Page 163 of Brimstone
“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.
Thiswas 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.
39
KEEPER OF SECRETS
SAERIS
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! Sitdown,” 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 shortwords, I had ensured that no one in Ammontraíeth wouldeverharm 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 andkickedthe 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.
