Page 53 of To Vanquish Darkness

Theo knew her.

He’d been with her in another life, possibly more than one if the flashes of memory in her head were to be believed. Had he been her captor in each? If Theo had seen her find the sword, why hadn’t he used it then? He said it had been stolen, but wouldn’t he have had time? Couldn’t he have ended his life?

The questions flowed in a constant stream, and she had answers to none of them. Amalie hugged her knees to her chest.She’d left Uncle Oren’s to avenge her mother’s death, yes, but it wasn’t only justice. She wanted to protect her family and all families like hers. Innocent people attacked every day in their cities and villages.

It had been simple. Train. Fight. Vanquish.

Amalie ran her thumb over the puckered flesh on her forearm. Nothing was simple anymore.

The door to her room opened, and Henriette entered carrying a tray and a candle. “Oh! You’re awake. I was going to leave this for you?—”

“I need more books.” Amalie dropped her legs to the bed. “Specifically on France in the fifteenth century. Anything on a female warrior, a sword, or?—”

“On Joan of Arc, then?”

Amalie frowned, then shook her head. “No, this woman wouldn’t have been that impressive.”

Henriette bobbed her head. “Of course. I’ll find what I can.” She left the tray on the nightstand, lit the candles hanging in their holders on the wall with her flame, and exited the room.

Amalie ate in silence, and by the time she finished, Henriette was already back carrying a stack of books.

She grunted as she set them down on the writing desk next to the others. “Some of these may not be relevant, but I thought it best to be thorough.”

Amalie scooted off the bed. “Thank you, Henriette.” She could hardly wait to crack open the first cover. Henriette quietly cleaned and removed her tray behind her. Amalie barely heard the click of the door as she left.

She scanned the sections of the first book, Vies des Saints et des Martyrs. It seemed to be a religious text recounting the lives of saints and martyrs, an inspirational work. She flipped to halfway through the book and paused. Joan of Arc. Martyred in 1431 and later canonized.

Amalie set the book down and grabbed the next. Le Traité de la Guerre et la Paix, a treaty on war and peace. While she was interested in the philosophies surrounding chivalry and governance during times of war, it wasn’t likely that this tome held what she was after.

She opened book after book. The Annals of the House of Valois. The Fall of the Plantagenet Empire. All of them spoke of the war that raged through France for over a hundred years. All of them spoke of Joan.

There was nothing on another female warrior. Nothing on a woman named Helena or a sword. Amalie exhaled and closed the books, then stood and stretched her arms over her head. She stalked to the window and released the shutters, swinging them open so she could peer out into the lightening sky. There wasn’t much of a drop to the roof below, and it wasn’t angled. If she couldn’t leave her room and wander the castle, perhaps she could at least get some fresh air.

The latches bit into her fingertips, but she eventually convinced the casements to release. The frame swung outward, ushering in a whoosh of sea air. Amalie closed her eyes as it brushed across her cheeks.

She pulled herself up onto the sill and carefully lowered her feet to the tiles, then stepped away from window and sat, taking in the scene below her. The tide was out, the sun barely burned on the horizon. The wet sand glistened in the orange light.

“You nearly have a library in there.”

Amalie jolted, slamming her palms into the tile beneath her, and whipped her head in the direction of the voice.

Marx.He stood below her on a terrace. Even in the low light, she could make out the green in his eyes and instantly thought of her sister.

Amalie pushed up from the tile and turned to escape back into the safety of her room. Would it keep him out? Theo had proven a vampire could easily enter an upper floor window.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” Marx chuckled. “What did Theo tell you to keep you so frightened?”

She shouldn’t talk to him. But she hadn’t seen him on the rooftop. She hadn’t seen him anywhere with the other vampires. “Who are you?”

“I told you already.”

Amalie crossed her arms over her chest, the wind picking up around her. “I know your name, but why are you never with the others?”

Marx grinned up at her. “You’ve noticed my absence?”

Amalie pursed her lips. Why had she noticed? Shouldn’t she have been as afraid of Paul, Etienne, or Ren as she was of Marx? Yet there was something different about him. Something she couldn’t place.

“Theo would not be pleased to know I’m speaking with you, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Marx leaned on the stone wall in front of him. “Are you going to rat me out?”

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