‘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
‘Did you have a venue in mind?’ Canus asks. I startle slightly, coming back to myself. ‘Er…’ I look down. I’ve put on a simple blouse with dark jeans and Converse. It’s a versatile look, because I wasn’t sure where Canus was planning on taking me. I didn’t realise that I was meant to pick. ‘It’s a Monday,’ he says. I grimace. Not too many things are open on Monday nights. It’s easier in the winter, when the sun sets early, but it’s almost the summer solstice, so it’s almost ten o’clock already. ‘We could browse some cafés?’ I tend to have better luck in coffee shops than I do elsewhere. It’s that, or sneak into a hospital. Or a hotel, for that matter. Contrary to popular belief, vampires are able to enter private properties that they don’t own. Lesser vampires might be affected differently, but for the likes of Canus and Scintilla and me, it’s only places of sanctuary that we cannot breach without permission. Like bedrooms, which are usually off limits without at least an implicit