‘What are you?’ Annia gasps.‘Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you,’ I demand instead of answering. And it feels so good, the glow of light flaring around me, sustaining me with its power, that I know I can do it too. I can, and I should.Annia knows too much. She saw me draw shadows around myself, stood by as I successfully spied on her Sire, and now cowers, blinded by the radiance of my light, this strange power that feels like sorcery but can’t be, because my blood is that of an immortal, it’s that of a creature that shies away from all true light, be it sun or fire or even electric bulbs.But I don’t want to. Even as Annia whimpers and cries, I come to the sudden realisation that it’s not her fault. She wasn’t the one who decided I needed watching. She could have told Chryseus at any point before now about how I followed him, but she hasn’t. She couldn’t promise to keep it from him forever, of course, but how could she? He’s her Sire.‘Please,’ Annia says, but I’ve already retracted t
‘How much do you know of our history?’ Annia whispers once we’re both safely within the sheer darkness shrouded by the grotesquely gilded blocks of ancient stone. A faint scent of ocean and lavender suffuses the space, strangely compelling in contrast with the undercurrent of dust and metal.‘Of our bloodline?’ I ask, then continue without waiting for a confirmation, ‘The first queen of Britain sought guidance from Nox in this shrine, but she only ever had one progeny, her husband—bonded mate, I should say, since they didn’t really have marriages back then.‘Eventually, the queen grew tired of unlife and asked Nox for a way to pass on while also ensuring that her subjects would be well-cared for. Nox told her to have her husband, the original Prince of London, consume her heart, so that his line could rule until someone as worthy as her arrives to take the throne again.’It’s a common story, one that justifies the power that the various Princes of London exerts upon the rest of the va
Chalcea had been agitated all day, and as evening approached, it only got worse. It made no sense—eighteen was an important age for normal humans, and sure, she might have been more excited for it if she were human. Except, she wasn’t human, and she didn’t feel any positive anticipation for tonight, not when all that had been planned was a family gathering—an intimate one, no thralls or progeny allowed, but still just the same as had been planned ever since she became old enough to expect special treatment for her birthday.As a dhampir, being eighteen was merely what happened in the year between being seventeen and being nineteen. It wasn’t the big coming-of-age that humans saw it as. Chalcea’s physical ageing had already slowed, too; whenever she snuck out of the estate to enter the human parts of the city, people kept assuming she was only fourteen or fifteen. This hadn’t been so bad last year or the year before, but lately she’d become increasingly annoyed by it. She didn’t know h
There’s a long silence, so long that she begins to fear she’s encountered a nonbeliever. But then comes a response, wry with false levity, ‘Do they always come that way? With rhymes and stuff?’ She looks into those brilliant golden eyes, conveying to her the extent of her seriousness. ‘Yes,’ she says, ‘always.’ ﹒ ‘That’s it,’ floated the voice from below. ‘You cannot put this off any longer. I’ve indulged your whims for centuries, but—’ ‘Father, please. Surely it isn’t so urgent as all that.’ This speaker was Canus at his very most annoyed. ‘It’s about the Starlight Queen, Brother mine. It is most certainly so urgent,’ drawled Chalcea’s oldest brother. ‘But you know what her prophecies are like,’ Canus protested. ‘They’re tricky things, always so vague.’ ‘And yet they always come true.’ Chryseus’s words are laden with irony. Chalcea doesn’t know her oldest brother as well as Canus, but she thinks she can detect a certain undercurrent of pique. Canus raised his voice in retort,
By the time Canus is back at court, I’ve already excused myself from Chalcea’s presence, following Annia along a winding path back to the main hall. The walk is a tense one; I still don’t trust Annia, for all that she’s been perfectly respectful, acting almost as if I didn’t almost burn her to a crisp. I understand that she seems convinced that I’m supposedly the subject of this ancient prophecy, but part of me is still baffled that she forgave me for humiliation. Don’t get me wrong—I don’t regret sparing her (un)life. For one, if she proves trustworthy, then it’ll be good to have someone in Chryseus’s camp who’s willing to cover for me. If Chryseus really does remember the same thirty years that I do, then he must be suspicious about the deviations in this timeline, and his suspicions will only increase if one of his progeny ends up dead or missing. For another, I hate to say it, but Annia seems nice. There’s a solidity to her, a sort of earthbound conviction that’s rare among our k
Scintilla shrugs, wincing when she realises that shrugging isn’t the best idea for someone with a shoulder injury. ‘They were trying to kidnap me, I think, but I don’t know where. They didn’t seem to care if Katy lived or died, but they were trying very hard not to kill me.’ I nod, remembering back to the conversation I overheard between Chryseus and his lackeys. It makes more sense in retrospect. If he also has memories of the thirty years that never happened (which I’m almost certain that he does), he’ll also know that Scintilla would at some point be willing to betray Canus. (Me, too, for that matter.) Chryseus wouldn’t want to hurt Scintilla, and—I almost hit myself. Of course Chryseus was so intent on destroying Canus. If succession was meant to proceed as normal, then Chryseus would surely have become the Prince of London, but not with the prophecy. If Scintilla is destined to be queen, Canus, as her Sire, will surely become the most powerful vampire in the country. ‘You don’t
Canus’s question is too direct for me to evade. ‘I overheard—’ I start, then stop myself before I say too much. It doesn’t matter, however, because the next question Canus has for me is, ‘Chryseus? Were you eavesdropping on him?’ I’ve braced myself this time, but so has Canus. He stares me down with those pale eyes, and the answer is practically pulled from my throat. ‘Yes.’ I look away and stop resisting, unable to bear the humiliation any longer. It’s my own fault for forgetting who I’m talking to. I can’t lie to him, not when he’s so intent on dragging answers from my unwilling lips. Part of me wants to hate him for it, but the part of me that resented it died when I held his heart in the palm of my hand and prayed for a way to go on without eating it. ‘Sorry,’ Canus says. ‘I had to know. I’ll try not to do it again.’ I glance back at him, startled by the turn this conversation has taken. As usual, he’s unreadable. I want to believe him, but I can’t. I shrug. ‘Lord Chryseus ap
The sound of persistent rain accompanies the next evening. After making sure that the halls are empty, I slip outside in only the vest and boxers that I tranced in. My bare feet sink softly into the manicured lawn of the estate grounds as I make my way to the small cemetery grounds. Scintilla is already there, standing damply under the eaves and staring bleakly at a patch of turned earth that must be Katy’s grave. Despite my unconcealed approach, she doesn’t look up. ‘I should have asked last night, but I was a bit preoccupied,’ I start. When she neither startles nor acknowledges my existence, I ask, ‘Scinty?’ ‘It’s alright, Fav. I didn’t want to say anything about it either, especially when you seemed so worried about me.’ She’s still not looking at me even as she speaks. It’s less that she’s avoiding my gaze, and more that she seems unable to look away from Katy’s grave. I wait patiently, feeling the summer rain soak into my hair. It would feel cold to humans, I suspect, but the
‘Please, my lady, there’s no one else!’Strangely enough, the man pleading to me from outside the reception chamber sounds completely mortal. He must have been a thrall at some point, but he can’t be any longer, not with that level of emotion to his voice.‘Simon, let him approach.’Simon gives me a look that speaks volumes of my presumed softness, which I pretend to ignore. To him, this is the first time that I've held court as Canus’s representative, but I’ve done it before, a time or two, back during my first life. It takes a moment, but Simon eventually unbars the door, letting in the human. Only two other petitioners are in the room, and though they seem annoyed, they also make no move to protest as I skip over their non-queue.As the human approaches, I realise that he’s somewhat familiar. I’ve seen him before. At court? No—he looked younger back then, barely more than a teenager, and he’d been immortal when we met, barely more than a newborn and stuck fast to his master, a dark
Canus and I don’t bother going in the front door. Instead, we peek around to the back. Only when we see a ghastly hole in the ground in the cemetery, raw soil overturned atop the lawn where Katy’s grave must have been, do we continue on inside.The halls are unlit and tranquil, but Canus doesn’t hesitate as he takes the winding turns that lead him to a suite of rooms that I don’t remember ever noticing before. It’s in an entire different section of the estate than the wing where Scintilla and I were assigned rooms. It’s been somewhat hastily refurbished, the must of decades of neglect mixing in with the sharp smell of self-assembly furniture.The door has been left ajar, and Canus and I slip in the small reception area just as Scintilla slips out of what must be Katy’s bedroom.‘Sire,’ she whispers, head bowed.I catch her gaze when she looks up and flash her a supportive smile. She doesn’t return it, but something about her bearing softens just the slightest.Canus jerks his chin tow
The last thing Canus remembers is the sheer devastation of it all—the bitterness that had seeped into his very core, the pain and regret in her eyes, the purity of her confusion as he gave her his last order. And then there was pain. And then there was nothing. Then, quite suddenly, there was something. There was rain, each droplet splashing down against the roof in a familiar arrhythmic patter, banging against window panes in similar fashion. There was the silken slide of his shirt against his skin, the press of firm cushions against his back. He was slowly lifting out of his trance. He’s always been slow to wake in the evenings, just like he’d been slow to wake from sleep as a mortal. He makes use of his grogginess well, however. Letting it dissipate as he collected his thoughts. Meditation, as he learned from a pair of old acquaintances—mystics of a rare western school of Buddhism—was an invaluable tool in the life of an immortal. It was a habit that he’d practised since long
The car swerves—that’s how startled Canus is by my question. When he regains control of it again, his fingers are tight around the leather of his steering wheel.‘Come again?’ he says. ‘I could have sworn that you said—’‘That Annia is convinced that I’m to be the Starlight Queen? Yes, I did. She saw me eavesdropping on Chryseus and didn’t report it to him, as far as I can tell. Lady Chalcea seems to trust her, too.’It’s not until the last sentence that Canus seems to relax a little. I grin to myself. For all that he calls her a spoiled brat, Canus still trusts his sister’s judgement.‘She was the one who took me to the shrine and told me who the Starlight Queen was supposed to be,’ I continue. ‘That is, after I accidentally lost my temper at her.’It feels so easy to tell Canus the truth, like some great burden is being lifted from my shoulders. I once imagined myself to be a practised hand at secrecy, but that was when I still had Scintilla or Chryseus in which to confide. I hadn’t
‘I love you, too, Favilla. Always have, always will,’ he says. It’s as gentle as I’ve come to expect of him, as steadfast and sincere as I could ever wish for. We stare into each other’s eyes for a moment, and then, as one, we say, ‘I’m sorry.’ We both pause, then open our mouths, then close them upon seeing our actions mirrored in one another. ‘You first,’ I say when I open my mouth again. ‘You have nothing to be sorry about,’ he says. ‘I do,’ I insist. ‘I’m sorry I did that to you. I didn’t mean to. You were never supposed to be the one to find me. I was—’ I pause, realising that it might not necessarily be the best path to follow. I start again: ‘I mean, I know I’m not Aura any longer, that she was the one who made the decision, that she was probably very ill and in a very bad place mentally, but I still feel responsible, somehow, for putting you through that. Please, let me apologise for that, at least.’ He seems to consider it for a moment, but then he nods, mind made up. ‘
‘It was grandad’s, you know. An antique, though I suppose not quite so antique as you.’ It had a smooth handle worn down by three generations of use, and it kept its edge remarkably well considering it went about a dozen years without anyone bothering to check on it.‘I did keep it, yes,’ Canus confesses.‘It’s pretty, isn’t it?’ I remember how its silver blade flashed in the dim and flickering candlelight. Looking back, I recognise how silly it was to put a tealight in the sink to see by. My thought process had been that, even if some strange happenstance knocked it over, I’d at least be certain that it wouldn’t catch the entire block on fire. I could have used proper lights, I suppose, but I was loath to waste electricity if it was going to be ages before anyone found me. If I were to die, I could at least help spare the planet from a similar fate.At first there was nothing, and then it hurt so much that I could barely slash my other wrist as well. Shortly thereafter, the cold came
Not much has changed since I last visited less than two months ago. The scent of my human self is worked into every corner, overlaid by a strange sense of corruption. I briefly seat myself on the back of the settee, looking around the cramped space. As Canus mentioned, the kitchen table is missing from its place. Otherwise, the cabinets are all shut, and all the flat surfaces are empty safe for the thinnest layer of dust—no humans, no dead skin cells, no new dust being generated.I grimace and stand up. Walking into the bedroom, I see empty air where previously were the scattered personal effects that Canus had originally deemed too sensitive for me to see. They, of course, are hidden away in my study back at the estate, and, as loath as I am to agree with Canus, I still have yet to page through them properly.‘A bit of a let-down,’ I comment. ‘I thought you said I’d remember something.’Canus says, practically into my ear, ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know where I need you to go.’I jump
With my new revelation, tracking down three more victims and feeding Canus in between hunting is relatively trivial. It puts a new spin on the act, however. The pain that I derive from Canus’s feeding is no less than before, but now it comes with a sense of vindication. Now, every time he pulls away and licks my blood from his lips, I see the hidden emotions dwelling in their depths—guilt and desire. Suddenly, I feel bad for him. I even feel the barest twinge of sympathy for Chryseus. The two of them have been hit the worst by the bloodline curse, enough so that they’ve been forced to feed on their progeny. What’s more, I suddenly understand that they must hate it, that they must hate seeing the source of their guilt every day, to feed from us time and time again. ‘It’s always like this, isn’t it?’ I ask after I come back from my last victim, healed and more fully sated than I’ve ever been. ‘The guilt?’ Very carefully, Chryseus nods. ‘That’s the real curse, I think. My Father likes
All thoughts of sustenance escape me. I stand, frozen, watching the bright glint of luminescence that is my mark slip further and further down the corridor before turning in the direction of the tearoom. The bleached white walls and linoleum flooring are dark without her presence, but I don’t even care. I’m remembering back to a conversation I had with Chryseus. It doesn’t count, I said, laughing. Your progeny are all older than me. Then I’ll ask Father for another progeny, Chryseus replied, a glint in his eyes. It’s been decades since my last. He’ll accept. It won’t be the same, I insisted. You wouldn’t get to see them as a child. We can adopt a mortal baby, then. If we ask Father for special permission, I’m sure he’ll agree, especially if we raise it as a witch. If the baby is raised as non-human, then the secrecy laws won’t apply. Okay, I said, heart in my throat. Alright. I once considered it to be the moment I fell in love with him. ‘Favilla?’ Canus asks. I blink. There’s