House of Pawns Page 9

  We don’t say a single one on our way back to the House either.

  We both know exactly what we’ve done and what is to come.

  THERE’S THE TASTE OF COLD salt in the air.

  The day grows dark. The clock ticks down. Twenty minutes until sunset. The temperatures dip into the thirties.

  “We’ve never had a winter this cold in Silent Bend,” Samuel says as we all wait on the front porch. “Never.”

  “It has been unseasonably cold,” Rath agrees. “Normally we are in the upper forties, lower fifties. I don’t think we’ve hit forty-five in over a month.”

  I let my breath out slowly, watching the air create a giant white cloud. I’m used to cold. I lived at the base of the Rocky Mountains where we would get feet of snow in days and not get above freezing for weeks.

  But this cold feels different. It’s wet. It coats you and sinks into your bones.

  We discuss the weather as we wait for a war to begin.

  One I couldn’t have known to start without Samuel.

  The night slips darker.

  As do my thoughts.

  Jasmine Voltera was the daughter of slaves. She was born thirty years after the Civil War ended, but things didn’t change much on the plantation her parents were owned by. She grew up on it, worked it. But then she met a man.

  Alexander worked hard, born as a free man. He began making a name for himself as a leather worker. It wasn’t easy, but he persevered. He bought himself a small home.

  Jasmine and Alexander met at church. Love at first sight.

  Only two months after meeting, they were married.

  They were happy. In love.

  For three years they tried to have children, yet were unsuccessful.

  Then yellow fever swept through the country.

  Jasmine Voltera contracted the awful virus. She died.

  Only to wake four days later. She crawled her way out of a heap of diseased, dead bodies just moments before they set the mass grave on fire.

  She went home, looking for her husband.

  She found him.

  And her new fangs were in his neck without realizing what she was doing. In just a few minutes, Jasmine drained Alexander. She killed the love of her life.

  I sniff as my nose wants to drip in the cold, damp night. I wipe the back of my sleeve against my face.

  I understand that it was not Jasmine’s fault, what she did to her husband. She didn’t know what was happening.

  But I will fight fire with fire.

  “They’re coming,” Anna says.

  Every one of us straightens. Hands curl into fists. I tighten my grip on my crossbow. My House flanks me as I stand in the middle of the porch. Anna to my right, Samuel and Rath to my left, Nial and Lillian behind me.

  I hear the gate rattle as impossibly fast bodies leap over it. And not four seconds later, a blur of motion races directly for me.

  My human instincts are slow. I raise my crossbow, but by that time, Anna has thrown herself in front of me and she and Jasmine collide before crashing to the ground.

  Samuel and Rath both throw themselves at Micah, who fights back with a deafening roar. And I actually catch a glimpse of the red glow of Trinity’s eyes before Lillian grips her by her hair and with a quick twist and twirl, throws her back out across the lawn.

  Nial steps directly to my side, hugging close to it as he surveys the surroundings.

  “I hope you’ve carefully considered the worth of the consequences of all of this,” he says.

  My eyes scan the fight. Micah gets his hands around Rath’s throat and I fire an arrow, embedding it deep in his forearm. With a howl, he releases Rath, just as Samuel plows into him, sending the two of them flying twenty feet.

  “Something has to change,” I say as I watch Anna fight her way back to her feet. She whips out that small metal shaft, and from it ejects a deadly sharp, needle thin spear. “You don’t understand Jasmine.”

  And suddenly the air is choked off, a hand around my throat and I go crashing back against the front door.

  Jasmine’s red eyes are an inch from mine.

  “He’s been dead for over a century,” Jasmine hisses. While there is plenty of anger in her voice, there’s also pain. “Why? Why would you do this?”

  I claw at her hands, trying to tear them away from my throat. Over my shoulder, I see Nial attempting to fight off Cameron and Christian.

  “You really expected me not to return your sick gesture?” I choke out.

  “What gesture?” she screams into my face.

  Jasmine is ripped away from me, and Anna flings her off the porch. I cough violently, my hand rising to my surely bruised throat.

  Standing off, part way down the grounds, casually sipping on a bag of what is surely my blood, is Markov. He watches our fight with light amusement.

  This is my chance to make my move with him.

  I climb to my feet, crossbow still lightly in hand. I walk to the edge of the porch, and toss it down.

  “Enough!” I yell. And I didn’t expect it, but every eye turns to me. The scuffles momentarily still. “Jasmine,” I say, turning toward her. “You and I can continue to fight until one of us kills the other. We can continue to play games and toy with each other’s heads. But you need to realize that you will never control me.”

  Jasmine yanks out of Anna’s grasp and takes two slow steps toward me. Her eyes are bright and stare straight at me, black veins spreading out on her face. There’s hatred there, so dark and so heavy.

  There are no House members between she and I. Anna may be able to stop her before she can launch herself at me and snap my neck, but maybe not. Everyone else is engaged in a fight with someone else.

  “I will never claim the House for you,” I say calmly. “If you had let me die peacefully that night I offered myself, you would not have had war. But you killed the man I love that night, and that changed everything.”

  And this, love, I find, Jasmine does indeed understand. I see it in her eyes.

  “I want you to stop, Jasmine,” I say to her as my voice grows quiet. Every House member, Voltera or Conrath, stands frozen, mid punch, on the ground, hands poised for attack, fangs bared. “I want you to take Micah and whoever still wishes to follow you back to your House. I want you to peacefully stay out of my way.”

  “I have ruled the House of Silent Bend for fifteen years,” Jasmine hisses. She takes another step toward me. Anna mirrors her movement. “And you want me to simply slip quietly into the shadows?”

  “Yes,” I say softly with a nod. “I want the fighting to end. I want you to recognize that while you kept things going for a decade and a half, the royal blood has run through my ancestry for over a millennium. It was never your right to lead Silent Bend and the Southern region.”

  “This is not the way this ends,” Jasmine says with venom. “You know this.”

  I swallow once. Because she speaks the truth. “I know. It will end with the King’s arrival in three weeks and one of his games.”

  The expression on her face falters. “Three weeks.”

  “Yes, Jasmine,” I continue. I’ve got her. This is over. “Three weeks. One of the King’s own men informed me that is when he will arrive. I suggest you prepare yourself.”

  Her expression grows more serious, her face pales. She takes one step back. And I can feel her defeat. She cannot win this. Not today. Not tomorrow. And certainly not in three weeks.

  But that won’t stop her from fighting.

  “I think you should go back to your House now,” I say as I take three steps down off the porch.

  Jasmine takes another step back, her eyes having difficulty staying locked on mine. She takes another. And I can feel how much this is killing her.

  But finally, with everyone holding their breath, she turns. She takes five steps, back toward the gate. “Let’s go.”

  Micah shakes Rath and Samuel off with a hiss and immediately walks to Jasmine’s side. He places a hand on her lower back,
but she flinches away from his touch. Trinity walks away from Lillian.

  But Cameron hesitates. He looks from Jasmine, and back to me.

  As if sensing his uncertainty, Jasmine turns back to him. And the red in her eyes sparks a little brighter. “It is time to leave,” she hisses. “Come now.”

  Cameron looks between the two of us again. Finally, he settles on Jasmine. “You know, I wasn’t even sure you knew my name for the first year I lived in your House. You call me Toad half the time, because I have one wart scar on my finger. And I hate it.” He shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders slightly. “But what other choice did I have? A life of solitude? I stayed, mostly for you.” He says this of Trinity. “But it’s not enough. There’s got to be something better.”

  Trinity just looks at him with an impassive expression.

  And something triumphant breaks out in my chest when he starts backing toward my House. He stops at Lillian’s side, who places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  “Cameron,” Jasmine hisses, her eyes flaring. “Once this has been done, it cannot be undone. Consider what you are doing carefully.”

  “I am,” he confirms.

  And with the decision made, all eyes turn to Christian.

  He stands in the middle of the two Houses. His eyes glow, but are dark and tormented. He stares at the ground.

  “You shouldn’t go, brother,” Samuel says. And I hear how desperate he sounds. Christian is only two years older than Samuel. They are brothers. And they’ve been together for over seventy years. This separation can’t have been easy on either of them. “I know you feel loyal to what was once our father’s House. But is the shame and reminders of past mistakes worth it?”

  Christian doesn’t look up. I see his nostrils flare and he takes in slow, deep breaths.

  “Christian,” Jasmine says as she lays a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve been together, as a family, for your entire life. I have always taken care of you. Do not abandon me now.”

  I hear Christian take another sharp breath. And then he takes a step away. Not toward me, not toward her. Just away. He takes another, and another. He walks in a line, in the direction of town, directly between the two of us. And suddenly he’s gone.

  He chooses not to pick a side.

  At least for now.

  And suddenly Jasmine looks back. And now there is real fear in her eyes. There are seven of us, and currently only three of her House.

  All eyes turn to Markov, who stands removed from the situation. In his hand he holds the now empty blood bag. Something shiny and bright in his hand catches my eye and I realize it is the crown I left for him.

  He steps forward, toward the crowd, his shined shoes crunching over the gravel.

  “Markov,” Jasmine says. She’s forcing love and devotion into her voice, but it just comes out sounding desperate. “Markov, surely you have loyalty. Surely you understand who has taken care of you for the past fifteen years.”

  But his wrinkled face, those deep crows feet around those dark, calm eyes, they never leave my face. He continues walking forward.

  And my heart races as I watch him walk past Jasmine, and continue walking in my direction.

  “Fifteen years is not very long in my nearly two centuries of immortal life,” he says. He slows as he approaches the steps I stand on. “In my time, I have learned it is always wise to be on the most strategic leaders side. And Jasmine,” he does finally look over his shoulder back at her. He sets his crown upon his head. “I’m afraid that is no longer you, my dear.”

  Everyone is deadly quiet and still. The air swells, ready to burst at any moment.

  But it doesn’t. With death in her eyes and defeat in her shoulders, Jasmine takes one step back. Her eyes frantically jump from one face to another.

  “You all will burn for this tyranny,” she seethes. But she takes another step back. “You abandon me for a child who doesn’t know anything.” Jasmine’s eyes suddenly jump back to mine and they glow bright. “You and I are not finished.” And a second later, she, Micah, and Trinity are gone with a blur.

  Almost in unison, the seven members of my House turn to face me.

  Waiting for my words of leadership.

  Just six months ago, I was a poor girl in a tiny apartment with few friends and no family. I worked for very little money and I wondered how I was going to pay for a flat tire. I worried about the fact that I hadn’t been on a date in over a year. I worried about getting along with my coworkers.

  It was all so simple and mundane.

  But as I stand before my subjects, I feel as if this is exactly where I was supposed to be. I was born to do this.

  This is my birthright.

  “Thank you,” I state simply. “To say I appreciate you all being here is not enough, but it is a start. I promise to prove I am worthy of earning your loyalty. I hope you will one day be proud to be members of the House of Conrath.”

  I WALK DOWN THE NORTH wing hall, rattling off the names of the occupants in my head. Lillian. Across from her is Cameron. Samuel, then Nial. Rath. Anna resides upstairs, her bedroom across from Ian’s vacant one, and right next to mine. And here, at the very end of the hall, I reach Markov’s.

  I go to knock on his door, but it opens before my knuckles can connect with the mahogany.

  “Come in, Alivia,” he says in that dark, calm voice. A hint of that scary smile forms on his lips and age lines spread around his eyes.

  “Thank you,” I say as I step inside.

  Markov’s room is fitting of him. The walls are painted a deep red, his bedding black, and all the furniture matches. Hints of chrome splash throughout. It is the epitome of a vampire’s room, and no one else would be such a perfect resident.

  “That was quite a display you put on a few hours ago,” he says as he walks to the other side of his suite, hands in his pockets as usual. “Quite the thing you’ve accomplished, making conquest of nearly Jasmine’s entire House in just a few short weeks.”

  I don’t have words for his compliment, so I move on instead. “I need you to know that I will never force anything upon you,” I say. “I will never tell you that you have to do something. But I need us to be on understanding and equal terms.”

  Markov sinks into the black leather chair. He crosses his legs and folds his hands in his lap. Just as I am doing, I feel everything Markov does is with purpose. “I’m listening.”

  “I do not know you well, Markov,” I state. I choose to stand, and I do that on purpose too. “But I do feel I have gotten a solid glimpse of your feeding habits.”

  The smile on his face grows and a hint of red sparks in his eyes.

  “I understand that your—our—kind has no choice but to feed,” I continue. “I would never deny you that. But I need you to understand how hard I have been working these past few weeks to gain the trust of the people of Silent Bend.”

  Markov studies me for a moment. Not a long one. He is a smart man and he puts everything together in about three seconds. Probably faster. I wouldn’t doubt he used those extra two seconds to watch me sweat. But I don’t.

  “It would not be conducive to trust building and fear elimination if members of your House fed off of the people of Silent Bend.”

  And he states it there.

  “No,” I say. I finally cross to the other chair and sit beside him. I gave him the largest suite in this wing for a reason. “And I know surviving off of blood bags alone will not satisfy you.”

  The upward pull of his lips confirms it.

  “I can turn a blind eye,” I say. “I will not lie and tell you that I am okay with the harm of civilians and other human beings, with their deaths. But I do understand you. Do what you must.”

  Markov leans forward, placing his forearms on his knees. His deep eyes study me heavily. They’re terrifying, but I also see what I need in them. “You have my word that I will not feed in your town, Alivia Ryan.”

  I may be afraid of very little as of late, but apparently Markov is one pe
rson that can still place a little piece of ice in my heart, because as I reach forward, my hands very lightly tremble. But I force them steady as I take his hand.

  Markov closes his eyes at the contact and raises my hand up to his nose. He takes a slow, long pull of my scent. That smile still clings to his lips and he tips his head to one side, his eyes still closed.

  “Your scent is divinely decadent, my dear,” he says as he opens his eyes to stare at me. Red awakens in them, smoldering amongst the darkness. “It was delicious as a gift, contained in a little bag, but fresh…”

  “You may have a taste, if you can control yourself,” I promise him, as I have the others. “But not until tomorrow. Dr. Jarvis regulates how much I can handle giving.”

  “Oh my dear,” Markov says as he squeezes my hand. “If I were to sample just a taste, I would not be able to stop myself, and I do not think you want me to be the one who causes your resurrection.”

  He releases my hand and it does shake as I pull it back into my body. The look in his eyes tells me Markov knows exactly what kind of effect he is having on me.

  “I have a proposition for you,” I tell him. I need to maintain control of this situation, even if I feel I will never truly succeed with this man. “And I hope you will be open to it and willing.”

  Markov tips his head that he is listening.

  “I know very little about King Cyrus and how he works.” I lean back in my chair and cross my legs. “I understand he likes games, I know how desperate he is to be reunited with his queen. But I need someone who has lived a long time and heard many stories at my side when he arrives.”

  “Are you calling me old, Alivia?” he asks with an amused smile.

  “Yes,” I say back with coyness.

  He actually smiles wide enough to show teeth. “Yes, yes I am.”

  I smile in return. “I want you by my side, as an advisor, you could say. When the King comes, I am going to need you.”

  He takes a moment to consider it. Rolling the implications around in that devious head of his. And gradually, he smiles. “It would be my pleasure to serve you, my queen.”