Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
FORGE AND FIRE
Sweat beads my brow, dampens my spine, my muscles screaming. I’m breathing hard, my heart pounding. All the things I shouldn’t be when I’m with a vampire.
‘Again,’ Varin says.
I drop into a plank for what feels like the fiftieth time, my arms trembling.
I bend my elbows, grunting through another punishing round of push-ups.
Varin circles me, idly twirling his sword, the slender blade catching faint shimmers of light.
The earthen floor is cold, smells like iron and blood.
I finish and drop onto my front, panting.
I’ve been in the training ring for the past two hours, Varin putting me through my paces.
‘Enough,’ he says. ‘Take a break.’
‘I can keep going,’ I gasp. ‘We haven’t hit the pads yet.’
‘Are you sure?’ Varin extends his hand, helping me to my feet. ‘You feel very warm. Take water, at least, if you want to keep going.’
I do want to keep going. I want to keep going until I can’t, until I fall to the ground and it swallows me, taking away the pain.
I haven’t been able to sleep much since coming home, my dreams turning to nightmares of Laurel’s staring eyes, of guilt and blood and Jessie, and Michael saying he hates me.
When I do sleep, I wake each time with a pit in my stomach, grief heavy in my chest. I keep my pain caged, not letting it out.
But it steals through the bars, haunting me with visions of warmth and strong arms, memories on the edge of sleep and waking.
The only thing that helps is throwing myself into work or helping my father with his research into the mysterious community he discovered. And pounding my body into oblivion in the practice ring with Varin.
He and Father have kept their promise to train me, despite my mother’s concerns.
I don’t know what she’s so worried about; I’ve not been allowed near a blade, apart from a wooden practice one.
Father says it’s heavier than the real thing, so I’m using it to strengthen my shoulders and arms, Varin taking me slowly through the Morningstar pattern of strikes.
I want to do it faster, though. Can almost feel it, when my father flashes through the sequence, like a melody etched on my soul.
So, for several hours a day, I push myself through exercises until I can’t take any more, then fall into bed for a few hours’ sleep, and start the cycle again.
If I’m to be alone, I should at least be able to defend myself.
It’s not just the disastrous end to my time in the Safe Zone.
My trauma goes deeper, back to Kyle and his betrayal.
And even before that, the years of feeling trapped, of screaming silently in the hope someone would let me out.
Kyle showed me, though, that the only person who could set me free was me.
And that’s tough to take. I should hate him after what he did.
I gulp down some water, rub my forearm across my sweaty brow, then head back to the centre of the ring.
Varin has stripped down to loose black trousers, his chiselled chest gleaming in the light from the candle lamps, his long dark hair tied back.
He holds a pad on each hand, ready for me.
I pull on my gloves, curling my fingers around the elastic guards, dropping into a fighting stance.
I should hate Kyle, I think, as I throw the first punch, my fist shuddering against the pad.
But I don’t. Despite how he betrayed me, he also saved me.
I can’t even be angry with him for lying to me anymore.
Maybe about the part that he loved me. But I would swear I saw it in his eyes, felt it in his touch.
That’s one of the hardest things, that I can never have that closure.
I wish I could ask him. But I can’t, because he’s dead and I killed him.
I throw a cross punch, Varin nodding his encouragement as we move around the ring. It feels good to hit the pads, like I’m scratching an itch, deep inside. I hit faster, one-two combinations, my breath sobbing in and out.
I realise I’m actually sobbing, my face wet, warmth on my cheeks. I keep going, gritting my teeth, but can’t contain the noises I’m making. Varin pulls back, catching my hands between the pads, his face a mask of concern. Then my father is there, swift as a shadow, his arms coming around me.
‘It’s all right,’ he murmurs, smoothing my hair.
I sob into his shoulder, breathing his comforting scent of moss and violets. Then I pull back, embarrassed by my outburst. ‘I can keep going.’ I wipe my forearm across my face. ‘Let me keep going.’
‘No.’ My father is gentle yet firm, his hands on my upper arms. ‘I think you’ve done enough today. You need to feed, and rest.’
Varin is already shrugging his shirt back on, putting the pads away at the side of the ring. I guess that’s it, then. My mouth twists. ‘Fine. I’ll eat something.’
My father tilts his head. ‘Do you want to talk about it, dear one?’ The love in his voice almost breaks me. But I’m conscious of the guards at the edge of the ring, Varin nearby. Everything is still so tangled. If I start talking, I don’t know what will come out.
‘Not yet,’ I mumble. Father presses a kiss to my brow, then releases me. I leave the ring feeling drained, as though part of me is missing. Maybe it is.
Later, once I’ve forced down some food, I head to my room. I get into bed and flick on the TV, scrolling through the channels, hoping to find something to lose myself in. Instead, I see bodies, piled and twisted, their features mercifully blurred, shattered buildings behind them.
‘…initially thought to be another attack on Raven holdings. This, however, seems to be the result of an illegal hunt, the remains found outside a Safe Zone. In other news—’
I turn the TV off. I’m so sick of this shit.
But I have to tread carefully. Choose the battles I want to fight.
Cracking down on illegal hunts isn’t going to help my larger issue of human rights and will divert forces at a time when I need to be as strong as possible, with Mistral’s Challenge.
As much as it pisses me off, I need to consolidate my reign first.
There’s a piece missing to all of this, something I can’t figure out.
Humans aren’t just food to vampires, they’re more than that; I saw it when I was in the Safe Zone, vampires and humans mingling socially.
Kyle told me, when I thought he loved me, that vampires were banned from changing any more humans.
But the only reason to ban something is because it’s happening, vampires caring about humans enough to want to change them.
While there are vampires who think of humans as just cattle, and humans who think of vampires as monsters, it seems to me there must be just as many, if not more, who see similarities rather than differences.
We have a common origin; my existence is proof of that.
If there can be love or friendship between humans and vampires, then surely there’s a common ground where each side brings something to the other, rather than one side taking everything.
Not every interaction needs to end with blood and death.
What I need to figure out is how to get vampires to see that humans deserve dignity and freedom, just as they do.
That they are more than just the blood in their veins.
I sigh, then get out of bed, grabbing the long cardigan draped across the end.
If I can’t sleep, I might as well keep working.
There are still details to be ironed out for the Channel Islands project; plus, my father mentioned he’d found more references to the experimental community of vampires and humans.
They seemed to know the secret of coexistence; it’s a shame it seems to have been forgotten.
Or perhaps it all descended into chaos and fell apart.
Still, the more I can find out about how it worked, the more chance I have of implementing something similar.
Two guards fall into step behind me as I leave my room.
I ask them to wait outside the library; I’m not going up to the roof, but want to be alone.
The promised papers are on the huge table, a pile of curling yellow parchments.
I grab the magnifying glass my father has helpfully left there, scanning the faded lettering.
It’s interesting stuff, though nothing terribly new.
Just more references to ‘a new socyetie’ and the prowess of the dark knights.
Considering they’re human they must be pretty good, if vampires are writing about them like that.
But what it doesn’t tell me, frustratingly, is how they got it to work.
I yawn, rubbing my eyes. I’ll just put my head down for a minute while I try to figure this out.
Someone shakes me, gently. I struggle towards waking, wondering why I’m so uncomfortable. Michael and I must have fallen asleep on the sofa again.
‘Emelia?’
The sorrow that rolls over me when I hear my mother’s voice, instead of his, is breathtaking. I open bleary eyes to see her bending over me, her brow creased. I groan, lifting my head and peeling ancient manuscripts from my cheek.
‘You need to go to bed.’
I rub a hand over my face. I feel stretched, broken. ‘I need to keep working.’
My mother’s frown deepens. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing.’ The inside of my mouth feels as though something crawled in there and died.
She folds her arms. ‘You’ve been working day and night. When you’re not here, you’re in the training ring with Varin and your father. You barely sleep, and you’re not eating enough. You need to rest.’
I blink back tears. ‘I have a lot to cover before the coronation. I need to be prepared.’
‘Prepared for what?’
‘For … everything.’ I wave a hand. ‘All of it. I’m trying to change the world. We have the Challenge to deal with. And I want the Channel Islands running smoothly by the time I’m crowned.’