Page 82 of The Vampire Castle in the Sky

Arawn caught Hector’s wrist. “We all know how much you love your wife, Aventine, but for the love of the sky, can we get this over with?”

A twinge of panic pulled me out of the vision. I staggered to keep my balance, my chest shaking. “We have to hurry.”

The Castle cast its light down the checkered path, dazzling the marble. “This mirror will lead you straight to the dining room. I will stall them as much as I can. But you have to be the one to reveal this truth.”

“Why me?”

“Because this is not my story, Dorothea Valentia. It is yours,” said the Castle. “And you should never let other people write your story.”

I nodded firmly, making a silent vow both to the Castle and to myself. Then I gathered my skirts and rushed toward the mirror, checking over my shoulder for Esperida.

She reappeared beside me with a bright flare. “Please,” she implored, “tell Hector I’m sorry. Tell him that had I known I’d have him, I would have never taken the Vow. I would have never left him alone. Back then, Eron and I were so happy we were terrified to speak the word tomorrow, much less imagine the family and friends we would make along the way. And he was so fragile, so helpless. I’ve seen humans die from a cold. I wanted to bind myself to him. To be with him forever. I could not see the selfishness of it then. ”

“Esperida,” I breathed, recalling all the times Hector had pulled me out of cold drafts and grumbled to me about eating properly and lost his mind over the silliest scrapes—over a drop of poison. “Hector knows.”

“Tell him anyway,” she said, then with another flash of light spurred me forward. “Go. Go to him. Don’t worry about me.”

“Will I see you again?”

Her lips thinned, her eyes drifting downward. She didn’t have to say it. I knew the answer already. The Castle would let her go, and she would finally be with Eron, and I would never see Esperida Aventine again.

My eyes stung with phantom tears. “Goodbye,” I whispered.

She hugged me to her chest one final time. “Let’s not say goodbye. Promise to find me again. In another life.”

I laughed sadly against her shoulder. “I promise.”

I stayed to watch Esperida drift back toward the Castle’s heart, both of them glowing with the same silver fire until they became interchangeable. Until they became one.

Then I ran. I ran as fast as my body was able, grabbing my fate with my own two hands, ripping and pulling and molding the path before me. I stumbled but did not falter. I feared but did not stop. It gave me strength to know that even my mistakes were mine and mine alone. I was agency embodied. I was my own god of fortune. I was my own destiny.

33

Hector

The Castle had gone mad. Utterly, inexplicably mad.

One moment we were all standing around the table, listening to Arawn explain how Thea was not feeling very well, and the next we were being restrained. The ceiling cracked open, and great, thick vines swooped down and seized us all in place, and the more we fought, the larger and fiercer they grew, thorns poking out of their dark green flesh. My sword, faithful as a soldier, tried cutting through the rapidly increasing brambles, but as swift as the blade’s brandishes were, they were no match for the Castle’s star-fast magic.

Everyone was screaming and thrashing, demanding from me to explain what in the world was going on. But I had no answer. I couldn’t even speak. I could only stare at the grand, gold-framed mirror on the other side of the room. Its rippling waters glowed from the inside, reflecting an eerie white light that grew darker as it magnified.

Then the mirror burst open, water splashing everywhere. Thea fell headlong into the room, drenched to the bone and shaking all over. Her appearance was as saturated as a flame bobbing up in absolute darkness, yet I could only see the trail of indigo bruises circling her throat. Everything inside me twisted and, at the same time, stood perfectly still.

I thought I screamed her name, but the crowd roar in my ears was too loud and my heart too erratic to be certain of anything other than my own sick astonishment.

She reeled past the clawing brambles, and only when she reached the table, almost crashing to her knees before it, did the vines evaporate, misting into thin air. Her hand jutted out and tipped the ceremonial chalice over, dark red wine flooding the linen and trickling down the edge of the table like spilled blood.

“Juniper,” she gasped, tears rolling down her cheeks. “It’s juniper.”

I lunged for her, but Arawn—Arawn—was closer. He sprang forward with bloodshot eyes and curled lips and tore at her throat. Her scream lasted less than a second, but I knew I would hear it ringing in my ears till my very last day.

Consumed by bewildered rage, I ripped Arawn off her, the cleaving sound of his arm reverberating in the room. I wanted to do worse. I wanted to tear through him until there was no part of him unbroken. But Thea was falling, and in that moment, I could only see her. I caught her just before she hit the floor, cradling her head in one hand and her waist with the other. A thin stream of blood glided down her throat, staining red the pearls of her bodice. But her expression was solid, almost relieved when our eyes met. “It’s only a scratch. I’m fine,” she croaked, then wrapped her arms around my neck, yielding her body to mine.

For a second, no one spoke. No one even moved. Then Dain dashed behind Arawn, swift as a shadow. There was a fierce crack and a spatter of blood. The split pupils of Arawn’s eyes rolled upward, fading into white. Then he fell to the floor, more blood gushing from the back of his head and crawling across the carpet.

I don’t understand, I thought, my heart sinking empty.

34

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