Chapter 10
THE ENEMY’S SON
CORA
My palms itch with sweat. After more than a decade living with vampires, I’m not quick to anxiety.
I’ve grown harder over the years, more calculating, less reactive.
Only Elliot can rattle me like this, and he’s not even here.
All I have of him is this wrinkled parchment, delivered two mornings ago by an overcaffeinated werewolf teenager.
I thumb the letter in my pocket, smoothing over words I’ve long memorized.
To Secora: I promised not to return. I will respect that agreement. However, my patient needs more blood than I hoped, and we are no closer to a cure. I would like to propose a new agreement. Tell me your desires, and I will make them yours.
Respectfully,
Elliot B. Lyrie
His words stir deep in my stomach, igniting a sensation I thought I’d left in the Day Realm.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing to me, of course.
He doesn’t know I’ve been imagining him saying those words against my ear.
Tell me your desires, and I will make them yours.
I want to write him back, assure him there is nothing “respectful” about my desires.
“You’re late,” Beatrice says as I enter the courtyard.
It’s enough to pull me back to reality. I remove my hand from my dress pocket, but I swear the letter’s ink is stained on my thumb.
Dropping my hands at my sides, I stride across the lopsided cobblestone.
This courtyard once held a massive statue of Sebastian at the center.
After he stepped down as king, they had it removed.
Now, the space is filled with overgrown grass and an ever-expanding infestation of weeds.
“I am not a member of your little club,” I say. I stop at the edge of the large table in the corner, resting my hands on its stone surface.
The entire inner circle stares at me, but my attention settles on Sebastian.
Even after stepping down as king, he maintains an air of importance.
He and Grace sit at the head of the table, her with an electronic device unfolded in front of her.
Before coming here, she’d lived in the human world, and apparently, some habits die hard.
Moving pictures flash across her device, but when Grace inevitably loses interest in me, it’s not her entertainment she looks to. It’s Sebastian.
She watches him with adoring fascination, and within seconds, he breaks eye contact with me. He can’t help but look at her, and it sends a physical ache through my core. The pain settles in the bottom of my heart, a relentless, steady torture.
I shift my attention to Milas and Amelia, who each claim a side of the table, then Beatrice who sits opposite Sebastian.
The three of them look ready for a night out, and they’re undoubtedly biding their time until they can leave.
Though none of them have said it, I suspect sharing Sebastian’s rule isn’t as glamorous as they imagined.
Between all of them, endless parchments and artifacts cover the table’s surface. They’re the same artifacts as always, the ones needed for the sun curse ritual. Despite everything, they’re still seeking a cure. A fix to the ailment my kind brought over theirs.
They know as well as I do that they’re wasting time. There’s nothing in those texts that will help them, and those artifacts haven’t been useful since the curse sealed.
There’s only one thing that can help them at this point, but they’re not going to like it.
“Not part of our club, and yet, you’ve never missed a meeting,” Beatrice says sweetly. She rests one hand on top of the other as she grins at me. Her sharp black nails are long enough to brush the tabletop.
She reminds me of the mean girls I knew at school. Bratty. Entitled. Self-absorbed. And yet, she’s proven loyal time and time again. It’s unsettling how often people prove me wrong these days.
“I have a proposition,” I say. I realize I’ve got my hand in my pocket again, brushing over Elliot’s words. I snap out of it, removing my hand and balling it into a tight fist. “An idea.”
“An idea?” Grace asks, finally looking away from Sebastian. His gaze lingers on her as she looks at me. “An idea about what?”
Her voice pitches with hope, which is nothing abnormal for her. Where the rest of us are bleak and generally pessimistic, Grace is an unending force of light. Even now, months after she first arrived in our manor, her presence feels unnatural.
I wouldn’t admit that though, especially not when Sebastian is sitting between us.
“I’ve found a potential witch ally,” I say. I level my tone, working hard to control my heart.
Beatrice, Amelia, and Milas are all staring at me now. I don’t have to return their gazes to imagine their incredulous expressions. My last potential witch ally wanted to kill me—and only their intervention kept me safe.
“You’re wasting time trying to break the curse,” I say. I glance at Grace as I add, “That door has closed.”
“In case we need reminded, I was the one who turned Grace. I closed that door,” Sebastian says, stiffening. Gone is the fool in love, here is the terrifying king we all once knew. “Not Grace.”
“Believe me, we haven’t forgotten,” Beatrice says. She jabs her index finger toward the middle of the courtyard, to the empty space where Sebastian’s statue once stood. “No one here is complaining about how that worked out.”
“You have an idea,” Grace repeats. She places her hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, and whether he realizes it or not, he instantly relaxes against her. He is a cold-hearted monster, and she brings out the best in him. I can’t help looking at them, wishing…
“Cora?” This time, it’s Sebastian.
“An old acquaintance recently found his way to the Night Realm,” I say. “He’s a healer in the Day Realm, and he needs vampire blood for a patient. I believe I can work out an agreement with him. Vampire blood for sunwalker spells.”
“Fuck that,” Beatrice snarls. “That’s obviously a trap. Lyrie’s up to something. She probably sent him to fuck with us.”
It takes all my effort not to flinch.
“I would ward the blood,” I say. “It’s simple. Quick. He’d be able to use the blood for healing purposes only, not potion-making.”
The table falls quiet as the inner circle looks amongst themselves. This is far from the first time I’ve pitched the idea of a witch ally, but it’s the first time I’ve had an actual lead. Even Virginia had been a shot in the dark—one that clearly didn’t land.
“It takes months for me to make a sunwalker spell,” I say.
“I’ve been creating them for years, and I only have twenty-seven.
It’s not nearly enough, and it won’t be enough, even if I make them until the day I die.
With an ally, I can double production. Maybe more.
It’s still not enough, but it’s an improvement. ”
“I want information on this supposed ally,” Sebastian says. “We don’t move forward until we’re sure we can trust him. Until we know this isn’t one of Madam Lyrie’s plots.”
“It’s Elliot Lyrie,” I say. I don’t let my nerves waver now—I knew coming into this that his name would be a problem. The least of mine, but that’s beside the point.
“As in…” Beatrice starts.
“Madam Lyrie, yes,” I say. I ignore her shrieked outburst, focusing instead on Sebastian. His expression has darkened, and even Grace’s hand on his shoulder does nothing to ease his tense shoulders.
“You didn’t mention our visitor’s name,” Sebastian says, clearly having pieced together the full story.
“I know what I’m doing, Master,” I say.
He doesn’t correct me on the formal title. He’s too busy staring at me, eyes narrowed, as if trying to decipher a hidden message in my expression. He won’t find anything.
“Very well,” Sebastian says after a lengthy pause.
“This needs to be a vote,” Beatrice snaps. When I turn to her, she’s openly glaring at Sebastian. “You aren’t a dictator anymore.”
“You want power,” I snap at Beatrice. “You’re desperate for it, Beatrice. Well, you’re not going to get it without an army. And your army dies in the sun. This is a solution, one you clearly need. Don’t be—”
“She’s right,” Sebastian interrupts. He holds a hand toward me, silencing me. “We’ll take a vote. Does anyone have comments before we do?”
“I do,” Beatrice snarls. “Giving our blood to witches is the most foolish thing we could do. Giving it to Lyrie’s spawn? That’s past stupidity. That’s betrayal!”
“When have I ever risked this place?” I ask. I lean forward, palms flattened against the table. My magic hums against my skin, and the stone vibrates beneath my touch. “When have I ever risked you? Or anyone else here?”
“I trust you,” Grace says. She stares at me, her blue eyes as bright as ever. “If you think it’s a good idea, I think we should do it.”
“Amelia?” Sebastian prompts. “Milas?”
“I vote we find a different witch ally. Surely—” Milas starts.
“Surely, you remember our last attempt to find an ally,” I interrupt. Sebastian raises an eyebrow, mouth opening as if to speak. When Grace quietly shakes her head, he stays silent instead.
“I am for it. I trust Cora, and so do all of you,” Amelia says. She starts stacking the loose parchments on the table, wordlessly calling an end to the meeting. “Three against two. That means Cora has the clan’s blessing.”
I nod again. My hand is back in my pocket, fingers smoothing out Elliot’s letter. I should have mentioned that he hasn’t agreed yet. That he very well may not, especially if his mama finds out.
“You have more dead blood?” Sebastian asks. When I nod, he rises from the table, holding a hand to Grace. She hands him her human electronic, and he tucks it beneath his opposite arm. “Start with that. Double check the wards.”
“I will,” I say. Then, because I can feel Beatrice’s open glare, I add, “It won’t be usable in spells. I promise.”
Beatrice doesn’t respond. She flounces out of the courtyard, chin tilted high as she brushes past me. I don’t take it personally. I also don’t expect her fury to last. Beatrice may be volatile and quick to anger, but she’s also incapable of holding grudges for long.
“We didn’t discuss anything on our agenda,” Milas protests as Grace and Sebastian exit the courtyard. He holds up one of his collected artifacts, a severed werewolf ear from a previous ritual. “We were supposed to figure out—”
“Next time, Milas,” Amelia says. She winks at me as she scoops up the rest of the parchments. She’s almost past me when she pauses, leaning in close enough I doubt Milas can hear. With vampires, you never truly know. “How long have you been sleeping with the enemy’s son?”
“I’m not,” I say immediately. My words sound frazzled, defensive, even though it’s the truth. My entire face feels like it’s on fire. “I’ve never—”
“Good for you, girl,” she says, cutting me off. She pats my shoulder and shoots me a wide grin. “I’ve seen Elliot at realm meetings…he’s stunning.”
“I’m not,” I repeat, harder this time. My cheeks are bright red, burning hot enough it feels like I might be flammable in sunlight.
Amelia only laughs before striding out of the courtyard. Milas is a few steps behind her, juggling the werewolf ear and remaining artifacts. Then, I’m alone, wondering if I’ve made a terrible mistake.