Page 10 of Brimstone
Taladaius threw his hands in the air. “There’s no time for this!”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think we might be able to spare aminute,” Carrion said.
I saw Fisher’s annoyance spike, but he didn’t react. His touch left a trail of burning fire as he ran his hand up my thigh. With his other hand, he pressed his dagger against my flesh. The magic simmering below the surface of my skin registered that, just like the chain he’d wrapped around my waist, the weapon was pure silver, but it didn’t burn me the way it would Taladaius or any other vampire. We already discovered I was immune to the effects of both silverandiron. Perhaps it was that I wasn’t entirely one thing—neither wholly vampire nor Fae. Perhaps it was that I was an Alchemist on top of everything else, and I still had an affinity for metals. Either way, I was grateful for the advantage.
Fisher had no holster or scabbard for the dagger, but he didn’t need one. Wisps of black smoke materialized, skating over my skin. They were coldandwarm, and my skin broke out in goose bumps as I registered the prickle of his power. He was stripped of most of his magic here—he couldn’t open a portal, and he certainly couldn’t use it to hurt the denizens of the Blood Court on their own ground—but hecoulddo this. In a second, an elaborate latticework of shadows and glittering black sand encircled my thigh, holding the dagger flush against my leg. It was beautiful, like lace, delicate as a spiderweb speckled with morning dew. His hands rested there, on my thigh, strong and calloused, and—
He sucked in a sharp breath, shaking his head as he got to his feet. His pupils were blown wide open when he looked down at me. “If any of them even look sideways at you, you stick that straight in their chests.”
“I know how a dagger works, Fisher.” Most couples flirted by making eyes at each other or complimenting each other’s outfits.We did it by discussing how best to murder our enemies. A smile ached at the corners of my mouth, begging to be unleashed . . .
BOOM!
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!
Fisher offered me his hand. “Let’s go.”
“Wait. I—” Gods. There were so many things I wanted to say, but I hadn’t had a moment alone with him for nights. He was in danger here. Thanks to the Blood Court’s archaic traditions, namely their Rite of Ascension,Iwas safe enough. But Fisher hadn’t killed Malcolm. The Blood Court’s rule didn’t demand thathebe allowed to rise to power unmolested. He was a mortal enemy of the Blood Court. Thousands of high blood vampires lived within the walls of Ammontraíeth, all of them Malcolm’s children, and every one of them hated my mate with an unmatched fury. If he so much as looked sideways at the wrong person here, it would mean trouble. I wanted to remind him of this now, but he already knew, of course, and we were out of time.
“Can you—look, can you just behave yourself out there?” I murmured under my breath.
He looked bemused, the faintest hint of a dimple forming in his right cheek. “I can,” he answered. “I can’t promise that Iwill.”
As we walked past him and out of the chamber, Taladaius advised, “You should leave Nimerelle here. They’ll seeyoucarrying a weapon as an act of aggression.”
“Good.” My mate’s expression went dark with the promise of violence. “Itis.”
“Holy shit.” Carrion whistled softly through his teeth. “The place looks like a prison from the outside. Who would have known they were hiding somethingthisostentatious?”
It was called the Hall of Tears.
Carved faces, grotesque and grimacing, observed us from the obsidian pillars that held up the vaulted cathedral ceilings. Torches burned in sconces, the eerily still evenlight—so different from regular fire—casting a strange white-green glow up the walls. Gold brocade curtains hung from huge windows at the far end of the hall, with scenes of debauchery and all manner of sin stitched into the heavy velvet fabric. There were more vampires than I could count, gathered in rows on the left and right flanks of the hall. Not feeders. These were males and females, dressed in beautiful gowns and smock shirts. A lean intelligence shone from their eyes as they turned their hungry gazes on me.
At the head of the room, a stately throne made of black stone sat in the center of a raised dais. Before it was an expansive platform of polished obsidian decorated with a pale-stone mosaic depicting a five-pointed star. A Lord of Midnight already waited at the tip of four of the points, each dressed in finery, facing inward. The remaining point stood empty . . . until Taladaius traversed the long aisle and took his place among his brethren.
My maker had produced a lacquered staff from somewhere. He joined in with the others, smashing its tip down onto the ground at his feet, adding to the cacophonousBOOM! BOOM! BOOM!that thundered through the hall. The sound grew louder and louder, hammering in my ears.
And then, without warning, it stopped.
The five figures turned to face me, the expressions of the four strangers turning to granite when they saw I wasn’t alone at the foot of the wide staircase that led down to them.
Two of the Lords were males.
Two were female.
One was something else entirely.
There was Taladaius, of course. Next to him stood a rangy-looking dark-haired male with a hooked nose and eyes as black as coal. An even taller, long-limbed creature stood across from him—a pale, strange thing that clearly was not a member of the Fae. It was dressed in a pristine white robe. Its eyes were solid black orbs, its skin translucent. An unnaturally wide slit served for its mouth, bristling with tiny, jagged teeth. Black veins formed a network of spiderwebs across the backs of its too-large, webbed hands.
The females were less disconcerting. The first wore a gown of vivid green. Her hair was bright like hammered gold and wound into braids that fell in ropes down her back. My brother would have fallen in love with her on sight. She was just the type of pretty, fine-boned trouble who would have caught his eye. He wouldn’t have stood a chance, though. A hatred burned in her depthless blue eyes that made me want to reach for the dagger that Kingfisher had just strapped to my thigh. I shivered as I turned my gaze upon the last female, glad to have broken eye contact. The final Lord of Midnight was a small thing. A thick mat of gray hair fell into her face, obscuring her features, but I could see from her bare forearms, frail wrists, and gnarled hands that she was old.
“What madness is this?” the blond vampire asked. The second she spoke, the chatter in the hall ceased. The Lord hadn’t raised her voice, but her words rang from the walls and rebounded amid the rafters. She lifted her staff and thrust it at me so that I could make out the gleaming golden head of the hissing snake that topped it. “Thisis not the creature who felled my father,” she said. “Mighty Malcolm, who reigned over an entire continent and reduced another to ash? Malcolm, whotoppled kings, bedded queens, and cheated death so that we might all follow in his footsteps? Laid low bythis? I think not.”
Fisher’s warmth was a reassuring hand on my back. On my left, Carrion hovered in my peripheral vision. I looked at neither of them as I tilted my chin back and held my head high, beginning the long descent down the stairs toward the vampires of Sanasroth. “Your father was felled by his own hubris. He was too arrogant. He believed himself invincible, and I had the pleasure of showing him otherwise. A god sword will make worm food out of any of us, no matter who wields it. But, regardless,” I called in a clear voice. “I am no child. My name is Saeris Fane, and Iamyour queen.”
2
HALL OF TEARS
