He stood there before the bed and watched her watch him. She glared at him with as much rage as she could muster, trying to actually manifest flames to shoot from her eyes, but it was to no avail. She never thought she could hate anyone more. She pulled and stretched and twisted every which way to get the manacles to come loose, but they were clasped so tight, the only thing she ended up doing was cutting the metal deeper into her skin. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see him anymore.
Lusian ensured that every black curtain had been drawn so that no amount of light could creep into the bedroom. That was his strategy, she thought. To keep her weak. To keep her questioning. He preyed on her fear and on the worried thoughts in her mind. The bed dipped as he sat next to her. Though Charlotte did not open her eyes, she could feel him staring at her—studying her. As if he could see right through her.
“I thought you were leaving,” she grumbled without looking at him. He didn’t answer her. She opened her eyes to glare at him, but found only the empty, quiet darkness before her. Completely alone with herself. She must not have noticed him leave.
Literally, she had asked for this. She lamented what she had done just a few evenings before, begging for more, and when Valek didn’t give it to her, she’d gotten it from Lusian. She recalled how much pain Valek’s eyes had carried as he watched Lusian feed from her. Perhaps that was why he really left. Perhaps her need had finally carried her too far. Her scar singed a little at the side of her throat as she pictured Valek’s face there before her in the darkness. She finally allowed her eyes to well up with fresh tears and recalled her nightmare. So far, the prophecies were fulfilling themselves. She was alone, and Valek was nowhere to be found. Now, she half expected his corpse bride to come into the room and do away with her for good.
A tear seeped from the corner of her eye and dripped down the side of her head into her hairline. The coolness of it trickled in between the strands of her hair. He had done what he said he would
never
do. He’d left her. He’d promised. More tears rolled.
He promised
. She closed her eyes and tried her best to imagine that he was there, that he would burst through the door and do as he always used to do—save her. She didn’t feel safe anymore. The lack of his presence was absolutely mind-numbing. It left her so hollow, as though he had taken half of her body with him and left her there to die over and over again. Now she finally knew what it was like to be one of them. To have an addiction. The feeling of death on your lips.
Lusian had chained her up in the same nightclothes Valek left her in. Most of her body was bare. She was freezing, she noted, as she longed to slip underneath the covers.
Suddenly, she heard the sound of footsteps thump in the far corner of the room. She stretched her neck to see who was there. The darkness was too thick for her eyes to focus.
“Lusian?” she choked out.
There was no answer. Her heart crawled up into her throat, and she rested her head back on the pillow.
It’s nothing
, she told herself. It was probably just Lusian being a creep, not trusting her to remain in that room alone. Maybe he was sick, or bored enough to stand there and study her. He probably had nothing better to do.
“Child of light.” A deep voice rumbled just inches from her ear.
Charlotte would have jumped ten feet into the air if she hadn’t been chained there. Her heart slammed in her chest as the oxygen escaped her lungs from utter shock and fear. She did not recognize this voice. What was happening?
“You are safe,” it said again.
It was low and velvet. Much deeper than any voice she’d ever heard before. Another Vampire, she noted, recognizing the hypnotic texture to the sound. But who was it? “Wh-who’s there?” she stammered.
“That is not your concern right now. The plan is being carried out. All is well,” it offered soothingly.
It did nothing to calm her nerves, however. “Can you get me out of here? Can you release me? Where is Valek?”
“In good time,” it said, “and beware your line of fate.”
A cool brush of air swept across her legs and the presence in the room was gone. On her right hand, there was a dull sort of burning that began through her palm.
Chapter Seventeen
The Silver City
Francis adjusted his ruffled cuff, and smoothed the indigo silk lapel of his overcoat. Catching a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a large, ominous glass sculpture in the hallway, he grinned. He absolutely adored himself in coattails. He dusted off his shoulder and blinked again at the large, glassy thing. The Parliament has such garish tastes, he thought as he frowned at the giant edifice of the lion—their official symbol. Its horrid roar reflected their lack of mercy.
Francis grinned again as he straightened his satin ascot that was neatly puffed under his throat. Intricately stitched into the fabric with shimmering thread was the symbol again. They’d done well to fix him up. Light magic was so feeble when matched up against dark magic. Not even Vladislov’s seemingly infinite spell would condemn him, like he’d originally promised. A simple ritual performed by the elders washed away the deep, raven-colored flesh that the Wizard painted him with when he’d cursed him on the night of the battle. Vladislov was so dramatic. Francis was happy to be his old, pale, fabulous self once more.
Oh, poor Vlad
. Francis scoffed and sarcastically made the motion of blessing himself at the thought of his late companion turned sworn enemy. They’d shared many good years together before Vladislov fell off his rocker.
Closing his eyes, Francis inhaled once before winding his talons around the massive, onyx door handles. He tore the double doors wide, revealing the splendid, grand hall before him.
Prior to these last several months, Francis had barely heard of the Dark City through a few midnight tales from his blood-drunken creator, let alone actually seen the place. Legends existed even in a world comprised of legends, and this place had once only seemed to be a fairytale. The Elves had their Regime—or rather, the Elves once had their Regime. Francis chuckled quietly to himself. The creatures of the night had the Parliament, though it was much less of a government and more of a secret society, he’d deduced during the time spent with them. Most of his kind would have trouble even finding this place. Though, leave it to a worldly Wizard such as Vladislov to exile him here.
Smart, Vladislov, very smart
. Vladislov had his issues, but he knew what he’d created in Aiden—knew what a danger he could be. He knew. Francis narrowed his eyes at that thought. The Parliament must have done something to intimidate the Regime, for if Vladislov knew of Abelim’s secret whereabouts, why had he done nothing to destroy it during his reign? Why had he sent Francis to a society he knew would help?
As he walked into the grand hall, he found himself surrounded by even more stacked pillars of luxurious marble, silver-leaf detail in the scrollwork along the walls, and magnificently intricate tapestries. Was that all really necessary? Abelim was just a tad too dramatic and gloomy for his tastes, though he did appreciate the richness of the materials they used. But even so, the place could have done with some modernizing. It was just so…gothic. He shuddered. His mind flashed to Valek then, and he smirked. That vampy little purist would do well here, he thought. A swell of sadness surged through him, though he shoved it back into the depths of his mind. He didn’t miss him. He wouldn’t miss him. Valek was where he truly belonged.
The heels of Francis’ polished boots clicked on the onyx floors as he moved deeper into the hall. Still, with all of the ominous décor, Francis could not help but to feel quite at home in that place. It was so far underground, it almost reminded him of the days he’d holed up in his basement. No sun. No Regime hunting him down there. He was definitely in safekeeping. The only thing missing, though he missed it very slightly, was the outside. The trees. The wind off the Vltava. The crisp smell of fresh air in his nose.
This place was more like a giant crypt that lacked even the smallest crack of life.
Several dozen elegantly clad Vampires lined the walkway that led up to the Elders who lounged at the end of the hall. These Vampires served as pages, fetching-people, lovers. Basically anything the elders desired at any given moment. Francis could get used to that idea—of being waited upon every moment, to one’s heart’s content. Distantly, he thought of Sarah, and his black heart tightened. Once the coast was clear and the dust settled, he’d be making some changes back home.
One of the Vampires in particular eyed him as he passed her, a deviant smirk spread across her shiny, black lips. She was tall with legs that went on for miles underneath a gunmetal dress that came to the middle of her pearly thigh. Her eyes flashed a brilliant azure, her angular face framed by pin-straight black hair that could easily have been braided and used for a whip.
Francis merely smirked back at her. “Thanks, but I’m not your type.”
Proceeding forward, the elder members of the Parliament were strewn across various, armchairs and table surfaces. The term “elders” definitely didn’t match their appearance, however. They weren’t like the Regime. They weren’t hairy and old. They didn’t sit stoically for hours on thrones atop a grand pedestal, barking orders at lowly surfs. The Parliament had a much different style, one Francis could definitely adapt to. They were all young looking and absolutely, devastatingly beautiful in a deadly sort of way. He swore one look from them to any human being would melt the mortal flesh off a person’s face. They were even a tad intimidating to
him
, though he would never admit it out loud. They were all too monstrously beautiful.
Yes, Valek would do nicely here
.
“Francis.”
One named Cicero greeted him without turning his attention away from his chess tournament with another named Aleksandr. Aleksandr glanced up only slightly, though quickly averted his gaze back to the board. Francis frowned, frustrated with the silence that emanated from that particular area of the room. The elders had apparently mastered the ability to keep their thoughts and emotions to themselves. At long last the tables were turned, and Francis empathized with his human victims. He hated the fact they were privy to his every thought without him being aware of theirs in return.
“Cicero,” Francis returned the greeting bitterly and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. He meandered up to the chess board and eyed their game. His gaze flickered again to Aleksandr, whose eyes hardened just a pinch, his lips pressing together. Francis noticed his stare move slightly left of the game board to the floor near his boots, a frown pulling down the corners of his mouth. Francis moved one of Aleksandr’s knights forward one square, causing him to gain the upper hand.
Aleksander’s eyes flashed fiercely to Francis’ face, his eyes sinking into a darker sort of cobalt shade. Was he blushing? Angrily, and without even one word, the tall, stealthy Vampire whisked away down the hall, leaving the grand room. Francis frowned after him.
“Don’t mind, Alek. He’s just a little shy. He’ll warm up to you eventually.” Cicero swiftly moved his king, sending one of Aleksandr’s knights crashing to the floor. The thing broke into powdery pieces. “Check mate.”
“I don’t understand. Have I done something to offend him?” Francis tried to remain as lackadaisical about the situation as he could possibly seem, but that proved harder than he imagined, for whatever emotion that presented itself within his face was enough to cause Cicero to throw his head back in a cackle.
Cicero whipped a blood tear away from his eye. “No, no. Any offense that vexes him now is of his own creation. Come, though.” He beckoned. “This is trivial. Come and sit with us.”
Cicero was tall and drawn, as the others were, with a sculpted form like that of a runner or a
danseur
. His muscles were tight and lean, rather than overtly puffed. One would underestimate his strength, which probably worked to his benefit more often than not. He was the most Mediterranean-looking of the group. Even in death, he somehow managed to maintain a little of his earthly color, as his paleness possessed a more olive glow. His shimmering black curls were thick and lustrous around his perfectly square face. He was perhaps the eldest, and by far the cleverest and most lethal.
Francis followed as they moved to a pair of the largest chairs he had ever seen. They sat diagonally before a fireplace that was carved about five meters up the massive wall, though the hearth was cold and unlit.
“Francis, as you are well aware, it took the best medical treatment we could offer in order to fix you and return you to back to your original state. I would say we’ve done a rather fantastic job in caring for you during your exile here. Would you agree?”
“I would. Thank you.” Payback was obviously coming. Francis couldn’t hear Cicero’s thoughts, but it was safe to guess at least that much.
“Well, if you are content, we are content. But there is something we wish in return.”
And there it was. Francis threw his legs over the arm of the chair and proceeded to file his claws. “Of course, Cicero,” he sighed. “For I am but a lowly servant to the elders of the Parliament. What is it that you wish of me?”
Cicero let out a barking laugh that seemed to reverberate down the entire grand hall. “My comrade, I do appreciate your witty candor. But are you privy to what is about to occur?” Cicero shot his gaze to the massive hearth, which instantly bowed to his whim and ignited.
The fire was immense—perhaps the largest he’d ever seen contained by a hearth and not wreaking havoc on some unfortunate building. The flames were enormous enough to almost singe the edges of Francis’ face. He sat erect in his chair, and stared dubiously at Cicero. Could Vampires do that? It reminded him instantly of the Elf boy.
“You have not the slightest notion of what the dark arts are capable of, dear Francis. We can swallow every ounce of light whole and digest it well enough that it would never resurface. We’ve already begun. As we age, we become the opposite of what our adversaries, and even our mortal livestock become. As they grow older, they become ugly and die. They lose strength. They lose ability. It is funny that they remain oblivious as to where all of that vitality ends up.” He looked to Francis and flashed a grin that was enamoring enough to blind him.