Ursula was speechless. Her eyes slid up to where Dante and I sat, but she quickly redirected her gaze. I leaned in closer to the duke, hiding from sight once again.
“Scarlett Lilosa, exiled baroness of House Lilith,” Beauclair addressed her. “You are charged with the criminal operations of the Scarlett Inn that risked exposure of our kind and resulted in numerous human and werewolf deaths. How do you plead?”
“Insanity.” Scarlett giggled, but it quickly dissolved into a sob. “Is that your defense, too, Mother?” she asked Ursula. “You left us no choice. We had to fend for ourselves, and then Raphael…” She gasped as if she couldn’t catch her breath at the thought of him. “My sweet brother… He’s gone. Ripped from this ugly world that has offered us nothing but unrelenting need.”
“Raphael Lilosa is dead?” Lady Novak asked. Beauclair shot her a murderous glare that made her shrink in her seat. She seemed…annoyed that Scarlett had been found—and extra annoyed that Raphael was confirmed dead—but nowhere near resigned. This was only a minor hiccup in her plan.
Ursula had the good sense to shed a tear. As arrogant and stubborn as she’d been, I knew it must have pained her to show any weakness in this flock of vultures. I didn’t doubt that her pain was sincere, though I still couldn’t understand it. Raphael would always be a soulless heathen in my book.
“Do you deny involvement with the Scarlett Inn?” Beauclair asked, redirecting the conversation.
Scarlett barked out a bitter laugh. “The inn served the downtrodden rejects of your precious society. It offered us the comfort and sustenance we were denied—an endless supply of blood and power and…ecstasy.” Scarlett closed her eyes and shivered. “More than any vampire could ever want.”
Beauclair wobbled on her heels as she took a step back. The ire in her expression was mixed with jealousy and vindictive glee. She was all too pleased with the baroness’s confession.
“I think we’ve heard quite enough,” she said. “Is there any councilor here who objects to coffin-locking the former baroness?”
When no one answered, Beauclair nodded to the white cloaks. Scarlett gasped as they wrenched her up out of her chair and dragged her toward the coffin at the back of the stage.
“No!” she screamed. “I’ll be good. Mother, don’t let them take me!”
She reached out for Ursula as the wardens passed her chair, but the duchess refused to look at her. She sat perfectly still, her shoulders hunched forward, and a haunted look drawing her face tight.
The white cloaks stuffed Scarlett into the coffin and closed the lid on her, while another guard wearing gloves locked the silver bolts and latches in place. Muffled screams and pounding echoed across the theater but soon faded as the coffin was wheeled away.
Beauclair snapped her fingers at one of the guards standing in front of the stage. “Go fetch another coffin,” she ordered him. “We’re not done here.” Then she turned around and folded her hands under her chin, taking in Ursula with a venomous smile. “You’re next, Your Ladyship.”
Chapter Fifteen
There was something bittersweet about seeing Scarlett stuffed into a coffin. I should have been content that justice had been served—and that I’d maybe had something to do with it. But when I thought of everything Scarlett had put Mandy and the other girls at the Scarlett Inn through, coffin-locking just didn’t seem like enough.
My hands itched to close around her throat, and a savage pang of regret wormed its way through my heart. I wanted to blame it on my vampiric nature, but I knew I’d feel the same way if my mother’s killer had been caught and sentenced to prison.
Lady Beauclair regarded the audience with a snake-oil-salesman smile as they cheered her decision and the council’s unanimous consent. Her confidence had faltered when Scarlett arrived, but after putting the exiled baroness away, she looked refreshed. Energized. She was far too enthusiastic about her position to fool anyone into thinking she was here for something as simple or as honorable as civic duty.
The gathered vampires looked more like a mob right now, and I could tell that Beauclair wanted to hurry things along before they fell out of the frenzy she’d stirred them into. She tapped the toe of one stilettoed high heel as she waited for the council wardens to finish setting up the second coffin she’d ordered so she could resume her crusade against the royal family.
Ursula hadn’t moved or even glanced up. She looked broken, and while I wanted to pretend that I didn’t care if she were stuffed into a coffin the same as Scarlett, some part of me knew that wasn’t justice. I wouldn’t feel right about it, even if we could hardly stand to be in the same room with one another.
Dante leaned forward and folded his hands in his lap as if in prayer. The corners of his mouth pulled down, and a crease formed between his sympathetic brows. If he’d had wings and were made of concrete, he might have passed for one of those angelic monuments in a graveyard. His gaze flitted to the queen then to the prince before focusing on Beauclair again.
“Ursula Lilosa, Duchess of House Lilith,” she boomed in a theatrical voice that made the audience quiver with anticipation. “You are guilty of abandoning two vampling scions who have caused our community a great deal of suffering in your absence. Countless vampires have been coffin-locked for less—”
“Vampires who have not had a noble family to offer their own amends.” The queen stood behind the railing of her balcony and stared down at the stage with fire in her eyes. “Do not get ahead of yourself and forget due process, Lady Beauclair.”
“My apologies, Your Majesty.” She gritted her teeth and inclined her head no more than an inch. It was the politest insult I’d ever seen. “I was under the impression that the duchess had been disowned along with her criminal scions.”
“You are mistaken,” the queen replied. “The most Ursula can be accused of is negligence. After the death of her sire, that is understandable. And considering her recent suffering—learning of one scion’s death, witnessing another’s coffin-locking, and the death of a potential sibling scion—I think she deserves a merciful sentence.”
“And what merciful sentence would that be, Your Majesty?” Beauclair asked.
“Probationary sirehood.”
“Excuse me?”
“Probationary sirehood,” Lili repeated. An alarm went off somewhere in the back of my mind as she went on. “I would assign a vampling for Ursula to foster—for half a century—before giving my blessing for her to sire one of her own again. If she fails to adequately mentor the adopted vampling, then I will wash my hands of her and let the council do with her what they see fit.”
The audience buzzed excitedly, hushed voices rising and falling as half of their opinions shifted to the queen’s line of reasoning, while I tried to convince myself that this was common practice. I was too petrified to ask Dante.
Beauclair scoffed. “We will do what we see fit with her this night, Your Majesty.”
“I am certain you will.” The queen gave the chosen councilors a long, calculating look, pausing on each of them. “I’m simply offering a second solution, my right as head of the accused’s house.”
“I think it’s apparent which solution I find most just.” Beauclair smiled sweetly at the queen and tilted her head in faux deference. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Lili swept out her hand, palm up. “Please, conduct your vote. We eagerly await your verdict.”
Beauclair clapped her hands together as she turned back to the seated councilors. “Let us begin with Lord Everett Carter’s judgment.”
The banker vamp smoothed a hand over his autumn-colored coiffure and buttoned his suit jacket as he stood. His eyes darted around the theater, pausing briefly on the queen, Dante, and then Beauclair. Her gaze narrowed on him, and his nervous smile made me wonder if he were debating whose accounts he could most afford to lose.
“The duchess did not default on her duties without good reason,” he finally said. Beauclair’s nostrils flared as if she already knew h
is answer. “Even in banking, we offer grace periods. I vote for probationary sirehood.”
One for the home team. Dante wrung his hands in his lap and leaned forward, making sure Lord Carter could see his grateful nod.
“Very well.” Beauclair hardly gave him time to sit down before calling on the next councilor. “Lord Bo Starling.”
“Probationary sirehood,” he answered without standing to explain his decision. The tired tenor of his voice told me that he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t have anything to gain or lose from the outcome of this trial, and I imagined his household was still grieving the loss of Sonja.
“Lord Owen McCoy?” Beauclair called next, the pitch of her voice sharpening.
Lord McCoy was the least remarkable of the bunch. He stood like Lord Carter had, but he didn’t bother buttoning his charcoal jacket. “House Lilith has suffered quite enough in recent years. They are our sovereign leaders, and as such, we should offer them support in this time of need, not hostility.”
Beauclair smirked and cocked a hip. “Forgive me, Lord McCoy, but isn’t House Lilith your largest account? Perhaps your presence on this council is a conflict of interest.”
“House Lilith is not even among my top three accounts.” Lord McCoy bristled at the accusation. “If there was a conflict of interest, Regina, you should have handled it before calling this trial to order. I vote for probationary sirehood.” He sat down with an annoyed huff.
Beauclair’s cleavage rose and fell as she fumed, and her face burned nearly as red as her cropped cardigan. She turned her back to the audience to hide her discomposure. “Lord Nicoli Deangelo,” she said, redirecting everyone’s attention.
The suave architect beamed at the audience as he stood and folded his hands. His eyebrows drew up in false sympathy, though the look was more genuine on Dante. “It hurts my very soul to think of the two vampling lives lost to such incapable hands.” He glanced across the stage to where Ursula sat and shook his head. “I do not believe the duchess deserves the chance to ruin a third. I’m afraid I must vote for the coffin.”
Beauclair didn’t seem surprised by his vote, though it did restore her poise. “Thank you, Lord Deangelo. You make a very good point. Lady Wilhelmina Novak?”
The diva fashionista of House Novak had drawn plenty of attention with her lavender hair, but when she stood, all eyes clung to her turquois jumpsuit. The ruffled top looped over one shoulder, leaving the other bare, and the cropped legs revealed a matching pair of heels laced up her calves. She looked like the first flower of spring, and I had to wonder if she was using the trial as an excuse to offer a sneak peek of House Novak’s upcoming spring line.
“Members of my household have been coffin-locked for far milder crimes—and for wrongdoings they didn’t commit at all,” she said, eyeing Lord Starling. Then she scanned the balconies until she found Dante. “Sentences recommended by House Lilith, in fact. Mercy is not something my family was shown. I vote for the coffin.”
Three to three.
Dante’s hand found mine and squeezed. “This is it,” he whispered. “It is all on Louise.”
“Does she have anything against House Lilith?”
“Not directly.” He winced. “Though she might take issue with the recent slight against House Sorano. They are her largest account.”
He was referring to my indiscretions with Roman and the way he chose to handle the situation—which was, somehow, both extreme and merciful. Maybe he thought that balanced the scales. Where I was concerned anyway. It wouldn’t help us tonight.
I pressed my lips together and tried to focus on the trial.
“Lady Louise Peyroux,” Beauclair called.
The woman stood and regarded Ursula with a sympathetic smile. She placed a hand over her heart and sighed. “I lost my sire to a Dutch assassin before fleeing France,” she said, her faint accent intensifying as she shared the memory. “It took some time before I was well enough to join society again. I can’t imagine bearing the responsibility of scions and royal duties on top of that suffering. So I choose redemption through probationary sirehood.”
“All right, then.” Beauclair’s smile tightened until it looked more like a grimace. “Thank you, Lady Peyroux,” she snapped.
“You’re quite welcome,” she answered, a silky sweetness to her voice that lacked the backhanded sarcasm Beauclair was laying on thick.
“Probationary sirehood it is.” She opened her hands to the audience and hitched her eyebrows as if to say I tried.
“By the blood,” the crowd answered, though, less enthusiastically than before. Their half-hearted claps were overshadowed by a rumble of disappointed criticism.
Ursula blinked and finally looked up. Confusion clouded her eyes, but I couldn’t tell if she knew that she’d just been spared from an extended coffin nap or if she’d simply forgotten where she was.
“However,” Beauclair said, hushing the room once again. “I recommend that the council examine the duchess’s progress in one year. A mishandled vampling can cause a great deal of damage in very little time. Does any councilor object?” When no one spoke up, she turned toward the queen. “Your Majesty?”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Lili said. “Of course, I intend to examine her progress weekly. I have no doubt that the duchess is eager to redeem herself.”
Ursula’s chin trembled, but she met the queen’s gaze with glassy eyes. Then, slowly, her head turned to the other side of the theater, and those eyes locked on mine.
The denial I’d been clinging to evaporated.
* * * * *
“We won.” Dante’s voice echoed in my head as if we were in a cave.
Did we? I couldn’t get myself to say the words aloud.
Anxiety squeezed my stomach until I thought I might regurgitate my evening blood, and red pulsed at the edges of my vision. Someone needed to hit pause. This was all too much. I could hardly focus as Lane fell into step beside me, and we followed Dante upstairs to the queen’s suite where Ursula had been taken.
Royal guards and blood donors crowded the hallway in their cloaks, creating a river of red. I spotted Mandy near one of the duke’s harem suites. She bounced on her toes, scanning the crowd until her eyes landed on me, and then she was at my side.
“Scarlett?” she whispered.
“Coffin-locked,” I answered, still trailing the duke on his way to the queen’s suite.
“Then why do you look so pale?”
“Not now.” I ground my teeth and pushed past a cluster of donors congregating in front of the prince’s and Kassandra’s door. I couldn’t trust any of them. Not with anything.
Murphy and Donnie hovered near the queen’s door, and I guessed that meant the council wardens had turned over Ursula to them. I didn’t see any sign of the white cloaks. Dante held up a hand, silently requesting that we wait for him with everyone else as he disappeared inside the queen’s suite. When he returned a second later and waved me inside, I couldn’t even pretend to be surprised.
My stomach did a little flip-flop as the door closed behind me, muffling the commotion in the hall and giving way to the uncomfortable conversation taking place inside. The entire royal family was present, and it was all I could do not to boldly gawk at Kassandra.
“Please,” Ursula begged the queen. “This is a terrible match. She resents me for my scions’ crimes.”
“I resent you for your scions’ crimes,” Lili said. “Who doesn’t?” Her scolding gaze diverted to me, and I bowed my head.
“Your Majesty,” Dante said as he ushered me across the room to where they stood in front of the window. “I had hoped to mentor this one myself—in preparation for my own scion.”
The queen sighed and gave him a withering look. “Do not think your questionable judgment has escaped my attention. Lord Sorano paid me a visit.” Her attention shifted to me, and I again lowered my eyes to the floor and swallowed the bile working its way up the back of my throat.
“I have never been more
ashamed of my house,” Lili said as though it physically pained her to admit it. After her reprimanding glare, I felt grouped into that category. It wasn’t an ideal place to be right now.
“Ursula.” The queen tsked the duchess. “You are saved by blood alone this night. You will not find yourself so lucky again.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she answered quietly.
“Alexander, my sweet prince.” I stole a glance up to watch as Lili turned and brushed her fingertips under his chin. Kassandra went rigid beside him. A tendon in her neck strained and became more prominent the longer the queen held the prince’s attention.
“You raised a strong, independent scion, though I fear you’ve allowed him to become too willful since shifting focus to your second-born,” the queen said as her own focus shifted to Kassandra. “Not that I don’t doubt she’s required a heavier hand.”
Kassandra lowered her gaze, but the tendon in her neck remained rigid. It seemed to amuse the queen, and I wondered if maybe she’d seen more in her would-be assassin’s blood than she’d let on.
“Our numbers are compromised,” Lili said, waving her hand around the small circle. Then she fastened her eyes on me again, but this time, I couldn’t look away. Not while she was sealing my fate. “This vampling saved my life, and for that, I have promised her a sire.”
It felt as if my heart were bouncing off my ribs like a pinball machine. An exhilarating nausea seized my stomach as if I were trapped on a rollercoaster. This is what I’d wanted. So desperately that it was the first thing I thought to ask for after I’d saved her life. But she wasn’t Santa. More like Krampus.
“Ursula will fill the role to atone for her sins, and she will do so at Dante’s estate and under his careful observation—since he’s so eager to practice for his own scion,” Lili said, narrowing her eyes on the duke.
“Yes, Your Grace,” he answered automatically. The chore didn’t seem to trouble him until she added, “And you will demonstrate everything you’ve learned when you sire your first next year at Imbolc.”
Thicker Than Blood (Blood Vice Book 5) Page 12