Mark of Betrayal

by A. M. Hudson

  The messenger nodded and spun on his heel, then walked down the aisle, with Orion behind him. I looked around for Arthur then, to see what he thought, but he was gone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Walter said. “I announce this session of Court closed.” He banged his stick three times and the crowd turned away, quiet chatters of both joy and fear among them.

  I spun around to look at my knights. “Is he serious? Drake?”

  Walter came up and took the note from Mike then laid it out on the House table so the others could paw over it. We watched for a second.

  “Sounded pretty serious,” Eric said, popping up beside me.

  “It sounded like an unreasonable demand,” Mike said, wrapping his arm over Emily as she came up and hugged him. “I think it’s a distraction from the truth. He wants something else.”

  “What makes you think that?” I asked.

  “Think about it.” Mike moved away from Em so he could pace. Walter and the others looked up with interest. “He knows his opponent. He knows you won’t accept those terms. You might sacrifice yourself, but never your people.”

  I smiled; it was nice that Mike, for all his opinions on me, actually knew that one truth.

  “I agree,” Falcon said. “He’s up to something. He wants us focusing on an attack—it’s a trick of the hand.”

  “I concur,” Walter said, turning back to us, with the letter in hand. “Question is, what doesn't he want us focusing on?”

  “Good question,” Blade said, rubbing his jaw.

  “Well, clearly he knows you’ve been crowned now, and clearly knows you're alive,” Quaid said. “Maybe he knows we plan to attack him. Maybe he’s, by giving us a month, buying himself more time.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “No. That’s too simple.” Mike waved his index finger like a drumstick. “He wouldn't send a demand to buy time. He’d ask for a truce—knowing Ara would accept—then he’d just attack.”

  “Well, he’s waiting for a reply in a fortnight, right?” Quaid said. “I say we continue with our plan to attack next week—take him by surprise.”

  “No. We have to cancel the attack,” Mike said.

  “Why?” I said.

  “Because he’s probably aware of our plans,” Falcon said. “He would know about the crowning process, the powers it will give you. I bet he’s expecting us to attack.”

  “I agree,” Mike said.

  “So…we don't attack?” I asked.

  Everyone looked at everyone else.

  “We could wait,” Morgaine suggested. “We could send out spies to investigate Elysium and see what he’s got going out there—see what we’re up against.”

  “Maybe we can let him attack us here, and we’ll just wipe him out,” Blade suggested.

  “That would be fighting fire with a garden hose, Blade,” Mike said. “There will be no attack here; we have families living on this land.”

  “Right, and the queen,” Falcon added.

  Mike looked at him. “That goes without saying.”

  “So, what, we’ll send knights in to investigate?” I asked.

  “That would also be a bad idea,” Arthur said from the base of the stairs.

  “This is not your concern, vampire.” Mike spun around to face him. “It is House and Private Council business.”

  “Then speak in private quarters,” Arthur said and stepped away.

  “Wait, Arthur?” I ran down the steps and grabbed his sleeve. “Why? Why would it be a bad idea?”

  He looked at Mike, then back at me again. "Because, my queen, he may be all too aware of immunity, for examp—”

  “What!” Morgaine gasped. “How do you know about that?”

  “Immunity?” Walter walked closer. “What immunity?”

  Arthur took my hands, ignoring the rest, who went on with a conversation behind us. “My dear, he may be looking to get his hands on a Pure Created. A mere Created Lilithian would not protect his army against your swords. He is a master of strategy. Everything he does has been planned out to make you think you have looked past the first two options and are clever enough to guess his real motive.”

  “Okay.” I nodded. “So, we won't send Pure Created knights in there.”

  He looked over at the bunch of old and new immortals arguing and waving their hands around as the House learned about immunity for the first time. “I am sorry I had to bring that up, but it is no longer a card you hold.”

  I nodded. “How did you know?”

  He smiled. “You let something slip.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes.” His eyes darkened. “I only wish you had known of this before my sons died.”

  I touched his shoulder, feeling Mike’s vehement glare on the side of my face. “I'm sorry, Arthur.”

  He bowed and turned away. I watched his back until he disappeared into the crowds outside in the afternoon sun.

  “You told him about immunity?” Mike grabbed my arm.

  “I…he said I let something slip.”

  “Ara, this is exactly what I was afraid of.” He shoved me away softly and rubbed his brow. “Now Drake probably knows.”

  “Probably. But I don't think Arthur would have told him, or he wouldn't have just admitted that he knew about it.”

  “Or would he? To make us think he wouldn’t have told Drake, since he'd be the first we'd suspect anyway.”

  I sighed, exasperated. “Look, Mike, I'm tired. I just wanna go have a shower and get some rest before the ball tonight. Can we please discuss all this in the meeting tomorrow?”

  He backed down, smiling softly at me—the old, loving Mike. “I haven’t even had a chance to tell you how proud I am of you.”

  “Thanks, Mike,” I said in a squeezed breath as he hugged me tight. “And, by the way, you look sooo hot in that.”

  He grinned, leaning back a little to look down at me. “I know.”

  “Does the tattoo hurt?” I touched his upper arm.

  “Nope. Yours?”

  I shook my head, and as soon as I felt the air between us from the distance of his body, Emily came flying in, practically squealing with excitement. “Ara. You look so pretty, and I was crying so hard when you finally came out of that forest. I literally paced the floors all night, worrying about you.”

  I patted her back, breathing deep the smell of her apple shampoo. “I'm okay.”

  “So, is it haunted?” she asked, stepping back.

  “The forest?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Um…” I looked back into the memory for a second. “I think it probably is.”

  “Oh, my God.” She cupped her hands under her chin. “You poor thing. Were you scared?”

  Mike took this opportunity of girl talk to slink back to the manly political discussion going on at the top of the stairs. I looked back at Emily. “I was okay. Um, Em, I’ll talk later, okay. I really need some sleep before tonight.” And probably a good cry.

  “Okay. We’ll talk at the ball then.” She touched my arm softly then walked away.

  Flowing hot water soothed my skin only minutes ago, but the silence of my own thoughts—where I spent most of last night—was all too much for me to bear as I laid on my bed in the coloured light streaming through the dome. Though I was clean and fed, and the dry, pulsing sting of blood-thirst had eased, I felt empty and cold.

  After the Walk of Terror, I should be grateful for simple comforts, but I couldn't stop thinking about the things I faced in that forest long enough to even enjoy the absence of gravity again. So, I got up and went down to the beach.

  My heels sunk deep into the white sand, making it squeak each time I turned to pace back the other way. I didn't want to cry; I wanted to be strong—to move on from all the horrors of last night and just be a resilient, powerful queen. But seeing Jason in that forest made him feel so real, and the place I used to go inside my head to hate him was gone. That walk had changed things in me, that was for sure, but I wasn't sure if what had
changed was for the better. All the grief I never wanted to feel for losing Jason came to the surface, down here, by the giant cliffs, safe from judging eyes. And it scared me, because I’d never grieved so deeply for anything. Never.

  I leaned my back against the ancient rock wall and covered my face, finally letting myself cry—let the tears fall down, uninvited, unwanted, worthless, because they were shed for a pain that would never heal. And I just couldn't make it stop. Too much was hurting inside. I’d been dragged through too much and it was all finally coming down on top of me.

  You should be ashamed, the other version of me said, appearing beside me.

  “Go away.” I hid my face in my hands. “You’re not real. Go away.”

  She just laughed. You pathetic waste of life. How dare you? How dare you cry for him? How could you let yourself fall in love with a ghost—one who mutilated and tortured you—burned his own brother alive?

  “Stop!” I yelled into my hands. “Stop it. I can't let myself believe I loved him!”

  Oh, you loved him. You did, and you know it.

  “No!” I stopped the thought abruptly, but it crept back in to betray me with its truth.

  What is it that hurts, Ara? She asked from deep inside my nightmare. Is it that he’s gone, or that you’re psychotic and perverted for loving him?

  “Both,” I said, finally defeated enough to admit it in this real world—away from the pressure of snakes or falling from cliffs.

  This will kill him, you know, this will kill David when he finds out.

  “No! Stop it, please. I've done nothing wrong!” I shouted. “Nothing!”

  Nothing?

  A wild summer wind swept over the sand and brushed it stiffly across my legs; I composed myself with a few jagged breaths, wiping my soaking face. I was exhausted. That’s what this was really about. Even my soul was tired. I just needed rest. If I could just go to sleep, I’d wake up and see that everything really was okay—that maybe it was true, maybe I did love Jason, but maybe it didn't matter, because he was gone, and I still had David.

  The shadow of the lighthouse, sitting high atop the cliff, stole the white from the sand as it stretched across the beach in a grey shadow. Behind it, the sun blinded me when I tried to make out the distance from here to the top. I wanted to jump up there but, exhausted as I felt, I’d probably slip and fall off. So, I wandered away from the windbreak of the cliff and let the ocean breeze wrap around me, bringing the soft scent of frangipani fabric softener and salty sea spray. And with that smell, a tiny little positive crept up to make me smile; at least I never have to do dishes or laundry, ever again. That’s pretty cool.

  “Amara?” The confused tone of a pleasantly deep voice made my shoulders sink as a hand came upon me.

  “Hello, Arthur.” I glanced back and smiled.

  “My lady?” He stopped beside me. “What are you doing out here by yourself? You should be resting.”

  “I know.” I nodded and folded my arms across my chest. “I didn’t feel like being alone.”

  “But—” Arthur looked around. “You are alone.”

  “Not like I am when I'm inside.” I turned to the thrashing waves and flicked my head so my hair blew away from my neck. “Out here, I have the wind and the open air to distract me—it kind of makes my heart beat for me, you know, but when I'm alone, in the still, it’s like I'm too warm, wrapped up in a blanket I can't get out of.”

  Arthur’s brows pinched in the middle, and my eyes, as I looked at him, watered from the blinding light of the high afternoon sun. “You're not all right, are you?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  He let out a breath and wrapped one arm, then the other, over my shoulders, and tugged me until I fell into his chest, my cheek against the indent between his breastbones. “Just cry. My darling girl. Let it all out.” He stroked my hair. “I’m here. I’ll make it all better.”

  My chest heaved, each breath a jagged shriek that coughed back out. Arthur’s embrace was so firm that I no longer felt the wind, so tight that my lungs struggled to draw air, and so loving I almost felt like his girl.

  “It’s been a long few years, hasn’t it?” he said in a low, soothing voice. “You've been through so much for such a young girl, and I imagine you've probably not spoken of how deeply you're hurting?”

  My chest shuddered, the sobs turning to short, quick breaths as I settled myself. When I pulled slightly away from Arthur and saw the wet outline of a face all over his white silk shirt, my cheeks burned. “Oh, my God, Arthur, I'm sorry.”

  He looked down too, wiping his hand over my mess. “I wear the tears of the queen with honour.”

  I laughed once. “It sounds funny when you say queen.”

  His teeth showed on one side as he breathed a smile. “Yes, but you are queen. And we are all so proud of you.”

  “I thought I failed, you know.” I stepped away from his arms and let the wind dry my cheeks. “I can’t tell you how scared I was that I’d let everyone down.”

  He only nodded, as if waiting for me to speak. Then, like falling asleep with a heavy book on your chest and suddenly waking to lift it off, I sat in the sand with Arthur, by the lashing whitewash, and, leaving out the part about David being alive, told him everything. Everything. Told him all I saw on the Walk of Faith, everything I came to face—all the failures, all the truths—especially the truth about Jason. And he listened, with his hands linked together, his arms falling loosely over bended knees, smiling, nodding every now and then.

  As the blanket of shame, fear and sadness blew away in the wind, I took a deep, shaky breath and turned my head to look at him for the first time since we sat down. “I'm sorry.” I grabbed his arm and looked at his watch. “I’ve been talking for an hour.”

  “Then you have nowhere near been talking long enough.” He touched his hand over mine.

  I sniffled. “You're a good friend, Arthur.”

  He opened his mouth, his chest lifting with a deep breath that he let out slowly. “I'm glad you told me all this.”

  “What do you think it all means—all that snake business?”

  He sighed. “I'm not sure. But, like you said, this snake, this entity who came to you, it wanted you to realise the truth of yourself, right?”

  I nodded, more than a little eager to hear his take on it.

  “Perhaps, that is the truth. Perhaps you loved them both—Jason and David, and maybe when you come to terms with this, your life can take a journey on a new path.”

  “I have come to terms with it, Arthur. So where’s this new path?”

  “No, my dear, you have not. You have admitted it—barely, but you have not come to terms with it.”

  “Aren't they the same things?”

  He laughed softly. “No.”

  “Well, how do I come to terms with it?”

  “That, my dear child, you will have to learn on your own. One day, you will wake up and everything will suddenly make sense to you—the path you must take, the road you’ve been down, all the questions you ask yourself about why—it will all make sense, and then, and only then, does it mean you have come to terms with what is in your heart, and essentially, what you, deep down inside, are.”

  “What I am? What do you mean by that?”

  He looked out at the ocean. “I mean that…you perceive yourself as this confused little girl, who thinks she knows what's right but doesn’t trust herself. You also believe every impure thought you have—perhaps thoughts for another man—make you a bad person, somehow. But you’re not. You are, for all intents and purposes, human. And you make human mistakes and feel human emotions. You berate yourself far too harshly for what you feel, Amara, and that will, in the end, be your undoing.”

  “My undoing?”

  “Emotionally. You cannot rule if you are not strong, in here.” He tapped his chest. “And you cannot be strong if you do not love yourself—or at the very least, understand yourself.”

  I nodded. “That’s the problem. I
can't understand how I could feel anything for Jason at all. I can't understand how I can love anyone else but David. He…” I looked ahead, closing my eyes for a second. “Even though he’s gone, he should still be the only one I ever love.”

  “Amara, don't be so harsh on yourself. You cannot expect to be alone for the rest of your days.”

  “I know. But what about when he was alive?” I said. “I loved Jason then, Arthur, and I can't forgive myself for that.”

  “Did David ever know how you felt about his brother?”

  “He asked me a few times—but we always got interrupted and just never continued the conversation.”

  “What do you think he would say now—if he were to find out?”

  I went a little stiff. “I'm not sure. I think he’d hate me.”

  Arthur nodded.

  “Really?” I looked at him. “You’re nodding. So, you agree?”

  “Unfortunately, my dear, I can't honestly answer that. You see, David spoke to me shortly after he first saw you. And we had many conversations preceding that, where I learned two things. One; David had lost faith in the world. He believed there was no good left in anyone—not vampires and not humans. The other thing I learned was that, through reading the minds of humans for a hundred years, David had a bitter hatred for their kind. Until you came along. He saw in you a pure soul; he said all your thoughts were battles between right and wrong and he had never met a girl so innocent, so undamaged by the world, that he instantly fell for you.”

  “Undamaged?” I scoffed. “Arthur, I have to be just about the most damaged girl in the world.”

  He laughed. “Yes, but he meant that you were not tainted by the world’s ways. You weren’t mean, harsh—you thought of others before yourself.”

  “I did?” I rubbed my hairline. “Boy, did he have me figured all wrong.”

  “No, my dear, he did not. He was right. Sometimes you look past other people, too busy worrying about how not to hurt them, that you do just that. I know what you are, and David fell in love with what you are. He told me he learned more about compassion and kindness in a week with you than he did in an entire century from the human race.” The sun made his nose look longer as he looked at the ocean again. “He loved you fiercely, my dear, and it was because you are a good, pure soul.”