Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
BLACK HOLE
‘We leave. Now.’ I flinch at the ice and darkness in the voice, the crash of the door opening.
‘My lord, you are—’
‘I want my daughter out of here. Now.’ A rasp of death.
I’ve never heard him speak like that. I remember being near a bomb blast in the Safe Zone with Kyle, and feeling as though I was underwater, time stretching around us like some strange bubble.
It’s the same now. As though a bomb has gone off and I’m lost, scattered, waiting for my pieces to come back together.
‘I’ll bring her.’ Michael’s arm comes around my shoulders, sitting me up.
My father stands in front of us, almost entirely covered in blood.
Sword in hand, gore still sliding from the long, curved blade.
Splashed in great gouts across the white silk shirt, the finely cut dark trousers.
Smeared across his lean face, in his dark hair.
I only know it’s him by the hard golden glitter of his eyes.
Joaquin is next to him. Also covered in blood, his sword raised, his face a snarling mask of rage. For a moment all is still, just the dripping of blood onto stone. Then his sword drops.
My father meets it, mid-air, with his own blade. ‘The kill is mine, if needed,’ he growls.
The kill? Nothing makes sense, nothing… I don’t, I cannot. Please don’t make me….
As though in a dream I watch my father lift his blade again, pointing it at me. No, it’s pointed at Michael, who still has his arm around me. ‘Did you know?’ The words are a howl of pain. ‘Did you fucking know?’ I don’t think I’ve ever heard my father swear.
‘I swear I did not. I swear it on my life. I would never—’ Michael’s voice breaks.
The blade hangs there, blood stippling tiny spots on the floor. So much blood. It’s all over me. My gaze goes again to my skirt, to that straight line of droplets cutting across the white satin. I draw in a shuddering breath.
‘The dressmaker would never forgive me if I got blood on my dress.’
‘He is brother to those traitors! He should die, like they did.’ Joaquin snarls at Michael.
I put my arm across him, as though I can protect him. Even though I couldn’t protect … I couldn’t…
Joaquin tries to pull Michael away from me. I hang onto him, baring my teeth, snarling. ‘He stays with me.’ It’s all I can say. Each word feels like lifting a slab of rock. ‘He … he stays…’
Joaquin snorts, releasing Michael. He drops his sword with a muffled clang. ‘Fuck this.’ He turns away, heading for the door.
‘Bertrand, get them back to the palace. Take as many guards as you need. I will…’ Agony ripples across my father’s face. ‘I will bring her.’ He turns, leaving the room.
Michael and Bertrand try and help me stand, but I can’t see, can’t breathe, my legs unable to bear my weight. Bertrand swings me into his arms, Michael next to me as we speed through the underground corridors, a phalanx of guards around us.
All I see is blood.
I can’t stop the replay in my head, can’t hold it back any longer.
Oliver swearing fealty then taking his sword back, his smile turning to a snarl.
The slight bunching of his muscles. Michael grabbing me, pulling me back as Oliver swings his sword, as he breaks the most sacred vow a vampire can make. My father and Varin starting forwards.
My mother. Throwing herself in front of me. Fighting to protect me, as she has done all my life.
And Oliver’s sword slicing through her neck, separating her head from her body. The two distinct thuds as they both hit the floor. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop hearing that. There’s no vampire healing to save her, no blood to be drawn to put her back together again.
My mother. My world.
Is dead.
I’m screaming again, but all that come out are husks of sound, whispering shrieks, my throat raw. There’s a hole inside me, where a connection bound me to her from the moment I was conceived. Now broken, now gone.
More memories. My mother’s head, rolling, her mouth a perfect ‘o’ of surprise.
A line of blood, her blood, sprayed across my skirt.
Michael pulling me away as my father, his blade moving so quickly it’s like a lattice of steel around him, slices Oliver in half.
Taking out Jacques, coming to his brother’s defence, with another shattering strike.
Varin and Joaquin going for the Ravenna guards who stepped forward in Mistral’s defence.
The crowd screaming, more guards coming to Varin’s aid, the Ravenna contingent swiftly overpowered.
And Joaquin, moving through the crowd like a wild animal, he and his followers cutting down anyone who resisted. More violence. More pain. More death.
‘Change is coming, but this time it cannot come with blood.’ I said those words, so long ago, to the North Wind. Thought I was doing the right thing. That I was going to change the world.
But now everything is broken. So much change. So much blood. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be whole again.