It cracks and splatters.
“This is a battle mark,” she tells me, chin raised. “And I’ll wear the scar proudly forever.”
“Suit yourself,” I say, and follow Mother out the room.
Chapter Forty-Two
JAMES
I’m pulled out of an uneasy slumber by a force bidding me to rise.
I blink, half in a daze. I look up at the opening above me. The evening sunset filters in. It’s nearly dusk.
I’ve survived the worst.
All my skin feels brittle. One wrong move, and I’m afraid it’ll crack like the sides of an encrusted sand castle. It’s dry, so horribly dry, that I half-expect it to flake off when I try to stand.
“RISE, JAMES.” The Voice of The Ancient echoes in my head. In a flash I’m upright, my muscles moving before my mind can even issue the command.
The blood rushes from my head from getting up so fast. I stagger forward, woozy. I only catch myself at the last possible moment to stop from throttling down into the lake of silver below.
“Over here, son,” Father calls. “Behind you.”
I turn around and face the man responsible for my pitiful state.
He smiles at me. It’s the sickening, crude smile of one completely in control. He’s changed into yet another one of his garish robes, replete with all the rings and jewels and bracelets that speak of his enormous wealth.
Beside him stands The Ancient.
My hands form into fists as hatred boils inside of me. Hatred, directed at both of them for subjecting me to this, for making me so wretched, so pathetic, so damn weak.
For torturing me, when I should be the one standing beside Father at the throne.
I force back a smile, however, that is as false as false can be. “Finally took an interest in your son’s condition, have you?” I ask. “The chamber is comfortable enough. You’ll have to do something about the gaping hole in the ceiling, though. Any lesser vampires might assume it’s been placed there for a reason. I doubt you’ll have many guests willing to return.”
“Already the comedian,” Father mutters. He kicks the drawbridge across. It crashes down beside me. He beckons me to come.
I cast one look at the roiling silver below me, suppress a shudder, and walk to him with as much grace as I can muster.
As soon as I’m with them The Ancient grabs my arms. I know better than to resist as he forces them behind my back.
“You’ve gained yourself a private audience with your King,” Father informs me.
“How fortunate,” I deadpan.
We walk through the myriad of twisting hallways to arrive in the throne room. Once we’re through the doors The Ancient lets go and positions himself by the only exit. Father sits on the throne.
There is a small, round table with a golden pitcher on it. Beside it is an empty cup.
The moment I enter the room I smell the fresh blood inside. I salivate. It’s been so very long since I’ve fed.
Farther motions to it. “Drink,” he tells me. “I want you at full capacity before I ask my questions of you.”
And what questions are those? I wonder.
I pick up the pitcher and pour myself a cup. I bring the blood to my lips and take a deep breath.
“This hasn’t been poisoned, has it?” I quip.
Father regards me dryly. “Don’t push it.”
I look back at The Ancient. “A drop of your blood in here would make all the difference in the world, you know.”
The older vampire stares at me and makes no move to respond.
“I guess not,” I mutter, and down the cup in a single gulp.
As soon as the blood passes my throat I feel the strength returning to my body. My skin begins to heal. My thoughts sharpen. The awful pounding in my head goes away.
“Better?” Father asks.
“Much,” I respond. I tilt the cup at him in cheers. “Thank you.”
“So you can be grateful, after all,” he says. “When you think it will help you.”
“Honestly?” I put the cup down. I debate pouring myself another—I desperately want more—but I need to show Father that I possess restraint. “The way I see it, I’m entirely at your mercy. So why bother fighting? It’s only you I need to convince that we’re both on the same side.”
“Yes,” Father murmurs. “We’ll see about that. Beatrice considers you a most valuable asset. She’s convinced me to give you another chance.”
That must be the woman. “Smart of her to recognize my merits,” I say. “Does that mean no more torture?”
“For now,” Father concedes. “If you cooperate. My friend has a question for you.”
“I CANNOT ENTER THE HAVEN,” The Ancient roars in my head. His voice is full of rage even though not a flicker of expression shows on his face. “WHY?”