Текст книги "The Serpent and the Wings of Night"

Автор книги: Carissa Broadbent

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CHAPTER TEN

I couldn’t move. I stabbed wildly, hitting flesh here, bone here, an eye here. I could see nothing but slithering masses of gray flesh. My pathetic magic sparked at my fingertips, useless fragments of blue-white light. Blood and blood and blood rained on me. The thrashing bodies of the demons parted enough for me to glimpse the sky above me through a haze of toxic red smoke—glimpse the moon, taunting me from beyond the glass.

Then it was blotted out beneath the powerful spread of massive wings. Silhouetted by the light of the moon and the lanterns, the feathers were rich, deep shades of red and purple.

Time slowed to a crawl as Raihn plunged his sword into the demon on top of me. The monster hissed and flailed. A slice opened across my cheek as I narrowly missed one of its thrashing claws.

I couldn’t hear anything, but I saw his lips move—saw them form the word, “Now!”

As my consciousness faded, I gathered my final strength and rammed my sword into the demon’s heart.

Push hard, little serpent, Vincent whispered in my ear.

The world had gone silent. Raindrops of blood became a waterfall. I kept pushing and pushing, until my hands were within the wound and I felt the demon’s slippery flesh around my knuckles.

I was going to die. I thought I’d come close to it before. But this was different. When the demon’s head lowered, when its cataract-ridden eyes met mine, I knew we were united in that—in the terror of our own mortality.

If this wasn’t the key to victory, I was fucked. Completely fucked. Locked up in hell with this thing. For a moment and an eternity, the demon and I balanced together, dancing on the blade’s edge of death.

And then the sudden absence of the weight left me gasping.

Raihn let out a ragged roar as he yanked the demon off me, gripping it by the throat and hurling it to the blood-soaked sand. The screaming from the crowd was now deafening. I couldn’t catch my breath. Couldn’t move. Pain paralyzed me.

I cringed, waiting for another demon to leap on me. Seconds passed. It didn’t happen. Instead, Raihn stood over me, one hand on his hip, wings spirited away but sword still drawn and dripping. His lips moved, but I couldn’t hear the words they formed.

“What?” I tried to say.

He leaned closer, mouth twisting into a grin. “I said, good idea.”

He stretched out his hand for me, but I rolled away and pushed myself to my feet. That earned an explosion of agony up my thigh.

The demons were now motionless husks, just boneless sacks of meat on the ground. Four of the seven of us remained alive. We stared at each other, weapons still poised. I struggled to grab hold of my slippery, pain-and-poison addled thoughts.

Did we win? Or did we still need to kill each other?

The Hiaj—the fucker who had shot me—looked pointedly to the ground. Not at the corpses, but at the lines of shadow that led us to the edge of our enclosure. There, an archway had appeared. Within it was the cold, silent halls of the Moon Palace, standing in laughable contrast to the bloody chaos in the ring.

That was it. As much of a victory celebration as we would get, apparently.

Kiretta and the remaining Hiaj both limped to the door with only momentary pauses of confusion, eager to leave with their lives. But I didn’t move. I wouldn’t show it, but I wasn’t even sure if I could walk.

I glanced back over my shoulder. For the first time since arriving, I took in the stands, where thousands of screaming spectators watched. They were so far above us that individual faces were lost in the crowd, but I still found myself looking for Vincent, anyway.

Raihn, too, had not moved. He was looking to his left, at the enclosure beside ours, whose occupants were still locked in a brutal battle—including Ibrihim, who was, remarkably, still alive and fighting. A faint wrinkle flitted across Raihn’s brow in an expression that oddly resembled concern, and I realized why when I followed his gaze to his friend. She leapt around with all the erratic grace of a butterfly, wielding—

My brows lurched.

She was wielding fire. Not the white, dark power of Nightfire, either, a uniquely Nightborn gift. No, this was fire.

My lips parted in shock. Fire magic was the domain of Atroxus, the sun god—a member of the White Pantheon. I’d never seen a vampire wielding magic that was not born of Nyaxia’s dark arts, let alone magic in the domain of her greatest enemy. I didn’t know such a thing was possible.

Raihn pounded on the glass wall of our enclosure, loud enough to attract her attention. She glanced at him, and he tapped his forehead right between his eyebrows. Then he pointed to the demon in her cage that had the white mark on its face.

With that, he casually turned back to me, looked me up and down, and motioned to the door.

“After you.”

There was absolutely no way in hell I was letting him walk behind me—especially not with my leg bleeding this much. I could only imagine how I smelled to him.

“After you,” I said sweetly.

He shrugged, walked ahead, and I hobbled after him. My leg trembled violently.

The first trial ended with little fanfare. We all skulked away to our hideaways in the silent embrace of the Moon Palace. I went for the greenhouse immediately, desperate to hide before anyone else scented my blood and decided I was an easy meal. From my hiding place, I listened to the echoes of the other returning contestants.

One trial done. Four remained.

I thought I’d feel some sort of relief. But as I crouched among the leaves and tried to quell my bleeding—tried and failed—I fought back only rising dread.

No, relief was for the safe. And as I piled bloody rags higher and higher, safety was far, far from my reach.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

My wounds were even deeper than I’d feared, the one in my thigh continuing to bleed despite many tight bandages. The arrow must have been cursed, and who knew whatever venom the demons’ claws held. Both of my injuries were so severe that Vincent’s potion would only heal one. After a long internal debate, I used it on the cut in my side, which seemed at most risk for infection.

That still left me in rough shape, though. I needed to see Vincent. Surely, he’d meet me tonight—he was protective, and after seeing me in the ring, he’d want to know I was alright. I prayed he had been able to get his hands on more medicine, though I knew it was unlikely. Fuck. If he hadn’t, I didn’t know what I—

“Beautiful place you’ve claimed for yourself.”

I stiffened so abruptly at the sound of the voice that I was greeted with a wave of pain. Grabbing my blades, I rose and turned. It was hard to get to my feet. Dawn was still hours away. And I was in no shape to fight. Not that I wouldn’t try.

“How fitting. Every living thing in this depressing, dead castle, all in one place.” Raihn wandered to the center of the greenhouse, pausing at the long-dry fountain at its center. He gazed up at the faceless statue, then out the windows, and then at last, his eyes fell to me—the corner of his mouth twisting into an almost-smile.

“Get out,” I snarled.

“I brought you something.”

“Get out.”

“That’s rude.” He sat down on the edge of the fountain. I half expected the ancient stone to crumble under his weight—he was truly a wall of a creature, big enough to even look it when surrounded by gods-damned demons. And yet, he moved with surprising grace, like he knew his body well. He lounged with one foot propped up on the stone, elbow braced against it, while the other leg stretched out before him. He looked utterly casual—so casual I knew it was calculated.

Then he glanced up to the star-scattered sky, and something momentary shifted in his face. I knew how to read expressions well. Those of vampires were always muted, frozen by centuries of dull immortality, and my survival depended on my ability to find meaning in every twitch. But that brief expression struck me—both because it was a glimpse of something unusually raw, and because I could not even begin to decipher it.

Then his stare fell back to me, the smirk returned, and once again I was looking at a vampire, toying with me in terms I was innately familiar with.

A performance. This was someone who cared very much about what people thought of him. I knew that much already from his little outburst at the feast, goading that poor bastard into attacking him so he had an excuse to be the first to draw blood.

He swung his legs down and leaned forward. With that movement, I twitched backwards, drawing a step closer to the wall.

“What?” he said. “Do I smell?”

“I told you to get out.”

“You think I came here for a meal? That’s my grand intention?”

His intention was worth shit. Vampires had notoriously poor self-control when confronted with human blood. My life would be a lot safer if protecting me was just a matter of Vincent threatening painful and horrible death upon anyone who hurt me. Coming after me was a logically unwise decision. They all knew it would result in their execution… or worse. But they might not even decide to do it, they might just be overcome by—

The memory was as sharp as ever—lips on my throat, a kiss deepening to a nip deepening to a vicious stab of pain—

“What was that?”

I jerked back to reality. Mother, the blood loss must be getting to me, to let my mind wander off like that. Raihn still wore that little smirk, but now a wrinkle of curiosity deepened between his dark brows.

“Where did you go?”

That unnerved me more than I’d ever admit aloud—the fact that he saw whatever had just changed on my face.

“I told you,” I spat, “to get—”

“What are you going to do? Stab me?”

He looked pointedly at my blades. Daring me. Mocking me, because we both knew I couldn’t, not in this state.

“That thigh looks bad. It’s a little poetic, isn’t it?” He touched his thigh—still bandaged.

Sure. Fucking poetic.

“I brought you something for that.”

He reached into his pack and pulled out a blue crystal bottle, contents thrumming with a light shimmer.

Mother. At the sight, I almost leapt for it just on impulse. How had he found that, if even Vincent was struggling to get his hands on it?

Raihn placed the potion on the stone beside him, then rested his forearms on his knees and watched me.

“You know,” he said casually, “I heard some of the others talking before the first round. Betting on who would survive. Your name was worth shit, because everyone was so sure you’d be the first to die.”

He paused, waiting for a reaction, and I refused to give him one.

“But I thought better,” he went on. “I knew you were one to watch. That you weren’t just some ordinary human. The great Nightborn King’s human pet.”

It wasn’t the first time I’d been referred to that way, and it wouldn’t be the last, but I still bristled. I was in so much pain that it was more difficult than usual to keep my temper at bay.

Calm down, Oraya. Anger means an accelerated heart rate. A higher heart rate means your scent is stronger. Give them nothing.

It wasn’t as if I didn’t know exactly what he was doing. Baiting me, just like he had baited that man at the feast. If I was the serpent, he was poking me with a stick to see when I’d snap it in two.

“Did he teach you how to fight like that? He must have, right?” He nodded to my weapons, still braced in front of me. “He gave you those, obviously. Nightborn craftsmanship. The good shit.”

“Are you deaf, or just stupid?”

“You’re unfriendly.”

What did he think he was accomplishing here? Did he think I was so easy to manipulate? Did he think I didn’t know what this was?

“Why are you here?” I snapped. By now, I struggled to hide the labor of my breathing and maintain the strength in my voice. “For entertainment? I’m boring as shit, I promise you.”

“I can see that.”

“Stop playing with me. I don’t have the patience.”

Again, the corner of his mouth lifted in a grim, satisfied smirk. “Or time,” he said flatly, his eyes falling to my wounded thigh.

My jaw snapped closed. His gaze flicked back to mine, and for a long moment we just stared at each other, locked in a wordless conversation.

I knew it was the truth. He knew I knew it. I hated that he knew I knew it.

“Then stop wasting it,” I spat out, at last. “What do you want?”

“Who will you ally with for the Halfmoon trial?”

I blinked. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting—more games, maybe—but it wasn’t that.

It was a good question. An important question. The choice of ally for the Halfmoon trial was a critical strategic decision. It needed to be someone strong enough to keep you in the top fifty percent of contestants during the Halfmoon, but not too strong, because they then became your greatest competition in the final two trials.

While the exact nature of the trial changed in every Kejari, those three important elements remained constant: the fact that it required cooperation, that it resulted in the death of half the participants… and that many, many contestants would be killed in their sleep immediately after it, most often by former allies who decided they were more risk than reward.

Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t keep the wince from flitting across my nose.

Raihn let out a low chuckle. “I thought so.” Then he said, with no hesitation, “Ally with me.”

My eyebrows shot up.

Vincent had often chided me for my poor control over my facial expressions, and at this one, Raihn laughed again.

“Ally with… you,” I said.

“Me and Mische.”

Mische. Was that the name of the short-haired girl? The one with the fire?

“We claimed a room near the top of the towers,” he went on. “It’s secure. Big—a whole apartment. Safe. Or safer than this place, at least.”

This didn’t feel right. “Why?”

“Because you impressed me.”

“Bullshit.”

His brows twitched in the faintest hint of surprise, like he was genuinely not expecting this answer.

“Excuse me?”

“You haven’t said a single true thing since you strode in here, so I’ll be honest for both of us. I’m a human. We both know that makes me the weakest one here. You have your pick of fifty stronger vampires you could ally with. And you expect me to believe you want me?”

He examined a cut on his ring finger. “Only forty, now, actually. Look, you beat warriors that outclassed you many times over tonight. You and I…” His gaze raised back to me. “We worked well together, didn’t we? And I like an underdog.”

“Bull. Shit.” I jabbed one of my blades at him for emphasis with each word. “Do other people fall for this? Give me one honest thing, or get out, like I’ve been telling you to since you showed up.”

I didn’t trust anyone in this place. But I especially didn’t trust someone who pursued me under such blatantly false pretenses. The very fact that he wanted to ally with me made him the least trustworthy one here, because no sane person would want to do such a thing. And I could handle selfish motivations—I expected them—but not when I didn’t know what they were.

He blinked twice, biting the inside of his cheek. I couldn’t tell if he was insulted or if he was fighting back laughter.

Finally, he said, “All the other decent fighters that are people I could actually tolerate are already allied.”

“And?”

“And?”

“Not enough. Keep going. You already have your friend. Why invite another?”

“I’m curious about you. Can you blame me? Everyone is. Vincent’s little human princess, kept in a glass palace where everyone could look but never touch.” He glanced around, smiling wryly at the greenhouse’s crystal walls. “Are you missing your glass castle, princess?”

I wouldn’t let him bait me, not even if I did find myself shifting in irritation at that characterization.

But the mention of Vincent triggered a wave of understanding. This, at least, made sense. Maybe it was the first thing out of Raihn’s mouth that I actually believed.

“Vincent can’t help me in here.”

“I doubt that very much.”

Ah.

Vincent. It was about Vincent. The offer of alliance had nothing to do with me. Raihn thought that if he allied with the king’s little human princess, it would earn him advantages afforded to no one else in here… and prevent other contestants from getting them first.

I didn’t like it, and it wasn’t true, but at least it made sense.

I scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead I said, “And?”

He looked confused. “And?”

“Why else?”

Another long stare. Another wordless conversation. I’d forgotten what it was like to talk to someone whose face communicated so much.

There was one more thing—one more key reason why I was the ideal ally. We both knew it. He knew I knew it. He hated that I knew he knew it.

But I’d asked for honesty, and I wanted him to say it.

He was clearly weighing this, deciding which answer was the right one to pass the test. At last, he said, “And you’ll be easy to kill, when the Halfmoon is over.”

It was legitimately satisfying to just hear someone say it out loud.

“But until then,” he added, quickly, “no harm will come to you. I can promise you that.”

I heard Vincent’s voice in a sixteen-year-old memory:

I am the only person who will ever make that promise and keep it.

“What makes you think I need your protection?”

To his credit, he didn’t laugh at me.

“You’re a skilled fighter. Better than I thought you’d be.” He rose from the fountain and took a few slow steps closer, never breaking eye contact, his large, scar-nicked hand open on one side, the other clutched tight around the healing potion. With each step, I drew backwards.

“But you are still human,” he said quietly. “And that means that in here, you are prey. You’ll always be prey. No matter how good you are with those fancy weapons.”

The truth, of course. But maybe he didn’t realize that I knew how to be prey. I’d been doing it my entire life.

He was right. I would need to ally with someone for the Halfmoon, and then I would need to kill them afterwards. Maybe I could ally with him, allow him to protect me, and spend that time learning his fighting styles and weaknesses—preparing myself to kill him as soon as it was over. He could underestimate me, and I could use that against him.

But allying now? This was early. The Halfmoon trial, the midpoint of the tournament, was six weeks away. That was a long time to stay in close proximity to not one, but two vampires, without getting killed. A long time to allow him to learn my strengths and weaknesses, too.

“No,” I said. “Tempting offer, though.”

He took another step closer, and again, I matched the distance back.

“What was it that you asked of me? An honest thing? I was honest with you, so now you be honest with me. Do you really think you’ll survive another night here? It’s almost dawn now, but after that? Your scent is all over the Moon Palace right now. I could smell you even from the east tower. And let me tell you, you smell fucking delicious. You need to stop that bleeding, fast.”

My eyes fell to the potion tightly gripped in his hand. Hearing it all acknowledged out loud made me uneasy. But so did having him this close to me. I did not like that he was pushing me into this so forcefully. The reasons he had given me didn’t warrant that, which made the ones he didn’t far more concerning.

“No,” I said.

“You’ll bleed to death, or they’ll kill you.”

He started to step closer, and I ignored the horrific rip of pain as I leapt away, blades raised anew.

“I will stab you again if you come even a single step closer to me,” I snarled. “Get out.”

He raised his hands.

“As you wish, princess. Suit yourself.”

He made sure I watched as he slipped the potion back into his pack, then gave me one last smile and turned to the door.

“Top of the eastern tower. If you change your mind.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

I left an hour before dawn broke. It was a gamble to go at all—my wound was so bad that I struggled to move. If I passed out halfway between our meeting spot and the gates of the Moon Palace, I was fucked. But I gritted my teeth through it, replaced my dressings, and made the trek. It took me twice as long as it had the night before. I hid beneath the bridge and waited.

And waited and waited.

Please, Vincent. Come on. Please.

At first, I was in denial. He was just a little late. Something had kept him. There was no way that he wouldn’t be here, not when he had witnessed that battle and seen my injuries. He would appear any second now.

But the minutes ticked by, and Vincent did not come.

Fuck.

I knew my father, and I knew that there was no explanation for this that could possibly be good, but I had no time to worry about that. When sunrise was far too close, I gave up and dragged myself back to the Moon Palace. By then I was moving even slower. Bleeding heavier. I had been betting on Vincent’s help, and losing that gamble had cost me dearly.

I barely made it back before dawn broke. As early-morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I crept into the feast hall. It was, thankfully, empty. The table overflowed with fresh food that looked as if it had hardly been touched. But the carafes? The ones that had once held blood?

Those were ominously empty.

I was in so much pain that the thought of eating made my stomach churn, but I stuffed some food into my mouth and into my pockets anyway. I had to keep my strength up somehow, and I had to move fast. Days prior, the Moon Palace had been near-silent during daylight. But now, I could hear activity echoing through the halls—muffled voices, dull thumps, and light footsteps. Raihn had been right. The greenhouse was safe in the day, but the rest of the Palace wouldn’t be.

I moved as swiftly as my injuries would allow from the feast hall to the great room. My eyes locked on the smear of light at the end of the hallway—the greenhouse entrance. It was a bright, clear day, not a cloud in the sky. Sunlight flooded it.

I was two steps away—so fucking close—when I heard the footsteps.

I dropped my pack of food. Grabbed the hilt of my weapons. Turned just in time.

One of my blades slid into the taut muscle of my attacker’s side, and the other blocked his strike to my face. The sudden force of the movement left me breathless with pain as my wounds tore open anew, the fresh flow of blood driving my attacker into a frenzy.

It happened so fast. I didn’t even get a good look at my assailant, only glimpsed little details—the white of his wild stare, the gray of his hair, the overall wiry shape of his form—before we were tangled together. He was half-feral, moving in jagged lurches, mouth twisted into a snarl and claws digging deep into my shoulders as I fought him back. He wielded a rapier, which opened another wound in my side.

I flung myself against him and together we tumbled into the greenhouse. The vegetation was so thick that it did little more than make my attacker hiss in mild discomfort.

But he was savage with bloodlust. Sloppy. Wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings. When he lunged for me, I used the force of his own movement to slam him against the glass wall.

The morning beat down over us both, the heat beading perspiration on my skin in seconds. His back pressed against the glass, taking the full intensity of the sun. The scent of sweat and burnt flesh filled my nostrils.

It would be enough to jar him from bloodlust. Surely.

But no. He let out a grunt of pain and kept thrashing against me. I could block his teeth, or his sharpened nails, or his weapon, but not all three—at least, not while keeping him pinned. The burning smell grew more pungent.

I stumbled. He lunged. I had one chance. I flung him back against the glass. Seized the moment of his hesitation as the sun scalded one side of his face.

And before he could recover, I plunged my dagger into his chest.

…Not hard enough. The blade didn’t make it through.

Fuck.

I was so, so weak. I drew back again, and nearly collapsed as the world went sideways.

My blurring vision sharpened around the vampire’s eyes—yellow, with threads of red. He turned to me, a slow smile spreading over his lips.

I threw everything I had into one final thrust, hard hard hard, until I heard a crack, until my dagger went through his chest.

A horrific burning pain skewered me.

My attacker went limp. The dead weight of him nearly toppled me over. He wasn’t dead. His fingers still twitched. I didn’t get deep enough. But my hands didn’t obey when I tried to push again.

I staggered back. Looked down. My abdomen was covered with blood. I couldn’t feel where the cut was.

Couldn’t feel much of anything, actually.

You’re in shock, Oraya. Vincent’s voice was urgent in my head. You are going to bleed out. You need to get out of here, right now. They’ll smell you.

My mind was a muddy mess, but I could make out a single thought:

I am not going to survive this way for four months. No chance.

I clutched my stomach and lifted my head. And there, right before me, as if presented to me as a gift from the Moon Palace itself, was the spiral staircase.

I looked back. The greenhouse door was suddenly far behind me. Had I walked this much? I didn’t remember doing that. But then again, there was little I did remember as I dragged myself up that staircase. Flight after flight after flight, seemingly endless, just as it had been that first night, the first time I’d run up these stairs desperate to make it to the top with my life.

Probably wouldn’t be the last, either.

By the time I made it to the top, I was crawling on my hands and knees. Blood dripped down the stairs and rolled through the gaps in the banister, landing on the distant great room floor like little flower petals.

When there were no more stairs, I lifted my head. A single door stood before me.

I fought to my feet. One step, and I collapsed. Tried to rise. Slipped on my own blood. I didn’t feel it when I hit the ground. The world spun. Faded.

After what felt like an age, someone flipped me onto my back. My throat released a strangled sound of pain.

Raihn leaned over me.

“Well,” he said, crossing his arms, “that didn’t take long.”

Fucking prick.

Aloud, I gurgled.

The last thing I saw before I lost consciousness was his broad grin, revealing two very long, very sharp canines.

“Oh, you’re very welcome, Oraya.”

And the last thing I heard was Vincent’s voice in my head, saying, What the hell did you just do?