Brimstone By Callie Hart - 39

Consider a sixth. Only the golden-toothed wolf can be trusted.

—Entry from the journal of Edina of the Seven Spires

“SHUNNED! SHUNNED!”

The screams were deafening.

Taladaius spun around, too confounded to speak. Beside me, Fisher covered his mouth with his hand and laughed softly under his breath. You certainly know how to light a match , he said, amused. Are you having fun yet?

No! This is not fun, Fisher. This is fucking stressful!

It seemed as though Foley mirrored my sentiments. On his knees, he winced every time something hit him in the back; the high bloods were lobbing things at him. Pieces of food. Cutlery. A shoe. A plate sailed through the air, and that was where I had to draw the line. “Enough! Sit down ,” I growled. “I name Foley Briarstone friend to this throne!”

That was all that had to be said. The edict I had made at my coronation took care of everything else. No member of the Blood Court could harm anyone I named a friend. With eight short words, I had ensured that no one in Ammontraíeth would ever harm Foley again.

“What farce is this?” Algat had been notably missing from the hall until now. She bullied her way through the knot of high bloods and pushed Taladaius out of the way in her hurry to get to Foley. She circled the male, her small black shadow cat prowling around her feet as she did so. Guru yowled when he saw Foley and stretched out into a bow, rubbing his head against the male’s thighs. Algat witnessed this and snarled. She bared yellowed, rat-like teeth and kicked the cat. The blow would certainly have done some damage had Guru not dematerialized into a swath of shadows a second before her foot made contact with his side; obviously the creature had practice avoiding her boots.

“He cannot be here,” she seethed, stabbing a finger at Foley.

“It is my will.”

Foley’s cheeks burned bright red. The tips of his ears, too. Guru had rematerialized and had leaped up into his lap and was begging for affection from him. The male didn’t seem to know what to do or where to look. He stroked the cat’s head, not meeting anyone’s gaze.

The witch sputtered, furious. She reminded me of one of the crones who used to stand outside Kala’s, spitting on people who emerged from the building and telling them their souls were damned to hell for fornication and drinking. “He can’t serve this court. How can he, when he refused to swear fealty to Sanasroth?”

Algat realized her argument was flawed even as she made it. Her rheumy eyes drifted to the Hazrax, which stood at the head of its point on the star mosaic below the dais, unmoving, unspeaking, its long hands tucked inside the belled sleeves of its robe. She already knew what I was about to say.

“The Hazrax is not a member of this court. It has not sworn fealty to Sanasroth or a single vampire here, and yet it has been a Lord of Midnight for many centuries.”

“Yes, but that’s—”

“Different? I fail to see how.” I felt it then: the bullying push at the wall that shielded my mind. It was Algat, scrambling to get in, even though I had forbidden her from rifling around inside my head. Despite the command, she was still trying . . . and my fury rose like a wave of vengeance summoned by the gods themselves. I imagined knives, scores of them, hovering in the air, pointed tip-first at the wall. I lowered the wall, only long enough to send the blades hurtling forward, then brought it back up as quickly as I could.

Algat swayed, eyelids fluttering, eyes rolling back into her head, as a river of blood gushed from her nose, pouring down her chin.

There would be no more tiptoeing around this one. If she wouldn’t toe the line, I would make her. If she wanted violence, it would be hers.

“What have you done?” The shriek came from Zovena. The female bore no love for Algat, but here was an opportunity to create a scene. She was hardly likely to let it pass. And she was afraid. I could scent it on her, the smell like soiled bedsheets and fever. She was afraid that she might be next.

“Today is a day of lessons,” I said. “Algat will be fine. But she should be careful where she trespasses.”

The Keeper of Records wobbled unsteadily, but within a moment or two she had regained her balance and was scowling at me again. Algat cuffed her chin, smearing her blood up her face even as she tried to wipe it away. “My apologies,” she rasped. “I only tried to make you see reason . The Hazrax does not count in this instance. It does not weigh in on politics. Nor does it ever opt to cast its vote. This male would do both, and to the detriment of this court. If he will not swear fealty—”

“It was Malcolm I wouldn’t swear fealty to,” Foley said softly. “I’ll swear it to her .”

Well, damn.

I hadn’t been expecting that.

We’d come a long way from him trying to kill me in the library, it would seem. I would never have dreamed I’d hear those words coming out of Foley’s mouth. He was earnest and clear-eyed as he gestured to the steps, asking wordlessly if he could approach the throne.

I nodded my consent.

The male dropped to one knee at my feet, pulling a dagger from the sheath on his belt. He held it up to show me.

Strange, sad eyes, with vertical, slit pupils met mine. “I was reminded recently that I was a wolf,” he said, smiling softly. “And wolves do not cower in dusty libraries, afraid of their own shadows. I swear myself to you , Saeris Fane. I will carry out your bidding so long as there is breath left in me. And when I pass from this place and move on to the next, I will carry your banners there and storm the gates of heaven in your name if you wish it.”

He closed his hand around his blade and drew it free, staining it deepest, darkest crimson with his blood. I accepted the weapon from him and used its point to draw forth a bead of my own blood, which was still somehow the same bright red as that of the living.

“I accept you as my sworn male,” I told him. “I accept your loyalty and your service. In return, I offer you the protection of my house. I name you Lord of Midnight.”

Leaning forward, I gave him back his dagger. Foley accepted it, and as he did so I took the opportunity to deaden the air around us so that when I whispered to him, no other would hear. “What made you change your mind?” I asked teasingly.

He huffed out an unsteady bark of laughter under his breath. “Well, I figured if he’s prepared to follow you,” he said, nodding in Fisher’s direction, “then I’d be a fucking idiot not to, wouldn’t I?”

Kingfisher snorted under his breath, but I could tell he was pleased. I was about to tell Foley he was wrong, that Fisher didn’t follow me at all, but the thought never made it to my lips. A shout cut through the air, and then another.

“What now ?” Just a moment’s peace. Was that too much to ask for?

When I searched for the source of the shouting, I found that everyone in the hall was suddenly looking up . It had been impossible to tell before, but the sections of the vaulted ceiling were actually panels, and they were peeling back.

“It’s here!” someone cried. “It’s here!”

What’s here?” I twisted around on my chair—my throne —trying to figure out what was causing the commotion, but Kingfisher took my hand and gave it a squeeze.

“The evenlight, Osha. Spirit of the gods.” He pointed toward the night sky, to the west, where a brilliant green, glittering wave of light was rolling across the heavens at tremendous speed.

“They are with us,” Foley muttered, pressing his index finger and middle finger to his forehead, between his brows. Many of the high bloods mirrored the motion, too. Surprising, that. Whether they had chosen this life for themselves, or it had been thrust upon them—undying, a perversion of nature, never to know the rest and peace of the afterlife—it stood to reason that they were beyond the sight of the gods here, in this unholy place. But there were still some among them who worshipped the gods. They bowed their heads in reverence as a wind ripped through the hall, and the pale green light tore overhead in a shimmering pennant that filled the night sky from horizon to horizon.

It was beautiful. Like nothing I’d ever witnessed before. Not even the aurora that had blazed across the sky after Lorreth had named Avisiéth had been this spectacular.

The evenlight in the torches throughout the hall flared, brightening anew. The fires burning in the grates strengthened, roaring violently up the backs of multiple hearths. It was as if, all throughout the Black Palace, the sources of evenlight that already existed were being powered up by the arrival of the shifting green banner in the night sky.

The high bloods forgot Zovena’s attempts to sow discord.

They forgot Algat, and the vampire with the golden teeth on his knees at my feet.

They forgot Tal’s showmanship, and the ever-present threat my mate posed, sitting beside me. As one, the Blood Court craned their necks upward, and they marveled.

Music filled the air—a frenzy of a piece, full of soaring peaks and crashing crescendos. High bloods flew around on the dance floor, whipping their dance partners around in the dervish, their coattails and full skirts flaring around them as they spun. Above it all, the firmament glowed, stars winking through the evenlight as if through a veil of thin jade silk.

Thralls topped off the high blood’s wineglasses, sacrificing a drop of their blood into each cup, and the vampires drank. The whole scene was a sight to behold—and one I would gladly have sacrificed in exchange for the peace and quiet of Cahlish, and the presence of my friends.

Te Léna and Maynir had remained at the estate, watching over Everlayne. Danya was still at the temporary war camp. Iseabail had stayed to continue in her attempts to scry for Ren. Lorreth insisted he come with us back to Ammontraíeth, but Fisher had refused, telling him to check in with the warriors at the makeshift camp instead. Carrion had balked loudly when I’d told him he couldn’t come to the ball, but he was the only person Hayden really knew at the estate, and I wanted someone there to keep an eye on him. It would be just like my brother to flee Cahlish in a pique of temper after the argument we’d had, and I was not about to let that happen. I was furious with him, sure, but not angry enough to let him be eaten by some hole-dwelling creature with razors for teeth.

We always did seem to have more water and food than anyone else.

Was he really so blind? Didn’t he know me at all ?

I had fought tooth and nail to rescue him from Zilvaren, and all the while he’d suspected that I was a traitor ?

“Dance with me.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, facing Fisher. His eyes were even greener tonight with the sky full of evenlight. He hadn’t gotten to his feet yet, but he was offering his hand, and he didn’t look like he would be deterred from his request.

“Is this the part where you tell me you don’t dance, Osha?” he murmured. “The part where you say that you don’t know the steps, or that you have two left feet?”

Hah. And he thought he had me all figured out. There were still things about me that Kingfisher of the Ajun Gate was yet to learn. And while I didn’t know the steps to any of the graceful dances popular here in Yvelia, I was a quick study and light on my feet. And I was not one to be underestimated. I smiled as I considered Fisher’s hand and then took it.

“I’ll muddle through,” I told him.

The next thing I knew, we were among the high bloods, and Fisher was spinning me along with him as he slipped onto the dance floor and into the dance itself. He moved easily, his movements sure as he fell into step with the vampires that surrounded us.

I tried not to smile as he swept me around, lifting me so that my feet barely touched the ground.

“Does this entertain you, Your Majesty?” he murmured, suppressing a smile of his own.

“Oh no. I’m just surprised that you’re so confident on a dance floor.”

He leaned into me and spoke, voice low, his breath fanning warmth over my neck. “Dancing is like fighting, Osha. It’s also like fucking. And I pride myself on my skills in both of those arenas.”

I laughed. “Oh? Is that so?”

“Mm. Yes. It is.” The dimple in his cheek made a brief but satisfying appearance.

“I suppose you’ve had a lot of practice in those arenas then, have you?” I was toying with him, and he knew it. He puffed out his cheeks, pretending to think about the question.

“Well. I’ve impaled quite a few people on the end of my sword,” he said conspiratorially. “And I’ve lost count of how many battles I’ve fought in.”

“Hey!” I thought about digging him in his ribs, but at that moment his hands found my waist and he lifted me into the air, doing a one-eighty before setting me gently down again—a part of the dance that the other high bloods on the dance floor carried out at the same time. Fisher’s eyes were bright, the thread of quicksilver resting dormant in his iris as he took my hand and set off again, careening around the hall in the opposite direction.

“I don’t think I want to know about all of this impaling ,” I said, feigning disapproval. “Though, maybe you’re not as good at it as you think you are. Maybe you need a little more practice.”

The left side of his mouth lifted, his eyebrow following suit. “Oh? You have notes?”

“Yes. Extensive notes.”

Now it was Fisher’s turn to fake injury. His lips brushed my temple as he spoke. “And here I was, thinking I was doing a good job every time I made you beg for my cock.”

Gods and sinners, he was trying to kill me. In public . “How many of these high bloods can hear your boasting right now, I wonder.”

“All of them, I hope. They can already smell you on me.”

“Fisher—”

“They’re lucky I’m not tearing you out of this dress and bending you over that fucking throne right now, Saeris,” he growled.

Gods. My blood pounded in my ears. “You wouldn’t dare .”

He looked at me, smile turning into something far more serious. His eyelids lowered, a lazy hunger suddenly lurking in his eyes. “You’re right,” he agreed. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the dress.”

I’d thought now that we were sleeping together, that the roar of need I experienced whenever I was around him would dull a little. That had not happened. If anything, my appetite for him was growing worse by the day. I looked up at him and remembered what he looked like when he thrust inside me. How his sweat marked his brow. How he tasted of salt, and mint, and so godscursed sweet whenever he plunged his tongue into my mouth—

I looked away, unable to bear the eye contact anymore.

I loved him so fucking much.

No other emotion came close to this. Not the hatred I felt for Madra. Not the hurt I felt over Everlayne, suffering alone in some unknown hell. Not the worry I felt over Ren’s disappearance. None of it. The world could be ending and my love for this male would outstrip my fear. Sometimes, I felt like I would burst open from how overwhelming that feeling was.

Fisher’s eyes burned when I dared look back at him again. He knew all that I had just been thinking. I was almost certain that he had been feeling it, too.

“You seem overly preoccupied with dresses,” I said in a small voice.

“Do I?” His voice was rough.

I nodded. “Every time I enter my chambers here or your rooms at Cahlish—”

“ Our rooms,” he corrected.

I ducked my head. “Every time I enter our rooms at Cahlish, there’s a new dress, laid out on the bed and waiting for me.”

He took a second before he replied, but then said very carefully, “Don’t you like them?”

“Yes. I do. I just . . .” Gods, why was this so hard to put into words? It shouldn’t have been. “It makes me feel like . . . you’re trying to domesticate me.”

He stumbled to a halt, right there in the middle of the dance floor. Miraculously, no one careened into us; the other dancers course-corrected with grace, flowing around us as Fisher frowned at me, looking rather mystified. “And how in all five hells would I do that, Osha? I’d have better luck trying to domesticate one of your hellcats.”

“I don’t know. I just . . .” Still, the words didn’t want to come.

Fisher stepped toward me, cupping my face in his hands. “I don’t want you to be anything other than what you already are, Saeris. The dresses are just . . .” His brow furrowed. “They’re an invitation . The life you lived in Zilvaren was hard. You had to do everything for yourself. I’m here now, and—no‚ wait. No, let me finish. I’m here now, and just because I am your mate and you are mine doesn’t mean that I expect you to sit around looking pretty, or . . . or put down your weapons and adopt a different way of life. I would never want that for you. But you don’t have to be one thing here, Saeris. You can be many things. You can wear your leathers and fight every day of the year. I would never ask you not to. But sometimes, if you wanted to . . . you’re allowed to soften, Saeris. You’re allowed to stop baring your teeth at the world and take a breath. Because I’ve got you.”

The dancers whirled on by, streaming velvet, silk, and damask out behind them, and I let those words settle into my soul.

Because I’ve got you.

He did have me, didn’t he? He was the anchor that kept me from drifting away. Even here, in this horrible place, he hadn’t left my side.

“Come on.” Fisher nodded, as if he’d just made his mind up about something. “Come over here. I want to show you something. It won’t take a second, and then I’ll get you out of here.”

I followed him. I would have gone anywhere with him in that moment, but we didn’t travel far—out of the flow of the dancers, away from the long tables, where many sour-faced high bloods still sat, muttering darkly into their wine. Fisher came to a stop in front of a small round table that stood before a particularly graphic wall hanging.

I looked up at the hanging, squinting at the bacchanalia it depicted. “What’s the male doing to that goat?” I asked.

“Ignore the goat,” Fisher said in a chiding tone. “Look here.”

A huge flower arrangement dominated the small table. A variety of blooms, likely selected for their complementary purple hues, had been organized quite expertly in a shining golden vase. They were stunning. At the center of the arrangement, Fisher pointed out the most beautiful bloom of all. It wasn’t the largest of the flowers, but its color was the most vibrant. Iridescent, almost. Its petals were ruffled at the edges and pinched in the middle, swelling out at their ends to form the shape of love hearts. On each heart, a tiny droplet of water glittered like a diamond—

“Don’t.” Fisher’s hand closed around my wrist, preventing me from touching the flower. “It won’t kill you, but it’ll make you really miserable, believe me.”

“It’s poisonous?”

“To most people, it’s deadly.” Shooting me a crooked smile, he said, “But you’re stronger than most. Here, they call it Veridius. Saint’s Steeple. In the Fae courts, we call it Widow’s Bane. You’ve heard of it before.”

I had. “Lorreth gave me and Carrion some to chew at Gillethrye. Our ribs were broken after we hit the surface of the lake. It took our pain away for a while.”

Fisher nodded. “Allow that little dewdrop to come into contact with your skin, and it’ll take your pain away forever,” he said. “Widow’s Bane is safe to chew once that poison has been cleaned from its petals and its leaves have been steeped and dried for a couple of days. So long as you don’t swallow the leaves and only chew them, you’ll be fine. But I didn’t bring you over here to give you a lesson in plant medicine. I came to show you that sometimes, it’s the most beautiful things that are deadliest. A dress can’t make you weak. It won’t make you vulnera—”

Help! The tremulous scream cut above the music.

In a heartbeat, Fisher had drawn Nimerelle and was scanning the crowd, trying to locate the source of the cry.

“Gods! What’s—what’s happening ?” At the table close by, a male high blood was bowed over his place setting and was shuddering, a thick stream of rank black blood pouring from his mouth. It flooded from his eyes, too. Ran from his nose and his ears.

“Help!” The plea went up again, on the other side of the hall this time.

And again, behind us. “Mercy! Please!”

A red-haired female in a royal blue dress slumped to her knees, blood gushing from her mouth as she went down and sprawled out, convulsing on the obsidian floor.

Wide-eyed, Fisher took in the scene in disbelief. “What in all the gods’ names is this?” he whispered. “Was this . . . was this what was in the journal?”

“No! No, it told me to name Foley as Lord! There was nothing in there about this !”

Left and right, high bloods started vomiting blood, staining their fine clothes red. Male and female alike, they went down, trembling, fingers grasping, bloody eyes rolling back into their heads.

Soon, most of the vampires in the hall were writhing on the ground. And in the midst of them all stood Taladaius, towering over them like some silver-haired harbinger of death. “Brothers and sisters!” he cried. “Your judgment has come for you at last!”

“What the fuck ?” Fisher hissed.

“Your gluttony is your undoing! Welcome to your final death. But who am I to deny you one last chance at redemption? The thralls you have sipped so greedily upon this evening are passing through the hall with glass vials. Take a vial and swallow its contents, and you will undergo a painful transformation. No, not a transformation. You will be reborn , back into life, back into your Fae bodies, where you will face the horrors of what you allowed yourselves to become! Refuse the vials, and you join the other demons in hell with me posthaste!”

“What the fuck has he done?” Fisher stalked toward the Lord, stepping over the bodies of the toppled high bloods as he went. I was right behind him, my mind spiraling at the scene unfolding before us.

“Tal! Tal, are you out of your mind?” Fisher grabbed the Lord and shook him. “What is this?”

“This is what should have been done a long time ago. They were never going to change , Fisher,” he said. “They’re incapable of it. Evil through and through. And I wasn’t about to put this on your shoulders. I wasn’t going to do it to you, either, Saeris.” His eyes searched for mine. “I made the hard choice so that neither of you would have to. This was my final act as a Lord of Midnight. Now I’ll go pay for the sins I have committed.”

We should have noticed the wineglass in his hand. We should have stopped him from throwing back the viscous red blood inside. We watched in horror as Tal swallowed—whatever was in the glass was a far greater dose than had been delivered to the other high bloods. There was no delay for him. Blood welled in his eyes and trickled from his nose as it immediately took effect.

“Tell Everlayne . . . I’m . . . sorry,” he said.

He fell to the ground and started to shake.