Chapter 51
Chapter Fifty-One
DARK WINGS
I am Raven.
A year ago, hell, even six months ago, I would have raged at anyone who thought this would actually happen.
Would have cried and gone to hide in my room, all the while plotting my escape.
But that was before Kyle changed everything.
If it wasn’t for him, I would never have known what I could become.
Never have met Michael.
I know I had a lot to do with it as well, through the choices I made.
But Kyle helped me realise what was possible.
And with that thought, something dark and hard inside me finally dissolves, as though I still held a little piece of him.
I let it float away, sending a silent thank you, just in case he might be somewhere, listening.
The crowd is a swirling mass of brocade and silk, almost as though they’re dancing, as the families line up to swear fealty. I stand near the edge of the steps, Michael just behind me, my mother to one side. And, one by one, the Raven families come to offer me their swords.
It’s a blur of gleaming steel, of bows and curtseys and murmured congratulations, as each representative kneels before me with their blades. I take them, just as I did at the Gathering, accepting their loyalty to the throne. To me.
Then it’s Mistral’s turn. Oliver comes forward, sword in hand, candle-lamp light gleaming on his golden hair, so like that of his father and brothers.
I accept his fealty. And give him back his sword.
As I do I see it.
The tell. The small bunching of his muscles, like a breath drawn in.
The room explodes into a blur of movement.
Michael pulls me back, violently. At the same time there’s a ripping noise like silk tearing. A thin line of red droplets sinks into the white satin of my skirt. I stare at it, unable to comprehend what’s happening. Michael drags me away, blood on his hands smudging across my dress.
‘Get her out of here.’
My father’s voice sounds ancient, inhuman, like the creak of a glacier, the scream of an eagle. His sword is drawn, his face a mask of fury. More blood sprays.
But my mother…
Michael pulls me from the dais, through a doorway where I’m lifted into Bertrand’s strong arms and run at speed towards the fortified rooms. The screaming from the throne room gets quieter, yet doesn’t lessen in my mind.
I’m pushed into a soft chair. Someone is breathing hard, the sobbing sounds loud in the small room. They should stop doing that, really. There are so many vampires in here.
I’m vaguely aware of someone kneeling in front of me, taking my hands. I’m cold, the room withdrawing slowly so everything seems far away.
‘She’s going into shock. We need to get her lying down, elevate her feet.
’ I’m lifted, moved from the chair and laid down on something else soft.
Someone places a cushion under my feet, I don’t know why.
The sobbing noises continue. I wish they would stop, because something just happened, something just…
‘Emelia.’ A voice I know, and love. Someone lies down next to me, their entire body against mine. Warmth seeps into my icy bones. A gentle hand strokes my cheek. I start to come back to myself.
And I realise I’m the one who’s sobbing.
Michael lies next to me, his body half covering mine as though to protect me. Blood is smeared across his face, his eyes dark with sorrow. I try to speak but I can’t. Something’s choking me, and I know when it comes out I’ll break again. Because something just happened and I can’t, I cannot, I…
‘Is she safe?’ A door closes with a clang. My body trembles so much I can’t control it.
‘Uninjured. But she’s in shock.’
‘We all are.’
All these voices around me. Michael keeps stroking my cheek, holding me as though I might break into pieces if he lets go.
‘Where’s her father?’
‘He’s still out there. He won’t come in here until it’s finished.’
I flinch, whimpering.
‘Shh, Emelia. I have you. I’m with you.’ Michael kisses my temple, and I can feel wetness on his face, his voice choked. ‘You’re safe in here.’
‘You need to move away from her. Mistral are finished now.’ The voice is stern, and Michael is gone, suddenly.
I scream, reaching for him.
‘Let him go.’ The other voice sounds like Bertrand, but the iciest, angriest version of him I’ve ever heard. ‘He is not part of this. She’ll have need of him in the times to come.’
Arms come around me again, wrapping me in warmth. Tears trickle down the sides of my face, catching in my ears. It’s as though the scream has cracked whatever’s choking me, and it’s starting to spill out. But I can’t go back, don’t make me go back to what just happened, I cannot, I…