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, ‘Not always the way we think! Remember nine years ago how we all thought she was predicting that the mortals would fall into nuclear war? But then it turned out it was only about a tsunami most of the way across the globe.’
‘But her wording—’
‘Enough,’ interrupted their father. ‘I will have no more arguing from either of you. Tomorrow night, Canus, I expect you to be here, midnight at the latest. You shall undergo the transformation after court disperses.’ A pause. How Chalcea wished she could see what was going on. Her father continued, ‘If you insist on such undignified behaviour, I shall send a thrall to you as chaperone.’
‘Father, please. Tomorrow is far too soon! I won’t be able to arrange my affairs in time.’
‘You may arrange them at your leisure as an immortal. My mind is made up. Keep him here until Simon comes, Chryseus.’
Footsteps, then the door clicked open before slamming pointedly shut.
After a moment, Chryseus spoke: ‘It won’t be as bad as you imagine, Brother.’
Canus sighed. ‘I know. I just—I suppose I always imagined that I could continue on like this, that I wouldn’t ever need to die.’
Anger stirred in Chalcea’s chest. It was so selfish! Canus knew how much she wanted to become immortal, as well as what reasons their father had for continually refusing her. Canus might abhor all responsibility, but Chalcea looked forward to joining immortal society, to eventually starting her own clan or coven—even to getting assigned to a new city and presiding over monthly courts just like their father did.
‘It isn’t death,’ Chryseus protested, though his words had the tired quality of things that were repeated too many times to retain meaning. ‘You’ll get used to it soon enough, and then you’ll wonder why you ever resisted, why we never forced you to do this earlier.’
Silence fell until three knocks rippled through the stillness.
‘That’s my signal, then,’ Chryseus said.
Footsteps again, then a door opening.
‘Be good for your minder, Brother dear. Hopefully you’ll finally be immortal the next time we meet again.’
The door shut with a careful click.
‘Master Canus?’
Canus sighed, heavy and long. ‘Good evening, Simon. We may—’
‘We really need to train you out of this habit, my dearest.’
Calcea startled, dropping her eavesdropping spell.
‘Through the vents? Really, Chalcea,’ said her father. His hulking form stood at the turn in the hallway, having apparently seen right through her cloaking sorcery.
Chalcea stood up slowly, dusting off her gown. ‘Well, if you ever told me anything, I wouldn’t have to.’
‘You’re still a child, my dear. That discussion was not meant for—’
‘It was my prophecy, and it’s my brother.’ You’d think that they’d have learned by now that I have a better understanding of the future than any of them, she thought viciously.
Her father merely sighed. ‘I also wish it didn’t have to be like this, you know. If it didn’t involve something as important as the succession, I’d have been content to have Canus remain as he is for the rest of his years. You could still choose that, if you’d like.’
Chalcea bit her lip. How was it that her father still didn’t understand? She’s always made it so clear. She wanted to become immortal. Already, even at the tender age of eighteen, she lived and died by her sorcery: the tug of her blood as she spun the spells; the rush of satisfaction as a particular piece of sorcery finally locked in; the sheer delight in weaving new patterns of magic out of her power…
It would only get better once the transformation purified her blood—Chalcea had known this ever since she made her very first prophecy in the privacy of her own room, barely three hours after her mother died, when she’d been all of five years old.
‘No,’ she said simply, ‘I’m not as enamoured with mortal life as Canus is.’ How could I be, she thought bitterly, when I’m barely allowed to mingle among them?
Then she thought of something. ‘Father, if I became an immortal alongside Canus? He won’t feel as resentful, I don’t think, if he had a companion, and this way we wouldn’t have to worry about him accidentally trying to drink—’
‘No,’ he father said. ‘You’re too young, and I’ve already arranged matters regarding your safety. I’ll be fostering you out to your aunt in Birmingham until Canus is ready to start his own household.’
Chalcea’s heart sank. The Prince of Birmingham was a pleasant enough woman by all accounts, but Chalcea only ever saw her very briefly.
‘I see,’ she said.
‘And Chalcea?’
‘Yes, Father?’
‘Tell no one of this prophecy. This stays within our immediate family, do you understand?’
Chalcea frowned for a moment, wondering why her father felt the need to remind her of it. Chalcea tended to keep her prophecies to herself as much as possible. After all, who else was there and understood it?
But then, all of a sudden, Chalcea did understand. Eldest child of princely get—there are other princes out there, other such princely get. The Prince of London knew exactly how Chalcea’s prophecies worked, and he was trying to ensure his very personal control over it.
‘Yes, Father,’ she said, intending no such thing.
﹒
‘It makes no sense! How can you be so sure that it’s related to this so-called Starlight Queen?’
She wanted to slap her, but the other girl didn’t seem to realise the blasphemy in her words.
‘And why did you tell it to me? The Prince—’
‘Can give me all the orders that he likes, and I won’t have to obey them until he becomes my Sire as well as my father.’
If the older girl is annoyed by her attitude, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she says, ‘But why me? I’m not the oldest progeny of my Sire.’
She tilts her head and smiles. ‘Are you really not?’
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
Two hours into the night, and I begin to fear that my decision has already been made for me. One by one, the artisanal cafés begin to dim, sleeping, as all mortal things are wont to do, for the night. I guess we could go to chain locations, but patrons rarely linger there, and soon they’ll be filled with drunken partygoers and the like. ‘Maybe we should switch to hospitals,’ I say after I come back from another unsuccessful attempt. I take a tiny sip of water and swish it around my mouth before swallowing. Water isn’t the best for us, but the prospect of sweating out this tiny amount over the course of the next quarter hour is better than the prospect of continuing to bear this metallic taste in my mouth. Objectively, I know that it shouldn’t feel so bad; there’s no nauseous, bitter tint that most humans have, nor the oily smoothness of a lot of immortals. Like almost all the blood I’ve tasted over the past three years, it’s salty and sharp with rust. And before last night, I would
Canus pulls back into the traffic before he starts, voice barely above a whisper. ‘Your mother was half Welsh, and she never told you who your father was. She had you when she was relatively young, so you grew up with your grandparents until they passed away.’ As an afterthought, he adds, ‘I think it was old age, but I can’t be sure.‘You had a very good relationship with your mother, though you always claimed that your irresponsible streak came from her. I don’t think you were particularly irresponsible, myself, but what do I know?’ He forces a chuckle and glances at me. The car swerves slightly when his pale eyes meet mine.I smile in encouragement, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. The gentleness that I crave is in his every word, and though it’s directed at me, I keep feeling like I’m an impostor in my own body.‘Sometimes it seemed like you had your entire life planned out down to Saturday brunch. You always knew exactly what you wanted and how to get it. You were so intent on going
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