They stepped into the palace’s hallway, its arched ceilings soaring several stories high, casting an air of grandeur over the entrance.
Blood-red velvet rugs lined the floor, leading to a sweeping staircase flanked by large carved gargoyles.
Standing candelabras, bristling with glowing candles, cast flickering light into the natural gloom, while extended, heavy black curtains were drawn tight across every window.
As she moved forward, her breaths grew shallow. Once, a long time ago, this place felt like home, but for years lately, it had been nothing but a prison.
“First, I’ll be taken to see my uncle, who most likely will be in the throne room.
” She led him up the staircase to a pair of large doors carved in deep reds and golds.
With a push, they creaked open, and she watched as Zarathos stepped inside without hesitation.
Blood stained the floor in several places, left that way on purpose.
Along the far wall hung her uncle’s maps, surrounded by a twisted shrine of impaled dolls.
She paused in the doorway, gaze fixed on the empty throne. A high-backed ebony chair stood before them, cruel spikes lining its top edge, and a large carved lion’s head with ruby eyes glaring out in silent menace. Her uncle’s throne.
The one that was meant to be hers, but had always truly belonged to Raydin.
And yet, she was bound to Zarathos now. He settled into the throne, looking a little too comfortable, and gazed around the spacious room. With a start, she realized that, with or without the scepter, their Bloodbinding had given him a claim to the vampire crown.
There was an arrogance in his expression when their eyes locked, and a vicious smile curled on his lips, as if he understood precisely what she was thinking.
She turned away, a chill running down her spine.
Her hands tightened into fists as she fought to steady her breath.
In her mind, it had always ended with her killing Zarathos and claiming his throne, not the other way around.
Her teeth sank into her lip, and she glanced back at him. “Then, after Uncle interrogates me, I will most likely be sent to my bedchamber to rest from my horrifying ordeal of being kidnapped and imprisoned.”
His dark grin stretched wider. And he rose from the king’s chair to follow her out of the throne room.
They went up another flight of stairs, where they came to her private bedchamber.
She hesitated at the entrance, a strange unease flowing through her at the thought of letting him into her personal space, even only mentally.
Still, she pushed the doors open and stepped inside.
It looked as she’d left it the night she was taken by Zarathos.
Her sheets were rumpled from resting in it during the day.
A couple of swords lay beside her bed that she was in the process of sharpening, and a book on combat rested on a table.
Zarathos took it in, but his gaze lingered on the colorful tapestries lining the walls, woven pieces in shades of red and yellow, green and blue.
If only stitching together the fragments of herself were as simple as combining threads of different colors.
Maybe then she’d understand who she was.
Maybe then she wouldn’t have to live in a world so violent and threatening.
“You enjoy weaving?” he asked, stepping closer.
He ran a clawed finger over the tapestry, a mingling of human anatomical hearts and hands rendered in delicate thread. “This is remarkable craftsmanship.”
He swiveled to glance at the loom beside her bed, as if needing to confirm she’d made them herself.
Aryana stared at him. “Are you paying me a compliment?”
He didn’t move. But then retracted his hand, giving an aloof shrug. He turned to look at her. “Where to next on our journey of betrayal and subterfuge?”
She caught her breath. That was what she was doing.
Betraying her uncle. Her kingdom. Her kind.
She knew that already; however, standing in her castle, in her room where so many memories surrounded her, it seemed ever more immediate and tangible.
Gods, she’d been used, and now she was the one betraying her kingdom. Perhaps it was just an endless cycle.
Not only that, she was going against her father and his vision of an independent vampire nation. A sickness twisted inside her and for the first time, she doubted her plan. But the deal with Zarathos was struck. No matter how badly she felt about it, she had to go on.
“Now we get the scepter.”
“Which is located…”
She willed her racing heart to calm as her unease ratcheted higher. “My father’s study.”
They moved down several halls and another flight of stairs.
There weren’t many rooms in the castle left untouched after her father’s death, but his office was an exception.
They stopped outside the door. The spells and wards he’d cast to protect the scepter were so powerful, so intricate, that even her uncle hadn’t dared to interfere with them.
“Is this it?” Zarathos asked.
Aryana swallowed hard, then gave a small nod.
She hadn’t entered this room since the day she’d been betrayed, the day her world turned to ruin. The day her hesitation had cost her everything. When love had cost her everything.
Despite the time he’d already spent observing her memories, Zarathos hadn’t seen all of her traumatic life experiences.
“Aryana?” He observed her carefully.
She only needed to focus on the scepter. Placing a palm on the door and stealing her nerves, she pushed it open.
The room in front of her took form, but only in the crudest of renderings.
Everything outlined but with no hues or tones.
A bookcase there and the floor, and the floral designs that scrolled across the ceiling.
A portrait of her and her mother that hung on the wall.
And the desk…no, not the desk, don’t look over there.
Moving through the chamber, she stared steadily at the alcove across from her, the one that held the piece of the scepter.
It was the only part of the space that assumed a color rendering.
“Is something wrong?” Zarathos asked as he walked behind her. “This room seems a bit…less detailed than the others.”
“There are spells protecting it and more protecting the alcove where the scepter resides. Only the castle guard, my mother, my uncle and I can enter my father’s office,” she said, ignoring his question and moving in quick strides toward the alcove.
“Only those of my father’s blood may enter the alcove. ”
“So only you and your uncle.”
“Yes.” She led Zarathos into the rear area and turned toward the scepter, encased in a glass display set into the wall. She focused, trying to recall every detail—the red jewel gleaming at its tip, the intricate carvings along its shaft.
The alcove curved around the back of the office, creating an unexpected extension of the space. Shelves lined with books filled most of it, and a brazier at the far end provided just enough light to see by.
“The scepter is the most heavily protected,” she said. “Only the king can break the spell guarding it.”
Zarathos studied it carefully. “Hmm, we shall see.” He reached up and touched the glass case.
“You do that in real life. It will reduce you to ash.”
He frowned. “And the alcove? What happens if I try to cross into it?”
“Burned to a crisp.”
“And the room?”
“That is a simple barrier spell. You can cross it if you have the right person with you.”
“Like you.”
She pressed her lips and nodded. “That won’t do you any good with the alcove, though. Or accessing the scepter, which I can’t help you with.”
“I understand. What about leaving? If I were already inside, can I cross the alcove barrier?”
“Like the room, it is only entering that is guarded against. Once you are through you are fine to leave whenever.”
He nodded. “Anything else?”
“The guards stand watch outside. Two of them, day and night.”
“Is that all?”
She lifted an eyebrow. Is that all? Even though it was easy to leave, getting in was near impossible. The room was so locked down nobody had entered it, besides uncle, for years. “I believe so.”
Zarathos stepped away, a flash of cold satisfaction in his eyes, before he faced her. “Now, show me the fastest route out of the castle.”
She huffed a laugh of disbelief. “If I come in here, and you don’t have a way to undo the spell protecting the scepter—”
“Don’t worry about it, Aryana. And you won’t be alone. I fully intend to accompany you. I may not be able to shadow jump into the castle, but once I am inside, moving between shadows shouldn’t be a problem. Hence the tour.”
“But the alcove—”
“The way out, Vampress,” he said, his voice sharp.
They glared at each other for a long moment. Few demons could move seamlessly through the shadows as he did. The ability was rare, though she couldn’t recall which species possessed it.
“Fine,” she said, giving in first.
She stepped into the office and froze. Her father sat at the outline of the desk. His broad smile shone across his face. His crimson stare bored into hers.
“Aryana, my precious, how are you this evening?” he said.
Her whole body trembled. The entire room came into glaringly accurate detail.
Her father’s gaze shifted. “And I see you’ve brought a friend. Or perhaps more than a friend?”
A flush crept through her cheeks. And words moved past her unmoving lips. “Vallin.”
A vampire man that very much wasn’t Zarathos stepped forward on her left-hand side. He was tall and broad and had waves of brown hair and sharp red eyes.
He knelt before her father, casting Aryana one last adoring glance.