POLYDIPSIA
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Saya Claymore
Saya Claymore
Vines slip around my wrists. At first, like a lover’s hand, but then they tighten into my abuser’s. “In here again, unlocking doors sealed shut for a decade, my fragile, pathetic—”
Sever it!
Before I’m lost in my mind with no one around to save me, I lean over and sink my teeth into the flesh of my arm. Pain surges, and the nothingness melts away, returning me to my room.
Sighing in exasperation, I sit up in bed and mutter a curse at the six bite marks now dotting my arm. Inflicting pain on myself seems to be the only way to bring me back when Serun isn’t here to help.
Earlier, Serun left a letter under my door that declared he would be out most of the night with Maeve as they gathered the materials required for Lucifer’s weapon. Disappointment stirred as we haven’t connected since the incident a few nights ago.
But maybe it’s what’s needed. Time to clear my head and figure out what I want. Cole is my priority. These swirling emotions are entertaining for now, but after this, I will need to do what’s best for my brother. Everything else is secondary.
Serun didn’t tell me to stay in my room, only that he wouldn’t be here tonight.
I step out into the office. It’s quiet, but it seems Serun’s manor is always like this. One candle burns away on the desk. Wax melts down like tears, and the flame flickers as if there is a draft in the still room. With a quick look at the door, I bite my lower lip, my fang sinking into flesh.
Screw it.
Making my way around the desk, I press my palms to the surface, and the wood groans as I lean over to inspect the map. There are areas crossed out within cities, and parts of islands scattered around Kepler.
They must be the areas Serun has already searched for the silver tear.
My fingers brush across the blue circle around Darkovish Feeding Ground. He must have been searching that area for it…
My ear flicks, and my brows furrow at the words written in Daryun across the page, when a sudden thud, thud, thud comes from out in the corridor. My muscles tense, and my ears prick up on high alert as I snap a look at the office door.
I ignore the book and leave the office to investigate the sound.
Sparks of magik coil around my fingertips, materialising into a dagger. It will probably shatter after impact, but it’s better than nothing.
Few candles burn in the corridor outside, leaving dark patches where Serun could be lurking.
A test?
I’m light on my feet. Keeping as silent as possible, I make my way down the corridor. After I round the bend, my focus lands on the stairs. Candles no longer burn. Darkness swallows every corner of the ground floor below, broken up by shards of silver light bleeding through the tall muntin windows.
With the dagger gripped in my hand, the only other light to guide me, I glance at the door to the room I was in with Serun last night. Heat prickles the hairs on my skin at the memory of his hand trailing down my chest and to my breast.
Thud, thud, thud! A loud knock echoes through the empty foyer.
I grip the dagger tighter as I make my way down the stairs and to the entrance, only to hesitate. This isn’t my human sanctuary. Anyone could enter—though I suppose if they wanted to, they would have already.
Sparks of light shudder across the blade as I pull the door inwards and peer out. Darkness blankets the garden, but a figure stands at the entrance, waiting.
The light from the dagger reveals that it’s Olivia, and I let out a relieved breath, releasing my magick and letting the blade vanish.
She bows and says, “Evening, Lady Consort.” She steps closer, and I see tired, blackened circles underneath her eyes, and her body jolts awkwardly through the movement.
“Are you okay?”
She cracks a smile, eyes crinkling when she says, “You’re very human, you know that? Asking if a nightwalker is okay.”
Ironically, a human would still see me as a monster, no matter how much concern I showed.
I shake off the thought and ask again if she is okay. This time, vulnerability swirls in those wet, pearly red eyes of hers.
Olivia takes a deep breath, as though she is mustering up the courage to spill the words lumped in her throat. “I have not fed since leaving the Sunken City.” She quickly looks away, and if she weren’t dead, I believe tears would stream from her eyes. “My old master didn’t care to feed me, so…”
I swing the door open wider. “Did you want to come in? I’m sure we can find something…”
Olivia takes a step back. “Could you bring me something? I don’t want to enter Lord Serun’s manor without his invitation. Forgive me, but I’d rather not risk my new standing.”
“Okay…”
She nudges her chin and says, “Blood should be in the fridge to keep it cool. I could have a bag until we figure out a system for how I will be fed.”
Fed. It’s strange to hear, considering most topside need to scavenge for food. We all need to do things to survive: the wolf and the lamb.
With a nod, I close the door and go in search of the fridge. Passing through some double doors I’ve not ventured through before, the oiled hinges make no sound. Once they close behind me, darkness wraps around the entire room until my eyes can adjust enough for me to see.
The all-encompassing black sharpens into a dining room. We—Cole and I—had a room like this at home. Sure, it wasn’t as extravagant as this one, but it was the place we all came together for meals.
Here, there is a table fit to gather ten—four seats on each side, and one at each end. Golden chaliced candle holders and oil lanterns fill the centre. Flowers and silver beads shimmer in the moonlight.
There are silver doors on the other side of the table, and on my left, there are the same floor-to-ceiling windows I’ve seen throughout the manor. Velvet curtains are parted in the middle and tied by tasselled ropes, revealing a view of the garden.
Could this place become my home?
A few days ago, I would have dismissed the notion. But selfishly, it would be safest for me to stay, if Cole agrees. Anywhere else, and the slayers will be after me.
With a sigh, I smooth down my gown, wiping nervous sweat from my palms, and head to the next room.
There’s a marble island between me and the fridge.
A candle burns in the middle of it, the tiny bud of light flickering away, creating soft shadows when I creep closer.
My shadow looms across the white tiled walls, growing taller the closer I get to the flame before it moves behind me when I reach the fridge.
Intense white light illuminates the kitchen when I open the door, but all I see is red. Serun usually puts food outside my door and knocks, and this might be the reason. Blood bags fill the shelves, hanging on racks like coats in a closet.
As I reach for one, my throat constricts, and rumbles tear through my stomach. After I give Olivia her blood bag, I will return to eat. I’m sure the human food is in here somewhere.
I curl my lip at the blood, flipping it over in my hand. Brushing my thumb over the label, I can see where it came from.
DARKOVISH: Feeder 008
Me.
Serun has my blood.
I close the fridge and leave the way I came. When I reach the main foyer, I open the door to greet Olivia, who steps back quickly, shifty-eyed and scanning the garden around her.
“Here,” I say, holding out the blood bag. “I will talk to Serun once he returns and ensure you are well fed.”
There is a crack in her fear, and with the blood in hand, she breathes a laugh. Serun said it was odd for nightwalkers to do so unless they are clinging to what humanity they have left.
“Has anyone ever told you that you are motherly?”
I press my lips thin to hide the bite of pain behind my eyes. Manni and Emily would call me motherly when I braided their hair or tended to Cole’s wounds.
And the other night, Serun said something similar.
“Occasionally…”
Her smile falters. With the blood clutched near her chest, she says, “If you need anything from me, I am just down the path in the cabin at the back of the manor.”
I nod stiffly, unsure what else to say, wondering how Serun has my blood in his fridge clouds my mind.
Olivia leaves, and I make my way back to the fridge in the kitchen. Ignoring the blood, I grab the canned fruit. Turning around, I suddenly freeze. Bound by fright, as if crystallised, dread grips every follicle of hair, and tightens around muscle and bone.
My shadow—it’s moving.