Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
FIRST NIGHT
The Darkmeadow is as I remember. A wide expanse of grass high in the hills, tumbled boulders all around.
But there are no screaming humans here tonight, no blood spattered across stone.
Instead, there are crowds and music, billowing silk tents, and a canopy over a raised dais, three thrones set in a row and a semi-circle of Raven guards in front of it.
It’s hard to believe it’s only a few months since I was here, in Kyle’s arms, watching death unfold.
That I almost died, too, betrayed and alone.
I’ve done a lot, come a long way since then, even though I know I have farther to go.
I can be proud of myself for that, at least.
The crowd parts like a wave, two Raven guards holding our standard ahead of me, moonlight catching the flecks of red in their livery.
I hold my head high against the unfamiliar weight of a coronet, my trailing cape brushing the grass, my parents with a hand on each of my shoulders.
Silence ripples out from us, people bowing as we pass.
It’s the most surreal experience, a fantasy in silver-grey and black.
The Gathering is held over three nights under the full moon.
It’s when representatives of all the Raven family branches meet to form alliances, arrange marriages, catch up on news and family gossip.
Not just the twelve main families, but all the subsets and minor nobility, too; it’s a big crowd.
Coaches began arriving last night, sitting shuttered against the daylight.
Sophie isn’t here; there are no human drivers, because it’s too dangerous.
Even blood dancers stay on the coaches, under guard.
I’m the only human on the field tonight.
Besides, there’s no way I want Sophie anywhere near something like this, not after what happened at Versailles.
She was quiet on our way back home, though we did return to our usual easy conversation.
I gave her a week off when we got back, making sure her small apartment in the Safe Zone was fully stocked with food and fresh bedding, so she could rest. We parted with a hug, and a promise I’d keep her up to date with what happened at the Gathering.
Not that I’m expecting much out of the ordinary.
The guards split as we approach the dais, peeling away to the sides and bowing in unison, everything perfectly timed. It’s spectacle, imagery, ritual. Just as the Moon Harvest was.
Part of me still wants to rebel, even though I’ve chosen this path. I remember the market Kyle took me to, the night before it all fell apart. Dancing through the crowd, passed from partner to partner like a bead threaded on a string. How free I’d felt, as though my feet had wings.
And where I’d danced with Michael.
My heart still aches at the thought of him. I suppose it’s unfinished business. I don’t even know if he’s alive. I wonder whether Mistral will show up tonight. I wonder what we’ll do if they don’t.
Their Challenge has collapsed, of course.
My tour, and the time spent at Jennie’s, worked well.
I’m aware it’s a precarious victory, and that things can and most likely will change if I make a mistake.
It’s why Joaquin’s support is so important.
He’s coming tonight; his messages, full of endearments and sensual promise, have been blowing up my phone since we parted.
My parents ascend the dais first, each standing in front of a throne, leaving the central one free. For me. This is it. This is where the power shifts.
I turn to face the crowd. I’ve been through the steps, know what I’m supposed to be doing. But being here, feeling the weight of all the vampire families looking at me, is very different from talking about it in the embrace of family.
Stay standing. Wait as my parents both extend an arm to me, then bow.
The rustle as the crowd follows suit. It’s like watching wind ripple across a field of wheat, bending the stems. Even the guards are kneeling.
A moment of power, pure and simple. The power of my family name, of millennia of rule.
It’s also the power that will allow me to make change.
To bring the balance back so there’s enough for everyone.
I stand tall, claiming it.
Let the crowd see that I’m a force to be reckoned with. That being human is far more than they could ever imagine. My life may be shorter than theirs, my body weaker, but it’s no less full of potential.
‘The heir has been chosen.’ Varin’s voice rings across the field. The crowd parts as he approaches the dais, clad in his smoke-dark chain mail with the Raven crest, holding his unsheathed sword. He places it, point down, on the first step. ‘Who brings her to be presented here?’
The words of ritual. A warrior with a sword, should my claim not be accepted by the crowd.
Vampires are tough to kill, but it’s not impossible.
With light, of course. But also metal, razor sharp, wielded quickly enough to sever head and limbs, to create wounds from which there’s no healing. My hands are shaking.
‘I bring her.’ My mother’s voice, clear and pure as a bell. ‘Blood of my blood, my child, born of my body. Emelia Isadora Raven. Last of our ancient line.’
‘Are there any who would challenge this claim?’ Varin, hands still on the hilt of his sword, turns to the crowd.
I hold my breath. I don’t think Mistral are here. Any objection, and Varin has a choice. He can defend me. Or he can side with the challenger, and kill me.
I don’t believe he’d do the latter, not if he wanted to live long himself. My father would destroy him before anyone else could. But tension ripples across the dais as we wait the allotted three beats. The crowd rustles again but, thank darkness, no one says a word.
‘And so it is.’ Varin picks up his sword, flipping it so it lies flat across both open palms. He kneels before me, offering the weapon.
I take it from him.
Again, there’s precedent here. If I suspected Varin of being anything less than loyal, if this first act of fealty was tarnished in any way, I could kill him with his own weapon.
I wouldn’t dream of it. The arms master has become a friend over these past weeks.
I smile and wait for Varin to meet my gaze. His hazel eyes twinkle.
‘I accept your fealty, Varin Darksolder.’ My voice doesn’t shake, and I’m thankful for that. ‘Arise, as my champion.’
Varin rises, smooth and lethal in his chain mail, taking his sword back.
If he were to strike me down now it would be considered the deepest treason, his name and family hunted down and eradicated.
He turns to the crowd, taking a wide-legged stance a step below me, his unsheathed sword held point-down.
The message is clear. My mother steps forwards.
‘I, Penelope Raven, do officially hand my crown to my daughter, Emelia Raven, on the occasion of her eighteenth birthday. As is tradition for all Ravens, across the centuries.’ She smiles, gleaming and triumphant.
It is a triumph for her, I realise. Over adversity, over the years spent fearing losing me, of me dying or being rejected as ruler, simply because of my humanity.
Vindication of the decision she made to fight for me from the moment of my birth.
My heart swells with love, for all that she’s done to bring me to this moment.
I glance at her, my eyes full of tears. Not part of the ritual, but I don’t care. This is about family.
She returns my smile, a faint tinge of red in her onyx gaze. The crowd cheers, howling their support to the stars and bright moon, clapping and stamping. Music starts, a wild beat, as the festivities begin. As I take the next step towards my crown.