The same door that she’d seen Princess Myrinne use earlier that night.
Kara paused by the cabinets, smiling, as she considered stealing another bottle of blood-wine, just to piss Princess Uptight off. But she ultimately decided against it—because she didn’t want to leave any evidence that she’d been there.
She crept through the halls, toward the larger, emptier part of the temple.
Kara stopped in the doorway, gazing up at the statue at the other side of the room. It stood on a platform, illuminated by hundreds of candles. She’d never known vampires to be so bold—leaving so many candles burning while they slept.
It impressed her.
It also made her wonder what was so important about this statue.
Kara approached it slowly. A strange, cold sensation unfurled inside her, one she was certain she’d felt before. She studied the lighter side, which was made of glistening crystals; then, the darker side, which was made of heavy, black stone.
A vision flashed through her mind, suddenly—of a beautiful woman with black eyes and long, shadowy hair, lying in bed, next to her, leaning in for a kiss.
Kara froze. Her chest clenched in fear, her pulse practically nonexistent.
What had she just seen? Was that a memory? Something she’d forgotten?
Kara stepped back, suddenly afraid to continue. She’d never felt like this. She’d always loved danger—the cool rush of fear, the high of an adrenaline rush.
But whatever this was—happening inside her mind—she didn’t like that.
“You’ve seen her before, haven’t you?”
Kara straightened, her nostrils flaring, as she noticed the sweet, powerful scent of another vampire. She’d been so distracted that she hadn’t even heard the woman’s footsteps. She carefully slipped her fingers beneath her shirt, pulling out a throwing knife. Then, as swiftly as possible, she spun around and flung it in the direction of the woman’s voice. The vampire stepped aside, just in time, causing the blade to narrowly miss her head and land in one of the double-doors, instead.
Kara didn’t waste time marveling at the fact that the vampire had actually avoided her blade—which was something that rarely happened. She raced toward the vampire, instead. She circled around behind her and wrapped her arm around the woman’s chest, pulling her back against her. Kara pressed her dagger against the woman’s throat and growled, “If you scream for help, I’ll slice your throat.”
The vampire laughed, “If I were going to do that, I wouldn’t have come.”
Kara recognized that laugh—its lively, slightly-amused tone. “Zosime?”
Zosime tilted her head back against Kara’s shoulder, her dark, curly hair tickling Kara’s skin. “I saw three different possibilities of how this could go,” she giggled. Her lips quirked up at the corners. “This one looked like the most fun.”
Kara glanced at Zosime, her eyebrows lifting, as she found the vampire’s face close to her own. “What’s wrong? Ligeia’s not giving you enough attention?”
Zosime chuckled at that. “Not the kind of attention you’re referring to.”
A playful smirk twitched at Kara’s mouth. “I’d offer my own, but…”
“But,” Zosime finished for her, “Rose has all your attention these days.”
Kara’s smile faded. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing in here?”
“Let me go, and I will,” Zosime said. “Don’t worry. I won’t harm you.”
Kara snorted, “I wasn’t worried.” She released Zosime and stepped back, watching as the beautiful, clairvoyant vampire turned to face her. Kara flashed a smug smirk. “I don’t care how old you are. You don’t stand a chance against me.”
“That is one possible future,” Zosime agreed, “but it isn’t the only one.”
Kara flipped her dagger in her hand, feigning disinterest. “I don’t know what it is about vampires with precognitive abilities, but you all just…irk me.”
Zosime’s full, red lips lifted into an amused smile. “I do know,” she said. “It’s because it’s so hard for you to lie to us. Because, for all of your cunning and skill, you can’t compete with someone who can see everything you’ll say and do.”
“Oh, believe me,” Kara growled. “I can compete. I can always compete.”
Zosime laughed at that. She stepped closer. “You’re also still upset that I mentioned Rose,” she murmured. “Because you don’t like people knowing how much she means to you. You don’t like them knowing that she’s your weakness.”
“If you think Rose makes me weak,” Kara said, “I dare you to try to hurt her and see what happens.” She flipped the dagger again, pressing the tip of the blade against Zosime’s chest. “I don’t care what power you have. You’ll still die.”
Zosime smiled. “If she’s not a weakness, why do you hide how you feel?”
“Experience,” Kara said with an icy glare. “Love never ends well for me.”
“Especially not when people know,” Zosime stated. “People like Alana.”
Kara glared at her. “Just tell me where your princess keeps her journals.”
“Journals?” Zosime said with a coy smile. “Ah. You must mean her notes from the prophecy. I’m sure she keeps those somewhere you would never guess.”
Kara stepped forward, closing the small amount of space between them. “But you—with your power—could guess. As a matter of fact, I think you already know,” she accused. “So, why don’t you skip the games and tell me the truth?”
Zosime gave a warm laugh. “Oh, the irony—of Kara Unnarsdóttir asking for less games and more truth, when her entire persona is all games and no truth.”
“It’s not irony,” Kara said. “Just recognize my own game when I see it.”
“Of course,” Zosime chuckled. “But are you sure you want the truth?”
A curious frown pulled at the corners of Kara’s lips. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Zosime tilted her head to the side, unruly, black curls falling to the side, brushing her dark red robes. “You and Rose are so happy together. Like the calm before the storm,” she said with a smile. “Surely, you wouldn’t want that to end.”
“Storm,” Kara breathed, her chest tight. She wished that didn’t sound so true—that it didn’t resonate so clearly. But it did. She’d felt it for a while now—the lingering feeling that things were too good, that everything was about to turn.
“The truth is dangerous,” Zosime warned. “Are you sure you want it?”
Despite the violent surge of anxiety inside of her, Kara flashed a wicked smile. “If you knew me at all,” she told her, “you’d know I always want danger.”
“You won’t find Princess Myrinne’s notes here,” Zosime said. She waved her hand at the statue. “The only thing that’s in here is what you’ve already seen.”
Kara glanced over her shoulder, at that statue again, her stomach twisting with another wave of familiarity. “Your Psycho-Queen told Rose to search here.”
“Hypatia is not my queen,” Zosime said. “I came to this kingdom for my friend and princess. Not her mother. I bow only to my friend, Princess Myrinne.”
Kara glanced at her, a surprised smile spreading across her face. “Oh?”
“I’d bow to the Eklektos, too,” Zosime laughed, “if she didn’t hate it.”
Kara chuckled at that. “You and I have a little bit in common, it seems.”
“We do things on our own terms,” Zosime agreed. “We offer our loyalty only when we feel it’s worth it—and only to those whom we deem worthy of it.”
Kara nodded. “So, Hypatia, then. Why did she tell Rose to search here?”
“Hypatia has been imprisoned for thousands of years,” Zosime scoffed. She twirled a flower, which hung from her neck, between two fingers. Kara’s gaze darted down to the tiny, white wildflower, and her eyebrows lifted, as she realized that this chirpy vampire had made a necklace out of real flowers. Zosime ignored Kara’s bemused look, clearly oblivious to her own qui
rks. “She lives in the past—waiting for an ex-lover, who will never return to her. The prophecy was once kept in here. But Princess Myrinne destroyed it. The journals, which Hypatia spoke of, were moved long ago. Even if you found them, you’d never be able to steal them.”
“Why not just tell me?” Kara asked impatiently. “Why not let me try?”
“Because I already know what would happen. It’s not a particularly good future,” Zosime explained. She smiled, as Kara scowled at her. “Relax. They’d be of no use to you, anyway. They’re written in a language you don’t understand.”
Kara shifted her weight to one foot, the annoyance clearly etched across her face. “Then, why were you warning me? You said the truth was dangerous.”
Zosime’s full, red lips curved into a deeper smile. She stepped closer, her intensely floral scent invading Kara’s senses. “Because, warrior,” she said, tapping a finger against Kara’s chest, “I’m going to tell you the real truth—the one you’ve wondered about since you met Rose. The one everyone but her…wonders about.”
Kara knew, immediately, what she meant. “What is she?”
Zosime lifted her dark eyebrows meaningfully. “Exactly.”
Kara kept her emotions masked, even as anxiety swirled, like a whirlwind, inside her chest. “It seemed like Princess Uptight didn’t want us to know that.”
“It’s not something Rose is ready to know,” Zosime said, “and I imagine the princess thinks you’re not ready, either. But I’ve seen the future. And the only one unaccounted for—the only one that might possibly end well—is this one.”
“The one where you tell me the truth,” Kara assumed. “But not Rose?”
“Not Rose. Not yet,” Zosime answered. “So, do you want the truth, Kara Unnarsdóttir? Or would you rather believe your lover is exactly what she seems?”
“What is she?” Kara breathed—even as her stomach lurched with dread.
Zosime waved a hand at the statue. “What do you think that represents?”
Kara turned, her gaze instantly drawn to the two-sided figure. “Duality?”
“Ooh,” Zosime said with an excited smile. “I like that answer!” She took Kara’s arm, pulling her closer to the statue. “Do you believe in any gods, warrior?”
Kara watched her suspiciously, more than ready to stab her, if she needed to. “I did, once,” she admitted. “When I was human, I believed in the Norse gods and goddesses. Odin, Frigga, Thor, Loki, Freyja, Hel, and many others.” She gave a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t believe in them much anymore, but I did back then.”
Zosime nodded. “And how much do you know of the Greek pantheon?”
“It was before my time, but I know the basic tales. I know of Zeus, Ares, Poseidon, Hades, Aphrodite, Athena, and perhaps a few others.” Kara turned to face Zosime. “Rose would know more than I would. She studied Greek history.”
“Of course,” Zosime said with a smile. “I imagine she felt…drawn to it.”
Kara frowned suspiciously at the clairvoyant vampire. “Why would she?”
The corners of Zosime’s dark eyes crinkled, as a smile spread across her face. “Because,” she said slowly, “it must remind her of the Kingdom of Skotalia.”
Kara scowled. “How could it remind her of a place she’s never been?”
But of course, Zosime didn’t answer that question. Kara watched with a frown, as the clairvoyant vampire stepped closer to the statue, her robes swaying around her curvy figure. It didn’t bother Kara much—the way Zosime drew out the truth with questions, the way she kept Kara dangling with each one. Kara was used to this, after all. Being a spymaster required a degree of patience. It required an appreciation for the art of it all—deception, manipulation, the search for truth.
Zosime spun around. “The Kingdom of Skotalia has its own pantheon.”
Kara nodded. “And this statue—it depicts one of their gods, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” Zosime said with that deep, warm smile of hers. Her dark eyes seemed to shine with amusement. “Unlike the rest of the vampires here, I’m not originally from here. I was once as oblivious of this culture and its beliefs as you.”
“And were they as secretive when you asked questions?” Kara asked her.
Zosime laughed, “No. Though I didn’t need to ask many questions.” She tapped the side of her head with one finger. “I’d already foreseen their answers.”
Kara snorted at that, “Of course you had.” She tilted her head, strands of blue and black hair falling forward, over her leather jacket. “Why were you asking about the Greek pantheon? Is the Skotalian pantheon similar to theirs?”
“Not quite,” Zosime said. “The Ancient Greeks and the Skotalians were very similar—especially in culture—but their gods were actually quite different.”
Kara’s piercing, light blue gaze shifted back toward the statue. “How so?”
Zosime twirled a black, spiral curl around her finger, as she gazed up at the statue, as well. “The Greek deities seemed…kind of human, don’t you think?”
Kara snorted, “I’ve never seen a human with power over the earth itself.”
“Perhaps, you would have,” Zosime said, “if you’d met her a bit earlier.”
Kara’s smile faded. She glanced at Zosime, her eyes wide. “Wait. What?”
But Zosime just continued, “Greek deities had names, like humans. They had flaws, like humans. Relationships, like humans. Physical bodies, like humans.”
“I’m sure some of that is subjective,” Kara said. “But what’s your point?”
“The deities the Skotalians worshipped—and still worship, to this day—were quite…un-human,” Zosime said. “You know of the elements, don’t you?”
Kara raised an eyebrow. “As in…earth, wind, fire, and water?”
Zosime nodded. “The Skotalians don’t worship beings with names. They worship the forces of nature themselves. They kneel before power. Not people.”
Kara nodded slowly. She understood that—to a certain extent. After all, some of the Norse gods had personified forces of nature. “They have four gods?”
“Five,” Zosime corrected. “The fifth power rules over the other four.”
“Right. The head of the pantheon,” Kara realized. “So, who is he?”
Zosime laughed—a warm, honeyed laugh. “She,” she corrected, her lips curving into a deeper smile. “The head of the Skotalian pantheon is a goddess.”
“How progressive of them,” Kara said, her brows high. She cast another curious glance at the statue. “That’s her, isn’t it? The goddess who rules them?”
“Yes,” Zosime said. She watched the candlelight dance across Kara’s fair skin, studying Kara’s reactions to each thing she learned. “She rules everything.”
“But what is she?” Kara asked. “I know there are other elements in some cultures, but…” she trailed off. She glanced at the statue. “What exactly is that?”
“The Skotalians believe in an all-encompassing fifth power,” Zosime said. “They call it Light and Darkness, and they believe every other force obeys…her.”
Kara frowned at the statue—with its dark half and light half—piecing it together. “Light and Darkness,” she repeated. Her head spun, as she remembered the night that Rose’s brother died. “And Light and Darkness are…goddesses?”
“The Goddess,” Zosime corrected. “Light and Darkness is the Goddess.”
Kara frowned at Zosime’s word choice—singular words, not plural. “But you said Light and Darkness. That would be two beings, wouldn’t it? Not one.”
“Look at her,” Zosime urged, waving at the statue. “Don’t you see what she is? A goddess with two halves—one light, the other dark. Light and Darkness is one goddess. She’s one being. With two powers and two purposes. A…duality, as you so cleverly put it.” Zosime smiled, her dark eyes dancing with amusement.
Too confused to appreciate the compliment, Kara muttered, “Why?”
“Because Darkness cann
ot exist without Light,” Zosime said, “and Light cannot exist without Darkness. They must exist together—in order to keep each other in check. If one were to exist without the other, it would destroy the world.”
Kara turned toward Zosime, squinting thoughtfully at her. “How so?”
“What would happen in a world with no death or destruction?” Zosime asked. She stepped closer. “With no passion, no vengeance, no desire, no pain…”
Kara shrugged one shoulder. “Overpopulation. Complacency. Apathy.”
Zosime nodded. “A world with nothing but Light would destroy itself.”
“And Darkness?” Kara said, her throat tight. “She’s Destruction, then?”
“She’s many things,” Zosime corrected, “but yes. Destruction is one.”
Kara looked away, as recent memories flashed through her mind—Rose with black, shadow-filled eyes, the Assassins of Light that she’d killed. When Kara spoke, her voice came out breathless. “What does this have to do with Rose?”
Zosime’s smile deepened. “You already know,” she said lowly. “You felt it when you stepped in here—that connection. You even recognized her name.”
Kara glanced again at that statue, her heart beating faster. “What name?”
Zosime stepped closer, and whispered—so soft, Kara barely heard her—the word that Kara had been thinking about ever since she’d said it: “Darkness.”
Kara turned her head slowly, watching the beautiful, clairvoyant vampire warily. “That word means nothing to me,” she lied. “Nothing more than it would to any other vampire. I certainly can’t think of any reason it would relate to Rose.”
Zosime moved even closer and lowered her voice—even more than she had before. She clearly didn’t want anyone to overhear them. “I know you’ve seen her. I saw you speaking to her in my visions. I saw the night Rose’s brother died.”
The Reign of Darkness Page 34