Текст книги "A Bargain So Bloody"

Автор книги: Vasilisa Drake

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter Thirty-Four

I hadn’t seen Titus again in the past two weeks, but he’d done his job and ruined any semblance of peace I’d found. His words got under my skin—not just the threat, but the insinuation there was more to learn about the kingdom. In the hours before daybreak, sleep constantly evaded me while guilt twisted in my gut. It was a betrayal not to tell Raphael that King Stormblood’s spymaster was lurking in their midst, but I had no way to explain myself without casting suspicions on how I knew him. Even if I managed a convincing lie, when confronted, Titus would tell them everything.

Hopefully, if Titus was going to do something, Amalthea would see it, and I wouldn’t have to intervene. That was the point of having an oracle, right?

That morning, as I lay in the nest I’d made under the bed, the guilt was especially terrible. My stomach seemed unable to unclench. I tried to sit up and everything seemed to shift. I slumped against my pillow, pulling my legs closer against me. Something felt really wrong.

I lifted the blanket.

Blood.

Between my thighs.

I’m going to be sick.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Samara? Open the door.”

Raphael. “One minute!” I called. I forced myself to ignore the pain and slid out from under the bed, grabbing my pillow and blanket. Why it was critical to not let Raphael know I was sleeping under the bed while I wanted to curl into a ball and hold my stomach could only be attributed to whatever fragment of pride I still had. My entire center of gravity seemed to shift as I stood, my feet wobbling as I started towards the barricaded door.

“I’m coming in,” he declared.

“Wait—”

But the locked door was already swinging open, the furniture I’d lodged against it splintering as he pushed his way inside.

Of course. Why had I deluded myself into thinking some measly wooden furniture would protect me from vampire strength? I felt like heaving. Raphael stood in the doorway, impeccably dressed, while I stood from halfway across the room with my loose bedclothes hanging off me.

He inhaled sharply through his nose. “Oh.”

And then he was gone, the door shut behind him.

I crumpled to the floor, bile in my throat, my stomach still miserably cramping. My thoughts were fuzzy, like I was high in the air without the ability to draw a deep breath. Instinct took over, and I rushed to the toilet. I sank to my knees on the cool stone and heaved, expelling everything inside me. Footsteps sounded beside me, and I tried to lift my head to react, but all at once there were fingers on my back, through my hair.

“It’s okay,” Raphael said. “You’re okay.”

“I’m bleeding,” I hissed. My lower area ached like a cramp rather than a cut.

He pulled my hair away, one hand on the small of my back as I clutched the sides of the basin. “I know. I’ve sent for a healer—a human one. She’ll be here soon. I can get Amalthea as well, if you’d find comfort in her presence.”

Finally, I lifted my head, but it was impossible to fully meet Raphael’s eyes. “Maybe later.”

It was mortifying enough to be like this around Raphael. I debated sending him away, but that was the last thing I wanted, and I didn’t have enough pride to push him away. He stayed at my side for several long moments until I felt certain I wouldn’t vomit again.

“There’s a change of clothes on the stool.” He gestured to the side of the room. “I’ll be right outside. Unless you want me to stay?”

I shook my head. Raphael left the room, and I took a few moments to note the blood seemed to have stopped. Was it from training too hard? I’d never experienced anything like this before. The cramps had eased slightly, but I wanted to get back under the bed as soon as possible. Maybe I could rest a little more before training. Just the thought of running through drills with Iademos made me want to vomit again.

I briefly washed my pelvis and thighs, then put on the loose dress he’d left me. When I opened the door, there were two figures. Raphael was joined by a woman with graying dark hair and an apron that had a dozen pockets so overflowing I wondered how it stayed up. A thin sheen of sweat dotted her brow as she shifted on her feet, the scent of herbs wafting over me as she neared.

“Hello, dear. My name is Charlotte. Raphael says you had need of a healer?” She gestured to the bed for me to sit. I went to the settee instead, but Raphael beat me there and dragged the massive piece of furniture away from the wall and over to the fireplace with startling ease. I’d have marveled more if my abdomen wasn’t begging for me to sit down.

Once I settled on the plush cushion with Charlotte in front of me, Raphael was at my back. Just as well. I didn’t need to look at him while the healer examined me.

“I’m bleeding. But I wasn’t cut.” Confusion shaded my voice. In all my time at Greymere, nothing like that had happened, and I’d endured far worse than the past weeks of training.

“How old are you, dear?”

“Twenty years.” At least, I didn’t think my birthday had passed yet. Why did it matter?

“And how are you feeling?” she asked.

It was so strange to have someone ask that. I didn’t want to appear weak. “I’m bleeding,” I repeated. “But I’m doing alright.” Kind of.

“The truth, dove,” Raphael interrupted.

I winced.

“I need to know how you’re doing to best help you, dear,” Charlotte assured me. “Do you know what your monthly cycle is?”

The words stirred some memories of my mother talking with her lady’s maids, but nothing specific. I shook my head.

Charlotte explained in short, factual sentences what a monthly cycle was, and the fact it apparently happened every month or so to mortals from a young age.

I wanted to vomit all over again. “Every month? But this has never happened to me before.”

She pursed her lips as she studied me. “It’s… unusual, to say the least, for one of your age to have not yet had a cycle.”

“She didn’t have it because she was malnourished for the entirety of her adolescence,” Raphael interrupted. “I’d wager this is the first time in her life she’s properly eaten.”

“It’s best if the patient answers, Your Majesty.” It wasn’t quite a rebuke, but something like it. Charlotte focused her attention solely on me.

“I… it wasn’t possible to eat much these past years.” Another cramp seized my stomach. Raphael’s hand was immediately on my shoulder, gently pressing, distracting me from the pain.

“So how are you feeling now?” she asked again.

“Terrible, to be honest. My stomach hurts like someone is twisting a knife in it, my head feels like it’s going to float away, my back is sore, and I think I’d vomit again except there’s nothing left in my stomach.”

Charlotte just nodded along. “It’s to be expected, I’m afraid. I can mix you a drink to help abate the symptoms, but the body needs what it needs. I take it you don’t know much about handling your cycle?”

I shook my head once more. The healer launched into extensive details on symptomatology, expectations, and hygiene. By the time she finished, I was almost grateful to Greymere for keeping me so starved it had never happened before. Almost.

The healer mixed up a brew before going, and under her—and Raphael’s—watchful gaze I drained every foul-tasting drop. I’d certainly had worse. Foul-tasting medicine was a novelty, though. When sick as a child, a witch trained in healing magic would tend to me. There was, of course, no such thing in Greymere, but there was no medicine either. The bitter drink felt like a kind of penance, as though because I suffered through the foul taste I would deserve the healing it offered.

The healer departed with promises to check on me tomorrow. Or any time I needed, or wanted to be checked-on—“Even in the middle of the day,” she added, when Raphael didn’t look pleased with her answer.

“You should go to bed,” he said once the door shut.

I was exhausted, but there was no way I could sleep right now. Certainly no way I’d crawl under the bedframe with Raphael here. “Can you send for Amalthea?”

“If you wish. But both the healer and I advise you to rest.”

“Amalthea’s presence will help me rest.”

Raphael chortled. “The last thing Amalthea brings to any room is tranquility.” But he heeded my wishes all the same. He stepped out, summoning a messenger to fetch Amalthea, and stayed, lingering in the doorjamb until the seer arrived.

Amalthea arrived with a basket of gifts. She dismissed Raphael with a wave of her hand and strode into the room, dress billowing around her.

“I have just the thing,” she declared.

“The healer already gave me a brew.”

She waved my words away the same way she’d shooed Raphael from the room. “Bah. This is better than anything a healer could give you. Here.” She lifted a smaller box from the basket she’d set on the ground between us.

I took the box, curious, and lifted the lid. Rows of small brown desserts, decorated with different colored sugar, lined the bottom.

“It’s chocolate. Trust me,” she encouraged. Not knowing what those words meant for someone like me.

But… I did. At least in this. I took one and nibbled on an edge. An explosion of flavor coated my mouth, bitter yet enticing. I took another bite while Amalthea reached over and plopped one whole in her mouth.

I continued on the chocolates. I didn’t exactly like the taste, but I couldn’t stop eating them. My fingers were quickly painted brown. Amalthea managed to avoid making such a mess, despite eating at least as many. When the box was finally empty, I turned it over in my hands, antsy. The pile of splintered furniture, my onetime source of protection, taunted me. The hinges were askew, and from experience, I knew a lock brutishly opened like that would need delicate repair.

I hated to ask favors, but I’d never sleep another night like this. “Thea, do you think it would be possible to get someone to fix the door today?”

Amalthea pursed her lips and twisted her neck to see the destruction from Raphael’s entry. “I guess Raphael was… motivated. If he felt your pain through the bond, I doubt anything would have stopped him.”

The bond again. “So can it be fixed?”

“Of course, Sam. But you should know, even without a door, everyone would respect your space. You’re the king’s Chosen.”

Not everyone. Not Titus. I tried not to let my skepticism show, but must have failed miserably, because Thea quickly added, “Let me see to that right now, actually.”

She got up, and I examined the rest of the contents of the basket. Under the box was a book, a stone, and a bell. I lifted the bell in my hand, the gold metal glinting against the firelight. A summoning bell.

“That’s tied to me,” Amalthea explained, returning a moment later. “More suitable than having Raphael sending servants to fetch me.”

Summoning bells were tied to an individual and called them over a short distance. My mother had given one away once, in affection, and told me to think long and hard before doing so. Beyond that, I’d only ever seen them tied to servants before.

But Amalthea wasn’t my servant. Maybe she really was my friend.

“And what are these for?”

“That,” she said, pointing at the stone, “goes into the fire. It’s not enchanted, but that kind of rock stores heat very well. You take it out a bit before you intend to sleep, and it warms the bed. Before I started taking the tea, it was my best friend during my cycle. The book is to entertain you when you’re bored.”

The stone I appreciated. The book… “I have enough entertainment for me with the grimoire.”

Amalthea grimaced. “That’s hardly fun. This will help pass the time.”

I was about to protest I had no such need for entertainment, not when there was work to be done, when her words made me remember what I was supposed to be doing right now. “Gods, Amalthea. I need to get to the training room! Demos will—”

“Demos will understand,” she interrupted. “He’s a hardass, but he’s not a complete barbarian, Sam. We can resume in a few days when the worst has passed.”

“That’s not necessary,” I protested. “I’m not grievously ill. I’m confident others have fought in worse.”

Amalthea lifted the stone from the basket and placed it at the edge of the fireplace. “Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean you have to. You’re training in self-defense, Sam, not going to war. Just because theoretical ‘others’ had it worse doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take care of yourself.”

I wanted to explain that was exactly what it meant, but I lacked the words that wouldn’t sound petulant. Amalthea, rightfully used to winning every argument, settled back in her chair with another book. I didn’t take the grimoire out, but I didn’t pick up the novel either, instead choosing to study the book on vampire powers. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing that the mental link had brought Raphael to me, but the intimacy bothered me. Hours passed. The door got fixed—by a vampire—and when he left, Amalthea helped barricade the door once more for me.

At some point, I drifted off to sleep. More accurately, I succumbed to the exhaustion like my body begged me to. When I awoke, it was a fight to lift my eyelids. The room was dark, save the dwindling orange embers from the fireplace. The book I’d been working through was splayed open on my chest. I cracked my neck, trying to orient myself to my setting.

And realized I wasn’t alone.

“You always do this,” I groused.

“Do what?” The Vampire King of the West asked.

“Watch me sleep.”

I didn’t have to see him to know he was smirking. “Someone needs to keep an eye on you.”

But why is it you? “Where’s Amalthea?”

“I sent her back to her rooms to rest. If it helps, she had to be persuaded.” Raphael tossed another log on the fire, jostling the others around until the fire grew brighter. Then he pulled the heating stone Amalthea had placed inside with his bare hand and tucked it into the bed. I wondered if it would still be warm if I pulled it under the bedframe, where I actually slept. He lit the other lights in the room, allowing my human eyes to adjust.

My attention landed not on him—or the barricade that had been carefully reconstructed with more order than Amalthea had been capable of—but on a silver rolling cart piled high past the entryway.

“Raphael,” I said slowly, “what is that?”

“Oh, that.” He shrugged. “Amalthea mentioned you might like them and find the taste soothing.”

That was a pile of chocolate balls piled at least as tall as a child, ornately arranged as if fit for display in the great hall. It probably weighed more than me.

Raphael said the last words I expected to hear from a king. “Let me serve you.”

I didn’t have the heart to admit I’d already eaten half my weight in chocolate, so I dutifully put one of the truffles in my mouth. In fact, I was developing quite a taste for the sweet. “I take it by the fact I can eat it, you didn’t cook it yourself.”

Raphael grinned, settling onto the sofa next to me, his legs kicked out and ankles crossed while he tucked his hands behind his head. “Here, I have servants for those needs.”

I plopped another one in, savoring the taste. These were more decadent than the box Amalthea had given me, with a little fruit paste inside. Raphael watched me swallow, his gaze pinned to my face. My body warmed at his watchful gaze, and I cast about for something to say. “Maybe I should call Amalthea back to share.”

Raphael seemed to note the tiny golden bell on the end table for the first time. He frowned. “She gave you a summoning bell? By blood, she must like you. She refused to have one made for me.”

“Something tells me the chocolate might go a long way with her. Or shoes, from what I’ve seen.” A strange cramp wove through my stomach at the idea of Raphael gifting her shoes or desserts, but I didn’t want to cause discord between the two.

He snorted. “I pay her enough she can buy all the chocolate and dresses she likes. She simply prefers you. Can’t say I blame her.”

We sat like that for several moments. It wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Raphael and I had walked and rode for hours at a time without a word passing between us. But then, it had been about survival. I’d thought him a monster, but at least I stood a chance with him as my monster. Now, however, as the fire warmed my toes, and I sat curled up in the corner of the settee with him at the other end, the vampire sprawled without a care, it was obvious: this was something more than survival. After a time, the fire lowered again, and Raphael put another log on it.

“You’ve been reading, I see,” he said, breaking the silence.

Right. I was still holding the book on vampire powers against my chest. I lifted my head to study his face. Was he annoyed I wasn’t working on the translation he’d offered me a thousand gold pieces for? “I’ve been working on the grimoire,” I promised. “It’s slow, but I’m making progress.” I probably should have given him a status update sooner, but he hadn’t asked, and I hadn’t translated anything meaningful enough to warrant a report.

“I’m more intrigued by your current reading material.”

Panic flared inside me. Would he think I was spying on them? Trying to use my position to gain knowledge about vampires? The encounter with Titus had left me paranoid.

“It’s a simple question, dove. Relax.”

I swallowed. Fine. He wanted to know why I was reading about vampire powers. “So you really can sense what I’m feeling?”

“You wear your fears on your face, you know.”

That wasn’t a denial. It had taken me weeks to work up the courage; I wasn’t letting him slip away with sly words so easily. “Is it true?”

A beat. Then—“Yes.”

I chewed at my cheek, waiting for more of a response. He didn’t elaborate.

“Amalthea told me,” I prodded.

He tilted his head back and sighed. “Amalthea has a big mouth. Is she also the source of your reading material?”

I nodded, but I wouldn’t let him change the subject. “So you form a mental link with everyone you bite?”

“Theoretically.”

“Don’t make me guess, Raphael,” I said. “What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t make a habit of biting living sources. Or if they start out alive when I’m drinking, I drain them so my own thoughts aren’t muddied with others.”

Gods. Just when I’d fooled myself into thinking he wasn’t monstrous.

“Again, Samara, relax. I have no intention of killing you because of the bond. The others… it’s irritating having your mind crowded by others. It’s a power that’s driven lesser vampires to madness.”

“You shouldn’t have had anything to drink from me if it was such a burden,” I hissed. My anger was borne of fear. Raphael might not be lying right now, but he could change his mind.

He arched a single white brow at me. “You’ll recall I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“So you wouldn’t drink from me again, given the chance?”

“It hardly matters, dove. Once is all it takes to forge the link.”

That wasn’t an answer. Which with Raphael, was an answer. Yes, he’d drink from me if there was an invitation. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Disgusted? That’s what my brain said my reaction should be. But talking of the bite made me recall exactly how it had felt, something I’d worked hard to forget. If I asked him to bite me, would he?

Ask him? I was losing my mind. I didn’t know how much he could tell from the mental link, but by the curious stare he was giving me, it was far too much.

“How can we break the bond?” I asked. “I haven’t come across any answers in this.” Yet.

He skimmed the title once more and then—did he just roll his eyes? “You won’t find such an answer in that book. The bond is permanent.”

Great. “And what if my emotions annoy you?” Will you kill me then?

Raphael appeared unconcerned with the possibility. “You don’t need to worry over such a thing.”

“What if there was a way to block you from my feelings?” I pressed. “This book mentions mental shielding, but it offers no details.”

“There’s no need,” he insisted.

Because if I ever bothered him, he would kill me. Just like how he’d killed Thomas. Because he wanted to. “Do you know how to do it?”

He gave a beleaguered sigh. “I’ve just told you there’s no need. Why do you belabor the point, dove?”

Because I know by the way you’re avoiding the question, it means yes, you do. “If you can truly feel my emotions, then you must know I’m worried you’re going to change your mind about being shackled to my human grievances for the rest of my natural life.”

“I can feel you, Samara.” He turned fully to me now, his gaze pinning me. “I feel it all, but as I told you, your emotions are blatant when I’m near you. You’re worried, yes, and curious about this puzzle. I feel it in my chest the same way I can hear your own heart racing now, the way you swallow to clear your throat to levy another argument.”

My heart was racing. Part of it was the worry that Raphael would kill me to end the bond, but that was distant to the pounding in my chest I felt as he looked at me. We were scant inches apart now. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned, his neck exposed in vampire fashion. His arm was braced along the back of the couch, fingers close enough to graze my shoulders by accident when he twitched. Not that I’d noticed the vampire twitching before. I was more aware of each brush of those fingers than any lingering cramps.

I leaned away, looked away. Forced myself to believe that my heart was racing only out of self-preservation, because this was feeling more like self-destruction.

“Train me. Or at least tell me how, and I can practice on my own.”

He looked at me, examining not just my face but my whole person. As if weighing something.

Then, simply: “No.”

OceanofPDF.com