Curse of Blood and Midnight

by Emily Inskip

  Aedric was stood out in the foyer, a huddle of guards crowded around him as he offered instructions on ways to contact the servant’s family and friends. In unison, they all nodded before parting ways. Yet Aedric remained where he was, running a hand over his mouth. His face was pale, eyes almost haunted. She felt his gaze catch on her, but it flicked quickly away as he went to discuss with more of the men out on the balcony.

  “What happened is truly horrible. If you want to move rooms, I can arrange that easily,” the Queen soothed.

  Amara shook her head, still fiddling with the material of the blanket swathed around her shoulders. She’d been given it after going to seek help. The guards in the hallway had insisted Lady Lynessa was looked after with the best of care. In fact, Amara began to believe that they cared more about her than the girl now lying dead outside.

  Of course. Why wouldn’t they? You’re the royal guest; she’s just a single servant.

  “I’ll be okay here,” Amara began. “I just need to lie down.”

  She pointedly looked towards the group of guards outside, a frown across her face. “I think I want to be alone, for now.”

  The Queen understood immediately, rising from the bed like an elegant swan, her silver hair gleaming in the morning light. “Certainly.”

  As if through an unsaid command, all the guards stopped what they were doing and quickly fell into step behind the Queen as she left, a stream of gold armour and spears.

  But Amara didn’t have to look up from her lap to know that Aedric had yet to move and was watching her from the balcony doors.

  It was quiet for a while as he waited for all the guards to leave and the crystal doors leading out to the corridor clicked shut.

  “Did she tell you why she did it?” he asked, his low voice drifting through the silence between them.

  Amara closed her eyes for a second, her brow furrowing as she sought for an answer. “No.”

  He shook his head, loose strands of his golden hair falling across his face. “Things need to change around here,” said Aedric as he leant against the glass, his large arms folded across his chest.

  Amara saw the troubled expression he wore. It was the same as the one he had when she’d told him about Lord Bastion. Sorrow and grief, they dimmed the usual light in his eyes. And seeing that made something dim within her, too.

  She let out a deep sigh. “Good luck with that.”

  “Things will change. I’ll make sure of it.” Slowly, he pushed off the window, beginning to walk towards her. “And are you okay? Seeing someone die like that, it can really—”

  He hesitated, then looked away.

  “Aedric?”

  He still seemed deep in thought as he finally replied. “If you need someone to talk to about it, I’ll be here. Even if you don’t want to talk, it’s better to have someone to ride out the silence with.”

  She stalled for a second, picking at the skin around her thumb. “You’ve experienced a lot of death, princeling?”

  “More than you know.”

  “And do you want to talk about it?”

  Against her better judgement, Amara was curious. She was interested to see what a young prince would know about these dark things. The death she had become fluent in.

  He swallowed, his hand falling to rest on the jewelled hilt of his sword as if for comfort. And as he did, she couldn’t help but notice that his fingers were flecked with scars, silvery lines shimmering in the sunlight. Amara wondered how he earned them.

  “Not today,” he said at last.

  She nodded as Aedric slowly began to edge towards the foyer. His steps were soundless against the patterned mosaic tiles, but his gait had changed from what she’d seen before. It was unsteady, not his usual confident stride.

  Just as he reached for the door to leave, Aedric paused, turning back to face her.

  “You don’t have to worry about Lord Bastion bothering anyone again. He’s already on a carriage back to his estate along the western coast.”

  Amara blinked. She didn’t think he’d actually act on his threats, not many men did. But Aedric was true to his word. And that small slither of truth, the light amongst the shadows, warmed something in Amara as she said, “Thank you.”

  He inclined his chin once before striding out.

  This is what I wanted, wasn’t it? To be alone.

  Amara didn’t move for a long time after he left. Her eyes were fixed on the balcony rails as visions of the girl flashed through her mind. There one minute, gone the next. How did she not even see it coming?

  She tugged the thick blanket around her tighter as a shiver skittered down her spine. Fassar had power beyond what she knew. He had always had a fascination with witches; Amara had seen him torture enough of them to know that. During the nights, he would dissect them, carefully studying their anatomy, learning how their body ticked. All of this whilst they were strapped against a table, alive. But not for long. Maybe Fassar had finally found the secret to their gifts. And if that was the case, then they were all doomed.

  Amara sighed, falling backwards until her head hit the mattress. She sank into the covers, wishing that if she tried hard enough, she would perhaps disappear, becoming nothing more than silk and fabric.

  There was nothing she wanted more than to disappear.

  But of course, there was no hiding anymore. Fassar knew where she was, and even if he didn’t want to risk entering the castle himself, he could easily send one of his minions or summon another blood-thirsty beast to bring back her head for him.

  Amara had no one to turn to. Nowhere to go. Suddenly, she was a defenceless servant who hadn’t eaten a proper meal in months. Her back was scarred, hands peppered with calluses, dress stained by the blood she was forced to mop up. She was a nameless girl who couldn’t fight for herself, willing to do anything just to provide for her younger brother. Her parents were dead. Her dreams were shattered. She knew nothing but the dirt beneath her nails and the pain of her aching body as it worked.

  She would never yield.

  A small voice chanted in her mind as she lay on the bed, her fists clenching the sheets as if trying to hold on to reality. To avoid slipping away into the memories of her past.

  I will never yield.

  In moments, she was on her feet. The blanket slipped from around her shoulders as she strode towards the balcony, pooling on the tiled floor behind her.

  She had somewhere to be, and she didn’t have time to dress appropriately to be spotted in the corridors of Winvaris.

  As the chilling spring winds slashed across her skin, barely covered by the silk of her nightgown, Amara began to climb.

  22

  She scaled the building easily, her bare feet finding their purchase in the small crooks between the castle bricks. Her fingers acted like talons, hooking and heaving her body up and up until they finally latched onto the small windowsill several floors above her own room.

  There was no shield from the mountain breeze that swept around the palace. Amara’s hair was a stream of black, unbound and wild as she looked out over the city beyond. From this height, Valmont was a sprawling cascade of gabled roofs and chimneys that snaked down the foothills. She could make out the gleaming spangle of the Northside, the ports sprinkled along the coast already busy ferrying in tourists and shipments from foreign lands.

  Amara wondered where Fassar and the Valkrane would be within that network of bustling life. She sucked in a shaky breath before turning back to the wall. Her fingers flexed as she hauled herself up, slipping silently through the window. The window that had been left open for her.

  “Hello, Amara darling.”

  Elias was lounging on his bed, the red linen sheets crumpled beneath him. His arms were casually folded beneath his head as he rested back. From what Amara could work out, he’d been relaxing there for a while as though he had been waiting for her to arrive.

  Although he hadn’t told her his location, she had caught his scent on the breeze. It had only taken he
r a few moments to navigate the exterior of the fortress, shimmying around balconies and turrets, hiding amongst the faded wisteria when the guards circled beneath her during their rounds of the castle. It was easy work. Especially for Amara Vanderlore. And Elias had known that, too.

  “I heard you had a little surprise this morning,” he said smoothly, the faintest smile on his lips.

  She narrowed her eyes before pacing towards him. “I’m not playing your games today, Elias.”

  “I take it you didn’t like the gift my father sent you.” He laced his fingers together, cocking his head to the side.

  “Tell me more about the Bloodmoon,” she demanded, ignoring any of his attempts to rile her. “What do I have to do?”

  Now, that made him listen. Elias shot up into a sitting position, one brow raised. “You’re serious? You want to hear about it?”

  “No, I just climbed halfway up a castle to talk about the weather.” She rolled her eyes, going to lean on the wall beside his bed.

  Elias laughed. “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humour these past years,” he said. “As for the Bloodmoon, you can’t do it without help. Vampires aren’t able to channel the moon’s energy alone; they need a witch to siphon the power.”

  Amara frowned. The thought of using Nadia was not an option. She would never force her into using her magic, not after what happened to her sister. Not after what she’d revealed to her. I’ll become more of a slave than I already am.

  Amara shook her head as she leant into the wooden panels of the wall. “I’ve heard it’s been done without a witch. I want as few people as possible involved. If I’m doing it, then I’m doing it alone.”

  “Then you’ll be dead before it’s even started.” Elias simply shrugged, his dark tunic shifting with the movement. “Without a witch to act as a bridge between you and the moon, the energy will be so immense that it will rip you apart.”

  Amara shuddered. Her nails were digging bloody half-moons into her palm. She’d seen for herself the repercussions of attempting the Red Ritual. As a servant in Fassar’s manor, she had experienced those suffering from hysteria, the ones that vaporised into a blood mist. Sometimes he would force members of the Valkrane to perform the ritual as punishment. The rest would watch like it was some sick entertainment, waiting to see which fate would become of the unlucky soul made to do it. Amara had often wondered why Fassar had never tried it himself. He had power, he had witches at his disposal and yet he never chose to take the moon’s energy for himself. No one has ever survived it, he would say. Besides, I’ve got all the control I need. After that, he would usually snap someone’s neck just to prove the point.

  “And how, exactly, do you think we are going to go about finding a witch?” she said at last, eyeing Elias sceptically.

  His smile widened to a grin as he said, “We don’t have to. You’ve already found one.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Elias rose from the bed, his slender legs stretching out like those of a spider. He had always been so much taller than her, towering above her, forever finding a way to make her seem tiny and powerless. But not anymore.

  Amara still managed to stare down her nose at him. She straightened, pushing away from the wall as she folded her arms tight across her chest.

  “Don’t think I don’t know about your little friend Nadia Blackthorn,” he smirked. “She’d be perfect for the job.”

  “Not an option.” She only levelled a flat, bored stare at him.

  “Oh, Amara darling, don’t make me think you actually care for that girl.”

  Amara hesitated. It had been so long since she had felt something for anyone else other than herself and her brother. But dragging Nadia into this big mess was the last thing she wanted to do.

  She gritted her teeth. “It’s not happening, end of story.”

  Her eyes became hot coals, endlessly deep, promising nothing but fiery rage. Elias’ brows shot up as he took a step back, holding his hand’s up in mock surrender.

  “Okay, okay. We’ll find somebody else,” he said. “But I want to make you aware that we are awfully pushed for time.”

  “And I want to make you aware that you’re wasting mine,” Amara replied, going back to leaning her head against the wall. “Now tell me more of what the ritual entails.”

  He threw her an incredulous look before loosing a breath and shoving his hands in his pockets. “The ritual itself is quite simple. You draw a symbol on the ground, usually in wolf blood. Both the witch and yourself will slice their palm then join hands.”

  “Then?”

  “Then the witch will do some chanting, you’ll absorb the power of the moon and then kill Fassar. The end.”

  Amara barked a laugh. “Well, it all seems very thought out. I’m so glad I’m putting my life on the line for that.”

  She’d already begun walking for the window when he grasped her wrist, spinning her back towards him.

  “Please, Amara,” he breathed.

  She rolled her eyes, batting his hand away. “You find me a witch and then we’ll talk.”

  “Amara—”

  But she had already vanished through the open window, as though she had never been there at all.

  23

  Amara had barely had the chance to relax before there was a knock on her door.

  Great, just bloody typical.

  She groaned as she hauled herself out of the armchair she’d settled upon. A slight ache lingered along her muscles but she ignored it as she went to open the door.

  She blinked. At first, there was nothing but an empty corridor before her. She poked her head out, glancing from side-to-side, but still, there was nothing. It was only when Amara sighed, preparing to go back to the comfort of her armchair, that her eyes snagged on what had been placed on the floor beside her door. A golden carafe filled to the brim with deep crimson liquid sat before her. In an instant, her nostrils flared, her pupils dilating to the size of pebbles. Quickly, she snatched it up and retreated into her room, slamming the door behind her.

  A small note was tied to the neck of the decanter. She squinted as she read the delicate ink, but Amara could’ve told by the handwriting alone who it was from.

  Elias, she growled.

  It was true that her body was currently aching with hunger. No wonder her muscles had strained after just a minor bit of climbing. At full strength, she would have made it easily without any pain. But since her blood source had . . . disposed of herself, Amara was stuck with the tugging sensation of unbearable thirst.

  Elias had known that, probably due to the fact Amara had barely been able to stand up straight in his room. She’d leant against the wall only to ease the throbbing at her temples. She needed blood. Now. Her hands trembled as she gazed down at the deep liquid in the carafe.

  But Amara knew Elias hadn’t just given it to her because of the bloodlust. It was a message, a symbol of trust. A promise that this blood was pure and not tainted. Proof that his intentions, too, were true. That he wouldn’t betray her again.

  Carefully, she brought the carafe up to her lips and sniffed once, twice. Her senses probed the liquid, delving into its compounds and components but finding nothing out of the ordinary. This was blood. It had to be.

  Once she was sure it was safe, Amara didn’t waste any time before she gulped it down. It felt like delight on her tongue, a burst of starlight or a blooming flower. Almost immediately, her body felt alive again. Neurones began to fire; the aches in her muscles ebbed and eased as though they were never there.

  It had taken being trapped in a castle to appreciate blood. On the streets of Valmont, she could get what she wanted when she wanted with no repercussions. People disappeared on the streets all the time in the city, making Amara’s needs very easy to fulfil. Some nights she would drain two or three people, whoever was unfortunate enough to get in her way. But now, in Winvaris things were different. Even the smallest drop of blood was worth savouring. An
d if she was going to go through with the Bloodmoon, she was going to need all the strength she could get.

  Just as she finished her last mouthful of the warm irony liquid, there was another knock at the door.

  Again? she thought, rolling her eyes as she went to set the empty decanter down. No doubt he’s come to gloat or ask for thanks. Well, he’s definitely not going to get any . . .

  “And what do you want?” she said bluntly as she opened the door.

  Nadia’s mouth popped into an O, her eyes wide with shock. “I’m sorry I—”

  “Oh, thank the gods it’s you,” Amara sighed, cutting her off. “Forgive me; I thought you were someone else.”

  Something like relief flashed across Nadia’s face, the faintest smile curling her lips. “Oh, good,” she breathed, fidgeting with the small envelope clutched in her hands. The paper was browned around the edges and bore a large wax seal.

  “For me?” Amara asked, eyeing the paper with intent.

  Could it possibly be from Fenn? Had he finally tried to contact her?

  Without meaning to, Amara had taken Nadia by the arm and tugged her inside. She hurriedly led Nadia towards the satin chaise before pulling her down to sit beside her.

  “Um . . . yes, it’s for you,” she laughed quietly, handing over the envelope.

  Amara practically shone with excitement but just before she tore it open, she hesitated, her fingertips hovering over the seal.

  What if it was something important? A location or piece of information that could give away who Amara really was. No, it was best to wait until she was alone.

  Nadia looked at her in confusion as she set the letter down. But Amara waved her away, sweeping a sheet of black hair behind her. “I have a lover back in Breensbrae,” she said, making sure to blush and look away.

  Nadia smiled, nodding as though she understood completely why Amara wasn’t keen on reading the letter in front of her. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but promptly closed it again.

  Amara quirked a brow. “What?”