Текст книги "A Bargain So Bloody"

Автор книги: Vasilisa Drake

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Someone jiggled the doorknob of my room the next morning. Intruder. My body stiffened at the thought. Someone is trying to get in.

“Samara?”

Thea. It was only Amalthea. I slid the Black Grimoire off my lap and shut the heavy tome, trailing my fingers over it.

“Coming!” I called through the heavy wooden door. I untucked the chair from the handle and slid away the desk I’d set to reinforce it. Finally, I twisted the key and unlocked the door.

Amalthea cast a curious glance at the pile of furniture as she stepped inside. “Redecorating?” she asked lightly.

I tried to smile. She didn’t give me reassurances I wouldn’t believe, and I was thankful.

“I didn’t mean to barge in on you, but I was wondering if you wanted to have breakfast with me before training.”

“That would be nice.” I meant to sound warm and sincere, mirroring the witch’s tone, but instead I sounded stupefied. I’d slept fitfully after the ball and finally gave up on sleep sometime in the early hours. It hadn’t occurred to me anyone would offer to have breakfast with me. “I got distracted trying to read that.” I pointed to the grimoire.

Amalthea’s gaze followed my gesture. Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re reading that book?”

“Trying,” I grumbled. The truth was, I barely remembered the shape of the common runes in Old Runyk, let alone the meaning. They were similar to the common tongue, but the sounds assigned to half the letters were different, the diphthongs a mess, and I struggled to so much as write my name in it let alone understand a magical book. “Raphael mentioned there’s a library that might help?”

“Raphael. Raphael wanted you to translate that book?” It was the second time she’d said that as if she meant to put several expletives after it. “By the sixth hell, where did you even find that thing?”

I frowned at her. “The marshes. Given that it’s what he went all the way to the Witch Kingdom to seek out, it only makes sense we brought it back. The whole reason I’m here is because he offered me a thousand gold pieces to translate it.” A task I wasn’t sure I was up to, based on my limited success this morning.

But I wanted to succeed. Was determined to.

Amalthea shifted on her feet like she didn’t even want to be in the same room as the grimoire. She didn’t immediately correct me or agree with me, which meant one thing: She was keeping something from me and weighing how much to share. A cutting reminder that even though she had been all smiles while we dressed the night before, we weren’t confidants.

“Amalthea, what were you and everyone expecting Raphael to do while he went to the Witch Kingdom?” I waited a beat, and when she stayed silent, I pressed on: “Raphael said he was looking for something and wound up in Greymere, and I assumed it was due to bad information. But you’re a seer—if he has you guiding him to the grimoire, he shouldn’t be at risk of that. And last night, a noble mentioned something about an ‘abomination.’” I let the words hang. I could believe Lazarus didn’t know the truth, but Raphael had said himself he trusted Amalthea. Besides, wouldn’t he have at least consulted his court seer before setting off?

Still, Amalthea said nothing. She simply stood there, arms crossed protectively over her abdomen, not meeting my gaze.

My throat stiffened, all at once swollen by hurt and frustration.

“I think I’ll take breakfast alone.” I turned back to the settee.

Thea grabbed my wrist. “Wait.”

I turned back, and she pulled me across the room to sit by the fire. Her gaze flickered back between the grimoire and me. “You’re correct about several things. Raphael did go to Greymere based on the information I gave him, but it wasn’t about the Black Grimoire. I can’t even find that book with my sight. It’s cloaked in too many centuries of magic for a single seer to find. Frankly, I’m confused as to what he even wants with it—vampires and witches alike are loath to be around it. It gives me the creeps just being in the room. If anyone knew Raphael had it in his possession, that he’d actually sought it out, there would be questions.”

Questions from whom? “But that doesn’t tell me what you sent him looking for.”

“Right. There’s a creature that appears every few hundred years. Mortal enemy to the vampires. Raphael isn’t just king because he’s strong—he’s king because when this creature appears, he hunts it down and guarantees the safety of all Vampire Kingdoms.”

A creature that vampires were scared of… either I should be scared of it too, or I should hope Raphael was unsuccessful in finding it. But it was clear from Thea’s tone she believed in whatever mission Raphael had been on.

“Sam, the truth is, I’m at a loss about what to think now that the book is in Damerel, and Raphael isn’t answering any of my questions either.” She heaved a sigh. “Now, can we please get breakfast? We can go to the library after and get all the dusty old tomes you like—but don’t tell them what you’re working on.”

I stood reluctantly, looking back at the grimoire which still beckoned from the opposite end of the room.

“Sam, I promise no one wants to be near that book.”

“Alright,” I agreed.

But I turned back and tucked the grimoire between the couch pillows all the same, hiding it from view when I really wished I could have taken it with me.

“What is your business?”

An ancient-looking vampire peered down from an elevated countertop. His skin sagged slightly, his red eyes rimmed with bloodshot whites. Unlike everyone else who looked at Amalthea with a healthy dose of respect, the librarian’s brusque tone said he was irritated with both of us. To the right of his podium was an iron gate. Amalthea had explained on the way over that the librarian answered to no one but the king, so entry was at the librarian’s discretion. And that it was best not to tell him what we were looking for. Even if he didn’t know about the grimoire, no vampire wanted anything to do with sharing hard-won witch knowledge.

“I’m showing the king’s Chosen all of the kingdom’s wonders,” Amalthea said, unperturbed by the librarian’s tone.

His face didn’t so much as twitch in acknowledgment.

“If you please.” Her imperious tone made it clear that it was not a request.

The vampire still didn’t say a word in recognition, but he pulled a lever, and the ceiling-high iron gate swung open.

“Do vampires age?” I murmured as quietly as I could when we passed.

Amalthea shot me a stunned look, but it was the vampire librarian who answered. “I was old when I turned, girl. Now, the years pass like seconds.”

In short, he’d looked that way when he’d turned, which was also a long time ago. I tried to fight off the flush at my rudeness. “I suppose I know so little about vampires. Are there books for me to learn more about them?”

An ancient, bushy white brow rose as the librarian slowly extended his arm towards the open door. The answer was obvious.

“We’ll find you some,” Amalthea assured me, tugging me the rest of the way inside.

Amalthea led me on a quick tour of the library, which mainly meant gesturing broadly at several thousand books at a time. The library was utterly non-magical but no less wondrous than the one in Apante. Shelves were carved into the stone, towering to dangerous heights. “Histories here, novels over there, plays because those are different, skilled workbooks are in this section, religious studies on the gods basically take up this entire wall…”

“Where would books on vampires be?” I hadn’t lied—I did want to find some books about how vampires worked. Specifically, I wanted to know how to break the bond between Raphael and me.

“That’s a bit broad.”

“Their powers, then.” And how to counteract them.

Amalthea considered me and then eyed the rest of the library. “I know just the book. I’ll bring it to you tomorrow. In the meantime, let’s find what you need to translate that cursed thing.” She was careful not to mention exactly what I was translating. Not when a vampire could overhear.

Unlike the bustle of the Great Library, the library of Damerel was silent. Our footsteps were swallowed by plush carpet as we moved forward. Amalthea navigated the space with ease.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen the books I need?” I asked hopefully.

She cast me a rueful smile. “Not quite. But I spent enough time here when I arrived at Damerel that I learned a lot.”

She eventually located the stack of books she wanted. They were buried in the farthest corner of the library, dust covering the tops. I frowned. These books would have been prized in the king’s library, but here, they seemed to be kept almost reluctantly. Why were they so disdained? Simply because they were witch books or specifically about Old Runyk? Thea offered me a piddling selection of books, and I picked the four that were the most promising. Nothing as simple as a dictionary, unfortunately, but the four were enough to leave me better equipped to translate the grimoire.

We split the books into two piles between us.

“I don’t understand why everyone is so scared of that book,” I said softly as we headed towards the entrance.

She cocked her head at me. “You know how grimoires work, right?”

As much as any void could. “They’re like cookbooks. Witches record spells that work in them.”

“Not quite. That is true, but witches also imbue magic in them. Unlike enchanted cards, however, only witches with the corresponding skill set can use them. And in most cases, the magic doesn’t fade. Grimoires are guarded jealously in families and often fought over as an inheritance.” She paused at a shelf and grabbed two more books, putting them on top of our piles. “I’d always heard they can take on a life of their own, with enough time. Not sentient, exactly, but something like it. They don’t like witches outside their bloodline touching them.”

I frowned. “But there’s no witch who has control over death magic.”

Thea said nothing while I continued to ponder what she’d said about grimoires. Even if there were such a witch, this grimoire had been left in a tomb for who knows how long. The Black Grimoire must have been different, which was why it had become part of witch folklore.

Another puzzle piece fitting into a picture I couldn’t quite see.

We reached the entryway. Amalthea attempted to stride through, leaving me speeding along behind her, but the librarian wasn’t fooled by the books she had placed atop our piles.

“Halt,” the librarian hissed. “She can’t look at those books.”

Amalthea arched a brow at the librarian. “Your king says she can do exactly that.”

“She certainly can’t take them,” he continued, indignant.

The tone made me want to cower and apologize. Amalthea felt nothing of the sort.

“I suggest you try telling King Raphael that. Maybe he’ll realize it’s time for a new librarian,” she said breezily, hooking my arm and pulling me away while the ancient vampire sputtered.

We disappeared down the hall before any further complaints could be made. Once we turned a corner, I shared a glance with Amalthea.

On silent cue, we both burst out laughing.

“By the eighth hell, you have no fear,” I said between giggles. The way she’d stared the vampire down and invoked Raphael’s name. Given she hadn’t even known about the grimoire until two hours ago, there was no chance Raphael had said any such thing.

She pressed her fingertips to her lips, trying to regain control. “Of him? No. Of Demos when we show up late? Maybe.”

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Chapter Thirty-Three

As the days passed, a routine emerged. Amalthea met me at my rooms each morning and we ate a light breakfast before joining Demos for training. I still struggled to relax around the vampire, but he proved himself a patient teacher—if somewhat exacting. But then, that’s what I wanted. There was no point in practicing to be sloppy. Even if I didn’t know how to use it yet, I carried the dagger everywhere with me on the jeweled belt Raphael had gifted me.

After practice, we would eat again, with Raphael occasionally joining us, and then I’d retreat to my rooms to work on my two projects: translating the grimoire and learning everything I could about vampires. Mercifully, I was spared any more balls.

The grimoire was addictive. Just touching it gave me the same rush as using enchanted cards. If Amalthea was to be believed about certain grimoires having an awareness, no doubt this one did. Even Raphael didn’t care to be around it, but me, I loved it. For a void like me who adored magic since I’d never have any of my own, being around the enchanted tome was energizing. I was still in the first few pages, able to grasp only the barest framework. So far, I’d learned the owner of the book was devoted to Anagenni. Not a surprise. The rough translation for a devotee was necromancer, which used the same suffix as other witchkind used in Old Runyk. Their origin, their purpose, that I still hadn’t made sense of. Every word translated was hard-won—and some I couldn’t get—but I enjoyed the task.

My other task was more daunting. Amalthea gave me two books: one on vampire powers and the other on vampire society. At first, just holding the first book Amalthea had given me made my hands shake so badly I could scarcely open it. Raphael had actually come to check on me with some vague pretext—he hadn’t acknowledged the fact he’d felt my panic through whatever mental link was between us.

All the more reason I had to study the vampires. My mother had instilled in me that knowledge was a kind of power no one could take from you. She had meant knowledge of other courtiers and their political machinations. I had favored book learning even as a child. Though I’d never wanted to interact with vampires, if this was my life, staying ignorant was more likely to shorten it than anything else.

The book on vampire powers was more a running list of the varied abilities vampires had. It seemed there were as many vampire abilities as witches’ magics: turning into a bat, flight, invisibility, telepathy. But despite the wide range, few vampires actually had any powers, which was some small relief. The mental link between a vampire and those they bit was also rare. The book mentioned it was possible to learn to block it, but offered no details, to my frustration.

The other book on vampire society was slightly more reassuring. Vampires were terrifying, and nothing would change my mind. But they weren’t the mindless beasts I’d thought. I’d seen the truth of that while I’d traveled with Raphael, and training with Demos proved he wasn’t a complete exception. Raphael had mentioned he had advisers, and the kingdom was filled with civil servants, but it went beyond that. The entirety of vampire society was strictly hierarchical, with every individual neatly slotting into their respective place. Vampires revered strength—the strongest led, the rest obeyed. They were also extremely territorial. From what I read, vampires respected each other’s claims. If they didn’t, they were quickly excised from society or killed.

Between what I’d read and my training, I slowly became more confident. Despite the gentle cajoling from Amalthea and Demos, I didn’t want to be scared all the time. So I pushed myself. I made the walk to Amalthea’s some mornings for breakfast, instead of the other way around. I let Demos put his hands on my arms to correct my form. I didn’t make eye contact with vampires in the halls or attempt to get to know them, but I tried to force myself not to sprint if I was caught in the halls when one came by. Even when the halls were empty, I felt like there were eyes on me, watching, waiting, but I fought the urge to hunch my shoulders and cower.

A life of fear was not a life. Raphael never sprinted away from enemies—and, well, Raphael likely knew he would always win the fight. But I was under his protection while I worked for him, and everything I learned told me that should keep me safe for now. I tried to trust in that.

That was why, a couple weeks later, when I finished training for the day, I didn’t go straight back to my rooms.

A sound caught my attention going down the hall. Not noise but… as I went farther down the winding hall, the sound grew louder and clearer. Music notes. Memories of the night at the ball, of my first time hearing music in years, made my chest tighten. And here it was again—a different tune, but no less beguiling. Eventually, I wound up in a small alcove above a small theater. I could peer down and see the form of the musician. The world disappeared around me as I listened. My heart pounded in time with the rhythm of the music. The tune was a lively, jovial thing. And while joy was a long-forgotten emotion to someone as wretched as me, the music made the emotion echo in my chest. I wrapped my palm around the wrought-iron railing, the metal digging into my palm as I remained transfixed. When one song ended, another began. Hours must have passed, but they felt like the barest seconds.

When the final notes faded, I went back to my room in a daze.

Music.

Glorious music, unlike anything I’d heard in ages. The music in the ball had shocked me, but the memory had been layered with anxiety around the vampires. But there on the balcony, it had just been me and the sounds, wrapping through my blood and making it hum.

And then the next day, I returned.

A different performer was present, this one playing a large wooden instrument with strings as tall as me. Once again, all my senses shut off one by one until all I focused on was the music, entirely different, mournful and grand.

Each day I went back, drawn like a moth to a pyromancer’s flame. When it became obvious I was losing too many hours, I packed my research materials with me, hastily scribbling the passage I was working on in the grimoire with my translation aids. I hid myself in the alcove and relished in the depth of music. No screams, no curses, no vile threats. No miserable silence that haunted you, worse than any of the other sounds, making you realize just how alone you were. The music was a comfort I desperately needed. And so I went back, each day, listening, working, lowering my guard as I let the notes wash over me.

Until that proved to be a mistake.

“So this is what became of you.”

I jolted. Between the passage I was working on and the day’s musician—a pianist who played songs like rolling waves—I had entirely forgotten my surroundings. Towering over me was the servant I’d seen weeks ago at the ball, the one I’d recognized and convinced myself I’d been mistaken when I didn’t see him again. His appearance was nothing remarkable: brown eyes, brown hair, a nose that was neither too long nor too short, a stature that was slightly smaller than usual for a man but still larger than me. He was in his early fifties, maybe, but with the long life of witches, he was in his prime.

In the moment at the ball, it had been so easy to convince myself it wasn’t him. Just a brief moment with a common-looking man. His appearance was as I remembered, but his demeanor was entirely different.

Now, the aura around the spymaster was as I remembered, like oil seeped from the air he breathed, dark and destroying.

I stood immediately, my hand clumsily reaching for the bronze dagger in the sheath at my side.

The servant arched a brow. “Now, none of that. You’ll only hurt yourself, Samara. I simply came to say hello.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The servant spread his arms wide. “Now, Samara. I’m simply happy to see you doing well.”

I wished I was more confident in my training. Wished I was like Raphael who could kill without remorse. “Because trusting the king’s spymaster is in my best interest, Titus?”

“At least I haven’t abandoned my country,” Titus drawled.

“My country abandoned me first,” I hissed. My knuckles strained around my dagger. The exact opposite to the light, secure grip Demos had tried to train me on.

Titus tsked. “Now, now. A little time in Greymere for a void is nothing. It’s not like you’re a witch.”

Greymere was hell. But there was no point in arguing the matter. He was simply goading me. “I just want a fresh start, Titus.”

“A fresh start. For you, of all people?” He took a step forward, but I had no room to go back. “I simply find it interesting that their demon king has taken an interest in you. I wonder if he’d be as charitable if he knew who you really were?”

My grip loosened, and he seized the opportunity to snatch my dagger. It fit easily in his hand, and he twirled his hand up to point the blade at me.

I swallowed, and satisfaction rolled over the spymaster’s lips at the sight.

“I’m not a threat to you,” I said softly.

“On that, I agree perfectly.” He was too close. His scent of bitter almonds made me breathe through my mouth. “You’re an opportunity.”

“An opportunity?” I bit my tongue on the echo.

His grin was serpentine. Patient, but all too satisfied he’d piqued my interest. “You’re the king’s Chosen, girl. You could do the Crown a great service in your role.”

I wanted to ask what he meant, but this time I kept silent. Titus sighed, as if annoyed I wasn’t playing the proper role in this conversation.

“You could help me deal a blow to their kingdom. One they wouldn’t recover from.”

Now I couldn’t hold back my cursed curiosity. “What do you intend?”

But as I’d known, spies delighted in withholding information, not sharing it. “Leave those details to me. But if you did agree, I could return you to the safety of the Witch Kingdom. Not your home, certainly, but I could put you in a village somewhere and ensure no one ever sought you there. Doesn’t that sound lovely?”

I could go back. No. I shook off the thought, not taking my eyes off Titus for a moment. I couldn’t betray Raphael. Yes, I believed the vampires were evil, but… maybe they weren’t as evil as I always thought. And I certainly didn’t trust Titus. “I just want to be left alone.”

“Left alone? Or left as the vampire king’s pet?” he asked snidely.

I glared but said nothing.

“What a spoiled pet, I suppose. The vampires are so nice to you. Not like the bad ones you knew before… I bet you’ve convinced yourself they’re different.”

His patronizing tone made the hair on my neck bristle.

“You should learn more about your new owners, Samara Koisemi. See more of the mountain. Learn what lies in the rot of their kingdom. And when you can no longer lie to yourself, and remember your true allegiances, I’ll be back.” He tossed the dagger at my feet. “I’m a wonderful ally, girl. But remember: The king’s shadowed hand is a terrible enemy to have. Something your mother should have known.”

Titus fingered a card at his side and disappeared. Music washed over me, making me acutely aware that it had been absent in the past minutes of our conversation. Had he slowed time, or simply put us in a bubble with some magic?

My mind was divided in two. One part wanted to puzzle through the logistics of what had just happened. How was he here? What was his endgame? Would he follow through on his threats? Should I be helping him?

The other part was screaming, screaming, screaming.

Raphael appeared before me, and I stared through him. He scanned the surroundings, looking for some invisible threat, nostrils flaring. Did he scent Titus’s bitter almond scent, or was the spymaster more careful than that?

The part of my brain that wasn’t screaming, screaming, screaming noted his appearance: the crown on his head that was absent when he joined Amalthea and I for a meal; his clothing elegant, though his clothes were askance, as if he’d run here abruptly.

His chest didn’t heave, not like mine, but his eyes were a bit wild.

When no threat materialized, he reined it in. In any other moment, it would have been fascinating to watch. The way his posture changed, his movements slowed, non-threatening as he approached me. Nothing more concerning than the straightening of his cuffs as he asked, “Is everything alright?”

His voice, low but strong, cut through the panicked haze in my head. Against my will, I swayed slightly.

He crossed the five paces between us immediately and braced my upper arms between his hands.

“Samara.”

His hold was steadying. My skin felt clammy all around, my back suddenly aching like I’d spent three days on my feet. I forced my shoulders down as I steadied while he supported me.

“How’d you get here so quickly?” I asked, still stunned. One moment, Titus had been confronting me. Now, Raphael was in front of me, and I was prepared.

“I sensed something was wrong. Not physically,” he clarified.

Right. The bond.

“Now tell me what aggrieves you.” So I can destroy it. The words went unspoken, but the offer felt as blatant as if he’d said them.

King Stormblood’s spymaster is in your midst and wants me to help him plot against you.

The words caught in my throat. It invited questions—how did I know the spymaster? How did he know me? I didn’t dare answer either. Why hadn’t I mentioned suspecting seeing him at the ball? Raphael might decide I was in league with Titus before I could defend myself.

I was useful to Raphael, and maybe, just maybe, he harbored some affection for me. The vampire king’s pet, Titus had called me. But the creature who had slaughtered dozens on our travel would kill any threat to his kingdom.

I couldn’t tell him.

However much I wanted to trust him and his friends, survival came first. And Titus had reminded me just how precarious that was.

“The… it was the music.”

Raphael cocked his head at me, his grip loosening just slightly. “The music.”

I swallowed, trying to scrounge up something convincing. Could he sense that I was lying, or just the anxiety and fear twisting through me? “I haven’t heard this style of music before. It’s intense. Loud.” Loud noises were hard; sometimes they reminded me of the screams in Greymere. There was more than one instrument playing. One hit the keys with such intensity the walls nearly shook, the other was a mournful string tone that stirred something I wasn’t sure what to do with.

The best lies were rooted in the truth.

“I’ll remove the musicians at once,” he said.

I winced at the thought I’d ruined what was likely a prestigious post from talented musicians. “It’s not bad,” I clarified. “But what I like about music is it awakens something in me. Sometimes it’s so light and peaceful its foreign after everything. And sometimes it’s like holding up a mirror that shows my worst memories.”

Raphael studied my face for another beat. I forced myself to hold his gaze, to not dart my eyes to the corner like I ached to do.

Then he lowered to his knees in front of me. I tried to jolt back, but he caught my fingers in his hand before I moved far.

He lifted a blade between us—my cursed bronze blade. It had been between my feet where Titus had thrown it. Where it made no sense of being if I was simply listening to music like I’d claimed.

But Raphael didn’t call me on the obvious lie. “You dropped this,” was all he said.

Blisters were already forming on his palm as he wrapped my fingers around it, pressing my palm into a firm grip.

I clenched the blade like a lifeline.

“Thank you,” I murmured. “For coming.”

Raphael slowly let go, his burned fingers trailing over the back of my hand before dropping to his side.

“Of course.”

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