Brimstone By Callie Hart - 38

THE HALL OF Tears was transformed.

The benches were gone. Long tables lined the vast space on the left and the right, the center of the hall reserved for dancing. Tall pillars of evenlight swayed and danced along the perimeter of the hall, the haunting, heatless flames almost soaring all the way up to the vaulted ceiling high overhead. Glassy-eyed Fae thralls dressed in the crimson red of the Blood Court carried pitchers of wine to the hundreds of high bloods gathered in their finery, beautiful despite the too-pale quality of their skin and the flinty, cold judgment in their eyes.

Many of the female high bloods whispered behind lace fans or their hands, venomous gazes darting furtively toward Saeris. I sat sprawled in the chair next to her, playing the game. I wanted to rip out their snake tongues for even uttering Saeris’s name. I did not do that, because that would cause a scene—the kind of scene that would end the ball early—and after what had happened at Saeris’s coronation, I doubted I would get away with ruining two ceremonies, back to back. Tal would skin me alive for complicating matters further than I already had. So here I would sit, on my very best behavior, not ruining anything for anyone.

For only the second time since we’d arrived at Ammontraíeth, Saeris presided over the court on her throne, a golden diadem studded with diamonds glittering atop her head. Now that all of the kneeling was out of the way, her shoulders were relaxed, her eyes soft as they passed over the gathered high bloods, but her hands gripped the arms of her chair a little too tightly. Her knuckles were white.

There’s blood in the air , she said into my mind. So many different people, bleeding freely. I can smell it.

With a casual roll of my shoulders, I nodded in the direction of a Fae male at the foot of the dais, pouring wine for a high blood noble. As soon as he was done filling the glass, he set his pitcher down and prickled the inside of his wrist with a metallic spiked ring that he wore around the tip of his thumb, drawing blood. Holding his wrist over the nobleman’s glass, he allowed two, three, four droplets of blood to fall into the wine. The nobleman bared his teeth, clearly displeased by the small amount of blood the Fae male had spared him, but the Fae male just closed the cuff of his shirt, already speckled with blood, picked up his pitcher, and moved on to the next high blood with an empty glass.

They partake all night at these things , I said to Saeris. By the end of the night, they’ll all be sideways from the wine and feral from the blood.

You’ve been to one of these balls before?

No. But we’ve all heard the stories.

The black diamond earrings at Saeris’s ears winked in the dim light as she turned to face Tal, who came striding up the steps toward us with purpose. He wore a dove-gray suit this evening, made from fine cloth. The color would have been a foolish choice for a normal male with skin the color of alabaster and hair as silver as moonlight, but Tal was not your normal male. Where the pale gray might have washed another out, it seemed to lend the Keeper of Secrets an ethereal, distinctly Fae air that most high bloods lost when they transitioned.

Tal’s loose white shirt was unbuttoned all the way to his solar plexus; when he dropped into a deep bow in front of Saeris, his hand, hovering in front of his chest, did nothing to hide the expanse of skin that suddenly became visible for all to see.

I’d seen Tal without a shirt plenty of times before. We had swum in the waters at the foot of the white cliffs of Inishtar together, back when his heart still beat in his chest and he had grand aspirations of embarrassing his parents by becoming a cartographer and disappearing off on a boat to map uncharted lands. He had given me the shirt off his back numerous times in the maze, too. Reviving after a run-in with Morthil more often than not meant that I woke up freezing cold and naked on a slab of wet stone, just beyond the demon’s reach. Most of the time, Tal knew when Morthil had caught me and was already waiting for me when I came to, a fresh set of clothing in hand. Sometimes, my sprawled-out, naked ass took him unawares, though. He didn’t once flinch at stripping out of his own attire and giving it to me. He had no reason to; his magic answered him in that poisoned pit. He was a creature of the Blood Court, and as such it was no problem at all for him to summon himself some new clothes.

Regardless of the scenario, I had seen his chest many times, and recently, too, which meant that the extensive ink I glimpsed now, staining his skin, was new.

I crooked a questioning eyebrow at the male, who registered it immediately but only gave me a small, private smile by way of explanation. “We’re almost ready for the petitions, Saeris,” he said. “There are five applicants, with five proposed avenues through which they consider themselves useful to you. We’ll begin in about thirty minutes. Better to get it done before dinner.”

Saeris nodded.

“And, well, the other matter?” Tal said.

“Yes?”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to take care of it now, before they’re all too drunk to remember that it happened.”

The disavowment.

Saeris had told me Tal wanted to sever the bond between them, but she hadn’t mentioned the fact that he was so anxious about the matter. Maybe she hadn’t noticed the tells: the way the skin between his brows pinched when he spoke of it. The way he stretched out his hand, closed it into a fist, shook it out, as if he were readying for a fight. In fairness, there was nothing overtly anxious about the male . . . but I knew him. Had known him all my life. And these small tics made something inside me prick its ears and sit up, curious.

My mate shifted uncomfortably on the throne, but she nodded. “All right. Yes, let’s just get it over with, then.”

Tal beamed. “Excellent.”

I leaned in close to her and whispered. “Do you know how this works?”

“No. I assumed he just . . . told everyone he doesn’t want to be my maker anymore.”

“Not quite.”

I was prevented from explaining when Tal jogged down the steps to the dais, snagged a silver bucket from a passing Fae thrall, tossed the ice from inside it onto the floor, and came jogging back up the steps. He thrust the bucket into Saeris’s lap and then spun around, holding his arms theatrically in the air.

“Noble high bloods of Sanasroth, your attention, please!”

The soft music that had been playing—some kind of plucked instrument—halted on a discordant note. It took a moment for the hubbub of conversation being conducted throughout the hall to subside, but eventually an expectant silence fell over the gathered vampires.

“Welcome all. This evening we come together to celebrate our evenlight—a gift from the gods that lights our court where nothing else can. As there is every year, there will be singing, and dancing, and feasting, but first, there will be a slight deviation from our usual annual festivities. A new Lord must be appointed to the fifth point of our star, which means that one of you must rise to serve your court. There must always be five.”

“There must always be five! There must always be five!”

The cheer went up among the high bloods, resounding throughout the hall.

Taladaius nodded.

As he spoke, going over the order of proceedings, a waif of a low blood approached the dais, creeping forward hesitantly, carrying a platter of sweetmeats in his hands. He could barely have seen his seventeenth birthday before he’d undergone his transition; he would never know what it would have been like to reach his maturity and step into his magic. Flinching, he offered the tray up toward Saeris, too nervous to even climb the steps of the dais.

Saeris beckoned him forward.

The low blood was weak, in a place where being weak doomed your odds of survival. That was why he served with the thralls. He cowered as he ascended the stairs, hands shaking, sweetmeats wobbling . . .

“I’m not hungry,” she whispered. “Come here. I need you to do something for me.” No please . No thank you . The queen of Sanasroth didn’t beg favors, and low bloods were not afforded niceties.

What are you up to, Osha? I asked her.

Outwardly, she didn’t react to the fact that I’d spoken into her mind. She cupped her hand around the low blood’s ear and whispered to him, answering me at the same time with a remarkable show of concentration. I’ll tell you soon. For now, I have to keep it to myself. I’m sorry, I wish I could explain, but I can’t.

Ahh. So this was related to the journal, then.

I relaxed back into my seat, refocusing on Tal’s performance down on the five-pointed mosaic below the dais. It’s okay, Osha. That’s all you need to say. I won’t ask again.

The low blood scuttled back from Saeris, staring at her as if she had lost her mind. She raised her brows at the male questioningly. “Well? Go. Do as I’ve asked you, and I’ll see to it that you’re rewarded.”

“Rewarded?” Skepticism shone in the male’s eyes.

“Yes. Payment. In blood,” Saeris said. “Now go.”

The low blood didn’t need telling twice. At the mention of blood, he bolted from the dais and disappeared into the crowd, who were all still listening to Tal. I followed him, watching his head bob through the knotted mass of bodies, until he ducked through a curtained alcove and was gone.

“But before all of that, there is something else that I, personally, would like to address. When we came together here last to welcome our new queen, accusations were made that I hoped to control her. Slanderous accusations that I wished to puppet her for my own purpose and gain. There was no time to refute those claims at the coronation, in light of what transpired . . .”

Hundreds of angry eyes turned on me.

I shot the crowd a beatific grin.

“. . . but now that we have reached a calmer place, I stand before you all, making that proclamation. I do not have designs on the Sanasrothian throne. I do not wish to control Saeris Fane, regent of this court.”

Unrest stirred by the head of the table to my right. I didn’t even need to look to know Zovena would be at the center of the angry muttering, but yes, there she was, glowering at Taladaius. I could almost see the steam piping from her ears.

Tal, ever the practiced orator, ignored the disturbance and continued his address. “I do not want, nor have I ever wanted, power over the other Lords of Midnight, and I will happily prove that to you all, right here and right now. I, Taladaius Helyer, once eldest son of the Helyer household, Keeper of Secrets and Lord of Midnight, do hereby rescind the gift of my blood!” He lifted his arms in the air again and turned away from the crowd to face us, his features stormy, eyes as steely as thunderheads. He winked at Saeris, raising his voice even louder so that it boomed throughout the hall. “Without rancor and with the deepest respect and humility, I call back my blood, Saeris Fane, queen of Sanasroth. I revoke my lineage and my patronage, so that you may stand alone in your task, and I may do the same. I call upon the gods and the demons of this realm. It is my will!”

I braced for the clap of Tal’s hands, knowing what would come with it. The shock wave tore through the hall, causing the ground to buck beneath the palace. The disruption was gone as quickly as it had come, but the smell of sulfur lingered in the air, burning the back of my nose. Next to me, Saeris grimaced. She looked at me, confusion written all over her face.

“What the hell?” she whispered.

And then she pitched forward and vomited a jet of blood into the empty ice bucket Tal had given her before his grand speech.

It’s okay. It’ll be over quickly. You didn’t drink much of his blood , I told her.

It was a rare and messy business, the rescinding of the blood. I’d never seen it performed. I’d heard tales of it happening, though. Over the centuries, Malcolm had sired every single high blood in this court. Occasionally, one of them had displeased him, and he’d had reason to call back his blood.

He had gathered his court around him and made an event out of it, using the spectacle to publicly shame his offspring, but also to demonstrate to his other children what would happen to them if they stepped out of line. A high blood would live after a rescinding. On paper, very little changed. They were still alive, inasmuch as any vampire was actually alive . . . but they were outcasts. Cut off from the royal blood. Malcolm had often gone a step further and officially shunned a high blood once he had recalled his blood, and that? Well, that was a death sentence for most.

Tal couldn’t shun Saeris. He’d said plenty of pretty things about no rancor and respect, but what he did here tonight did shame her, according to the precedent that Malcolm had set. It was selfish—something so utterly unlike Tal that when Saeris had mentioned it before, I had assumed the suggestion of it would never come to anything. And yet here we were. I would be pinning the bastard up against a wall later and demanding to know what the hell he was playing at, him being so concerned about Saeris not appearing weak in front of the court.

Saeris bore the display with considerable dignity, given that she was vomiting blood in front of an entire court who loathed her. It was over quickly, as I’d assured her it would be. A few mouthfuls of blood were all that was owed.

When she was done spitting into the silver bucket, Tal took it from her, bowing low. “Thank you. I’m sorry.” Quick as a flash, he faced the crowd again, garish green light washing over his skin as he addressed the court. “Behold! Saeris Fane, first of her name. Scion of no one. Rise for your queen!” he bellowed.

It couldn’t be denied: He put on a damn good show when he felt like it. To what end, I couldn’t fathom, but still. He had the entire Blood Court on their feet, reluctantly holding their glasses in the air.

“May she be the last monarch this court sees!” Tal shouted, snatching a glass up from a passing thrall’s tray. “May she overcome all, for the glory of this holy court. May she usher in a new era and a new beginning for the people of Sanasroth! To Queen Saeris!”

The toast was a confusing one. Had any of the vampires present been faintly sober, they might have questioned Tal’s unusual tribute, but half the court was already in its cups, and the other half were catching up. A sea of glasses went up in the air, the light glancing off their gold-edged rims in a dazzling display as all of Ammontraíeth called out my mate’s name.

“Queen Saeris!”

Silence followed quick on the heels of the shouting, as the high bloods drained their glasses. It didn’t matter that they were probably cursing her name to themselves as they downed their wine—they still drank.

Blood and wine, after all.

Blood and wine.

Seemingly pleased, Taladaius descended the dais steps and set his glass on the table to the right. “And now, there are five loyal members of this court who would ascend to the position of Lord, to safeguard a tithing of its power and become a court protector. I call forth Kavan Dahlish to present his case!”

Kavan Dahlish was a brute. At well over seven and a half feet tall, he towered over everyone as he bulled his way through the crowd and came to stand at the center of the five-pointed star.

The moment he turned and bowed toward the dais, I knew him.

His thick dark hair hung all the way down his back; in life, he had been a fine warrior. Courageous and brave. Funny, too. His nose was flat, pressed to his wide face having been broken many times. I had been responsible for one or two of those breaks, courtesy of some rowdy sparring sessions that had ended in blood on both sides.

His eyes were flat and dark now, where once they had been blue. They narrowed imperceptibly as he nodded first not to Saeris, but to me. “Commander.” There was no warmth in the greeting. Even less warmth to the greeting he paid Saeris. “Your Highness.”

My skin prickled all over; my tattoos were rioting beneath my clothes. How foolish of me. I’d made a grave error. Malcolm had stalked the killing fields of so many of our battles. The crows fed from the fallen, plucking out their eyes. Malcolm had done the fucking same. Only, he had taken their souls instead of letting them pass peacefully into the beyond.

The tallest. The strongest. The ones who had still been putting up a fight. Because Kavan wouldn’t have gone quietly. Malcolm would have forced him to take his blood . . .

How many of my warriors had he taken that way, plucked trembling from the verge of death and made to swallow from his foul veins before they were ended and turned to his will?

Rage painted my vision red. A futile, impotent emotion. What was I supposed to do with the hate that roiled in my gut, for a male who was ash on the wind? There was no one to scream at. No one to blame. There was only the warrior whom I had called friend, who had died on my watch and been condemned to an eternity of debasement and depravity as a result.

“I’ve served this court for two hundred and seven years, Highness. During that time, I have trained many captains in the art of siege warfare. I have piloted several battalions of the horde in successful campaigns. I have cast the armies of our foe at the gates of hell and pitched their bodies in.”

A low droning sound drowned Kavan out.

He stared at me as he rolled off a litany of atrocities that had earned him praise and commendations from Malcolm, and my blood ran cold as ice in my veins.

The training he had received from me . The skills I had taught him. All of it, turned around and used against us.

Kavan had known how to wield his weapon. He had stood in the shadows and watched as the monsters who had killed him tore apart the friends he had once sworn to protect.

As he spoke, the acrimony in his eyes, the accusation , was clear. You left me here to this. What did you expect?

“I may not be one of the longest-serving members of this court, but I have brought glory to Sanasroth and upheld my master’s will. I propose that I be selected as Ammontraíeth’s newest Lord of Midnight, specifically as Keeper of Warfare.”

Are you okay?

Saeris’s eyes were on Kavan. She showed no signs of having noticed my discomfort, but we were sensitive to each other these days. I could sense when she was tense. Worried. Apparently, she could sense when I was so deeply on edge.

I’m fine. I’m okay. He was just . . . he was one of mine.

Oh, gods, Fisher. I’m so sorry.

To the warrior, she said, “Thank you for your service to this court, Kavan. I will consider your petition thoroughly before I make my decision.”

The warrior bowed deeply. His gaze lingered on Saeris for a second before it slipped to me, dark and tense. Once, his eyes would have been full of laughter and fire. Now they were cold and full of hate.

It broke me.

How could I have been so fucking blind ?

When my fighters had fallen in battle, I had consoled myself with the knowledge that they had gone on to rest, gone into the arms of the loved ones and ancestors who had passed before them. Not for one second had I imagined that they would be here , suffering and tormented, and coming to hate me for abandoning them to their fate. How could I not have considered this ?

Saeris’s voice sounded as though it were coming from underwater. “. . . you, Ibanwae. Tell me, how do you see yourself being of service to this court?”

Kavan was gone.

A female high blood had replaced him and was bowing, her eyes glued on the floor. Her hair was a frizzy black mass, so voluminous and wild that it almost hid her whole head. She wore a high-collared black dress, long-sleeved, its skirts brushing the ground, hiding her feet. Aside from her head and her hands, every part of her body was covered.

Her voice swept through the hall in a hoarse whisper. “Your Highness. I am known to every member of this court. I was here at the beginning, when our kind first spilled righteous blood in service of our king. My hands designed and oversaw the construction of the fine palace that you now call your own. My lord father charged me with the engineering and construction of siege machines, sewer systems, and all the infrastructure and planning required when the Cogs were built. He was particularly pleased with the weapons of war I created on his behalf. Weapons of iron, designed to inflict unimaginable pain upon the vile Fae scum who beset our home and attempt to divert us from our glorious purpose.”

Vile Fae scum.

I could see only the crown of her head, but I could picture her expression as she spat those words at the ground.

“I put myself forth as the next Lord of Midnight, and request that I be made Keeper of Pain, so that I might renew my efforts in the design of equipment that will bring the Fae dogs to heel once and—”

Saeris spoke over the female. “What is our glorious purpose, Ibanwae?” Unruffled. Calm, even. But my mate was livid .

The name Ibanwae was so old and out of style that it probably hadn’t been spoken outside of this court in centuries. The woman it belonged to looked up, revealing a face full of tattoos. Runes, to be precise. They were dead runes, though. Long inactive. Barren of magic and turned ash-gray by time. It was a shield. Once upon a time, this female had been an Alchemist.

Her eyes were black, pupil bleeding into iris, bleeding into white. Open scorn met Saeris’s question as the female slowly drew up to stand straight. “The same glorious purpose that Sanasroth has always striven toward, Your Majesty. Domination over the other courts. Total supremacy over the Fae. Mandatory blood tithes. Livestock breeding farms. Feeding farms—”

Saeris held up a hand. “Yes, thank you. That’s enough.”

Ibanwae huffed, her dead runes shifting as she pulled a disgruntled face. “Does the reality of your court displease you, Your Majesty?” she asked. “Perhaps you haven’t the stomach to rule over a people such as these.” She spread her arms wide, gesturing to her fellow high bloods.

A thick silence fell over the crowd. To the right, Tal leaned against the wall by the foot of the dais, arms folded over his chest. His face was blank, his eyes fixed on Saeris, waiting, as everyone else was, to see what she would say.

Saeris regarded Ibanwae, exuding a proud, cool confidence that made me want to cheer on her behalf. She looked every bit the regal, unshakable queen she needed to be in this moment—as unreachable and cold as the distant mountains. She didn’t say anything in response to the jibe. Just stared at the female. The high blood took Saeris’s silence as a sign that she had caught her on the back foot; she smirked coquettishly, sending sidelong looks at the other vampires gathered at the foot of the dais, who had clearly come to hear her speak and show their support. After a long, long moment, the vampire’s smile began to fade, though.

Saeris didn’t blink.

Someone cleared their throat.

On the table to the left, someone shifted, causing a chair to complain under their weight.

And still Saeris stared at the female.

Ibanwae lowered her eyes to the ground. “You understand, I do not mean to offend the throne—”

“I understand violence,” Saeris said. She spoke softly, with no inflection or emotion. The entire hall heard her words. “I understand . . . that it is a tool .” She waited. Looking beyond Ibanwae, she took in the high bloods in their laces and satins, and the gold-rimmed, etched wineglasses spiked with Fae blood, and she addressed them all. “I understand that the high bloods of Sanasroth have run amok these past one thousand years. I understand that Malcolm let chaos reign here, while he was off waging a war he could not win. A war that cost Sanasroth its resources and depleted its wealth at every turn. There will be no livestock breeding farms. There will be no feeding farms. Over the coming years, we will focus on rebuilding this court—”

“And while we’re rebuilding,” a sharp voice called, “what do you propose that we eat ?”

Fucking Zovena.

I was going to ash her one of these days and wear her fangs as fucking earrings .

The Lord was on her feet, slinking around the table toward the dais. Her tittering, imbecilic friends moved aside for her as she passed them. She was dressed in a blood-red velvet gown that cut a savage silhouette, her blond hair braided and wound artfully around her head. Rubies flashed in the hollow of her throat and at her ears. Each of her fingers was clad in gold and precious stones. Atop her head, she wore a golden-leafed laurel that looked suspiciously like a crown.

Saeris ignored the viper, her attention still fixed upon Ibanwae. “These aspirations you speak of. They are not end goals. It sounds to me that the goals for all at Sanasroth are safety, security, legitimacy, and food.”

“Hah!” Zovena snorted. She prowled before the dais, acid burning in her eyes as she faced the high bloods. “Isn’t that what I just said? Food , your highness. We need to know what, or rather who , we will be eating!”

Saeris didn’t rise from her seat. Didn’t even frown as she flicked her hand at the table to the right, and a candelabra—which had been crowned with eight shivering points of evenlight—flew from the snow-white tablecloth and twisted in midair. It formed a length of metal two feet long and struck Zovena from behind, curving around the back of her neck. The Lord of Revels let out a shriek as the malformed candelabra dove downward, pulling her off her feet; it slammed into the obsidian floor with a loud, metallic clang, biting into stone, pinning Zovena to the ground by her neck.

I’m pretty sure you just shattered her jaw , I said into Saeris’s head.

She’ll recover , was my mate’s acerbic reply.

I ducked my chin into the collar of my shirt, hiding my smile until I managed to banish it from my face.

“Ahh! You . . . bitch !” Zovena yanked and pulled, but try as she might, strong as she was, she couldn’t tug the mangled candelabra from the obsidian floor. The metal was servant to no one but Saeris. “Let me up !” the Lord seethed.

Ibanwae, who had started her petition with much the same energy as Zovena’s outburst, gawked at the other female, pinned by her neck to the ground, and swallowed thickly. “I would like . . .” She stopped speaking when Saeris slowly rose from her throne and began to descend the steps.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose, every instinct I owned telling me to get up and put myself between my mate and the danger that stood before her.

I couldn’t do that, though. I wouldn’t undermine her in front of these leeches. I stayed where I was, and the inaction damned near killed me. What was she doing, though? And why was it making me so fucking hot under the collar?

With shoulders relaxed, spine straight, and head held high, Saeris made her way down the steps and skirted around Zovena. She collected a chair from one of the tables and dragged it, back legs scraping loudly on the floor, over to Zovena, where she set it next to the prone woman, sat down, kicked her feet up, and rested her heels on the female’s back.

“Be still,” she commanded before the outraged Lord could buck her off.

Zovena screeched. “Get off me, you stupid f—”

“Be quiet.”

Calm as the center of a storm, she was. Brutal. Cruel. Lethal. Even I wouldn’t have fucked with her in this moment, resting her feet on the back of a female whom most of this court was afraid of. I would have fucked her, though. I desperately, desperately wanted to do that. There was something deeply arousing about my mate owning her power. Turning to Ibanwae, Saeris plucked a piece of lint from her skirts. “You were saying?”

“Keeper of Pain,” the female said, eyes glittering, voice a little shaky. “I would like to be the Keeper of Pain.”

Three more petitions.

A would-be Keeper of Monies. A prospective Keeper of Truths. A hopeful Keeper of Antiquities.

The minutes ticked by as Saeris heard the applicants speak, and she did not move from her position, feet resting on Zovena’s back. Halfway through the proceedings, she fished out a dagger from the scabbard at her thigh and began cleaning her fingernails with the blade. Zovena didn’t move. She didn’t say a word.

Only once all the petitions had been heard did she very slowly rise from her chair. She was in no hurry at all as she hooked her little finger underneath the metal band that was cutting into Zovena’s neck and gave it the gentlest of pulls, and then the candelabra came free.

“You may move. You may speak,” she said in a bored tone as she walked away from the female’s shuddering frame and climbed back up the steps.

Zovena was as mad as a spitting snake when she leaped to her feet, but her hostile stance was of no interest to me. The haunted expression Tal wore as he looked away from the female, frowning at a spot on the far wall hanging, though? No wall hanging deserved that level of scrutiny.

“You think this is a game?” Zovena shouted.

Saeris still had three steps to go before she reached her throne. She stopped, eyes finding mine briefly before she turned, her skirts rustling around her, and at last gave Zovena her full attention.

“You seem to confuse the dynamic between us, Zovena. I am your master. I could command you to sit at my feet, and you would bow, knowing death chased the edge of my blade. You mistake my patience for weakness. For tolerance. But test me further, and you will discover the limit of that patience.”

From the moment Saeris had set foot into the Hall of Tears for her coronation, she had been playing a part. She’d played it well, too. But she wasn’t acting now. She was as sick of Zovena as I was—impressive, since she’d known the female such a short time. I had no doubt that she would put the female down with a smile on her face if she got the opportunity. Zovena shook with the effort it took to cage her retort. For uncounted years, she had bathed in the warm glow of Malcolm’s approval. Unchecked. Unchallenged. Beloved of her king. It must have been raw indeed to find herself out in the cold, standing in the shadow of the female who had killed him.

Taladaius sauntered across the five-pointed star, a casual smile playing across his face, but there was a tightness around his eyes that could not be mistaken for anything other than worry. “Come now, high bloods of Sanasroth!” he called. “The petitions have been heard!” He raised his hand high, holding Ereth’s ring aloft for all to see. The large amber-orange jewel at the ring’s center caught the evenlight, refracting rainbows up the walls. “It is time to discover who will become our next Lord and don the fifth Ring of Midnight—”

“Actually, Taladaius, I believe there’s one more petition we’ve still yet to hear,” Saeris said coolly. She took her seat on her throne, calmly smoothing her skirts.

Tal’s composure wavered as he looked up the dais, the muscles in his throat working. The fleeting expression that passed over his face seemed to say, What the fuck are you doing, Saeris Fane? He knew nothing of a sixth candidate for the ring in his hand. I knew nothing of it, either, which meant that this surprise announcement from Saeris must have had something to do with the journal.

“Our queen surprises us,” Taladaius said in a tense voice. “How lucky we are.” He swallowed thickly, then closed his hand around the ring he was still holding in the air and lowered his hand to his side. With a flourish of a bow, he said, “As it pleases you, Your Highness. To whom shall we open the floor?”

The tension in the Hall of Tears had already been thick enough to cut with a knife, but it grew suffocating as discord broke out among the high bloods. Saeris had already sighted the figure who emerged from the sea of vampires, but shouts of outrage erupted from the tables as the Blood Court’s nobles finally saw who their queen had brought before them.

This was how I remembered him: kitted out in fighting leathers, with a sword strapped to his back and his head held high.

Gold flashed in his mouth as he came and knelt before the throne, offering a chagrined half smile. In a voice that rang loud and clear across the hall, he said, “My name is Foley Briarstone, and I have come to be of service to my queen.”

But his dubious expression said something else entirely.

I hope you know what you’re doing, half-breed.