Jacob nodded. “That’s right, my love. You are now the equal of anyone here. Not to mention you have your yeti to watch over you.”
Cora held out her free hand, and in a few seconds a large, shaggy head bumped it. The servant standing nearby made a startled noise as Vràna the Nighthound, Cora’s guardian, appeared from where she had been sitting in the corner and stepped up to her mistress’s side.
Nighthounds had started out as Scottish deerhounds, but centuries of selective breeding had produced an uncannily intelligent creature the size of a pony that could run as fast as a vampire. They were imposing animals, to be sure, but usually quite docile unless called to defend their masters. Vràna rarely left the Queen’s presence, though Cora knew better than to take the dog into the ballroom. Vràna would wait for her out here, quiet in her corner and completely unnoticed.
Cora scratched Vràna’s head, then gestured for her to return to her post. The breeder Prime Deven had acquired her from had shown Cora a series of one-handed visual cues that Vràna had been taught to obey from puppyhood, though over time Queen and Hound had come to understand one another at an almost psychic level.
She wished she could take Vràna in with her. Hound on one side, Prime on the other, she felt safe … protected. She knew she wasn’t weak, but she was not a fighter, and the thought of …
“He is in there,” she said, almost too softly to be heard, staring at the doors. “In a few minutes I will … we will …”
Jacob touched her face. “We don’t have to do this. As long as I come to the meeting tomorrow—”
“No,” she said, perhaps too quickly. “I have to. This is my world now as much as his. I have a right to be here.”
They held each other’s eyes a long moment, and Jacob smiled again, shaking his head in wonder. “You surprise me every night,” he said. “I would never have imagined your strength. I thank God every night when I wake beside you that we found each other.”
She smiled back. “As do I … my love.”
Now he was practically beaming; she was still hesitant to express affection and only very rarely solicited physical attention of any kind. They had made great progress together, but in many ways she was still trying to shed the restrictive skin of who she had once been, and he gave her all the space she needed, telling her just after they met, “We have years ahead to travel down those paths. There’s no need to rush down them—think of all we might miss.”
They moved forward until they had reached the doorway, and the uniformed guard acting as herald consulted his list and then verified their identities with Jacob.
“Here we go,” the Prime said, taking her arm and leaning in to kiss her cheek.
Cora took a deep breath and closed her eyes in a second’s prayer as she heard her name called. Her mind was racing, and all she could think to pray was, God help me … God help me … amen.
The ballroom opened out before her, a vision of formal dress and candlelight and music. The staircase ended at a red carpet that lined the room’s center; on either side, watching each new couple enter the room, were the Pairs of the Council, applauding after names were announced. The orchestra was set up in the far corner, playing a regal but upbeat march. There was so much to take in, and Cora had never seen anything like it; she remembered all the fairy tales she’d heard as a child about princesses and masquerades, and indeed it all felt so unreal, as if she had stumbled into a fairy tale of her own.
Cora scanned the crowd as she and Jacob took the stairs, but she couldn’t see Hart anywhere. One of the hundred terrors she had feared about this night was the thought of meeting Hart’s eyes, tripping over her gown, and tumbling headlong down the staircase.
Instead, she held her head up and smiled, nodding to the Queens she recognized and a few who were watching her curiously—sometimes logistics prevented a Pair from making a state visit, and there were some, like Japan and Australia, that had tendered regrets and sent gifts.
The variety of costume and facial features among the Council was astounding; while most had come in Western-style ball gowns and tuxedos, some were in traditional dress for their homelands, and the colors and luxury were enough to make her head spin. There were glowing stones everywhere; the Primes wore them in place of a bow tie. She had never seen such a diverse crowd before—every imaginable ethnicity was represented.
It seemed to take a year to reach the last step, but as soon as they did, the herald called out another Pair’s names, and the room’s attention shifted back to the top of the staircase. Cora let out the breath she’d been unconsciously holding. Jacob, smiling, squeezed her hand, and together they joined the throng of onlookers.
A moment later, the herald announced, “Prime Deven O’Donnell of the Western United States and his Consort, Jonathan Burke.”
Cora found herself grinning in spite of her anxiety.
Both Deven and Jonathan looked absolutely splendid in their tuxes, though Deven as always cut an interesting figure with his facial piercings and spiky hair, which was, just now, shot through with violently red streaks. It was strange to Cora to see two men walking arm in arm the way all the other couples did, but it didn’t bother her the way it seemed to bother a few of the others standing around her. She knew that Hart had considered Deven a deviant, but it surprised her anyone else would. Hart was a fool—surely they all knew that?
Still, there were a few uncomfortable expressions among the Pairs, and Cora frowned, feeling protective of the Pair. Deven had been a good friend to her, and she was quite fond of Jonathan, and if anyone had a problem with them, well, they were as wrongheaded as Hart.
Shortly thereafter, the herald made his last introduction:
“The hosts of this decade’s Council gathering: Prime David Solomon of the Southern United States and his Queen, Miranda.”
Cora’s smile returned.
This time the applause was practically deafening; the Council seemed determined to show appreciation, if not to win favor with the host Pair. Surely they were an impressive sight, elegant and regal, perfectly matched. Miranda’s cascade of garnet curls was held up atop her head; she wore a shimmering gown that showed off every inch of her curvaceous figure. Prime David’s blue eyes swept the entire room in a heartbeat, missing nothing, and the power radiating from the two of them was like a storm cloud of burnished silver.
When they reached the ground, the orchestra changed its tune, striking up a lively waltz; Pairs all around Cora joined in to dance.
Jacob leaned in and whispered, “Just this one, my darling, and we’ll get you out of the center of attention.”
Cora nodded her assent and put her hand on his shoulder.
As they made their way around the room, she had to remind herself over and over to keep in step—it was hard not to get distracted with so much grandeur to stare at. She and Jacob had practiced dancing at home for weeks, and she had taken to it readily enough, though she vastly preferred her yoga; but waltzes had been the hardest to learn, and she had to count in her mind a few times to avoid stumbling.
At last the song was over, but the exhausting part of the evening had just begun; now it was time to make the rounds among Jacob’s allies, meeting and greeting, and she kept a smile plastered to her face, though the whole time all she could do was cast anxious glances around for Hart.
Every Pair was different, though they all had the same air of royalty and immortal grace. She knew that the handful who were hostile toward the entire Signet system abstained from the Council meetings entirely, and because Signets were autonomous, no one could be forced to attend, but even among those who were here, she could feel the eyes on her with varying degrees of interest, lust, disdain, even vague hostility. Most of the men here were killers, with no regard for human life, and she could feel the menace from many of them—directed not toward her, but toward the entire world. She couldn’t imagine giving her loyalty to them, but they all had followers, even fanatics. Again she sent up her gratitude to God for leading her to Jacob
and not another.
“All right,” Jacob finally said, leading her off to the side of the ballroom. “Why don’t you rest here a moment out of the way and get your bearings? I’ll get us something to drink.”
She wanted to protest his leaving her alone, but on second thought she decided she didn’t want to be that woman. She didn’t want to be afraid or to demand that he stay by her side and protect her, as if she were some helpless child. She might not be a warrior, but as she had said, she belonged here as much as anyone else.
Cora moved as close to the wall as she could and tried to mimic Vràna’s ability to become invisible. After a moment, she found herself watching the dancers and relaxing a little, admiring the way everyone moved together. Now, many were circulating and talking, while others danced, but some Pairs had swapped partners with their friends; she saw Prime David dancing with a gorgeous dark-skinned woman who Cora was pretty sure was the Queen of some other part of America, and Jonathan was with the Queen of South Africa.
The music was so beautiful, and the atmosphere so genial, that Cora found herself considering whether to ask Jacob to dance with her again, or perhaps even to approach Deven just to say hello—she couldn’t stand here all night, after all, and there was no reason she couldn’t talk to people as Miranda was doing, even without her Prime at her side.
Cora should have known something would go terribly wrong.
“Well, well … what have we here?”
Cora found that for all her brave words to Jacob, she couldn’t move, couldn’t react at all; time seemed to freeze the second Hart’s hand closed around her arm, and she felt his hot breath at her ear.
“Aren’t you a beautiful sight,” he said to her softly, running his fingers down her shoulder. “I wouldn’t have thought a sparrow dressed as a peacock would be so enticing.” His grip on her arm tightened painfully as he added, “Of course, no matter how you paint it, it’s still just a sparrow.”
She wanted to scream, to strike him, to do anything, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even breathe.
Suddenly Hart stiffened, and his hand pulled away as if it had touched something red-hot. Cora heard a woman’s voice, low and deadly, speaking words she didn’t understand; those words seemed to break the spell over Cora, who finally was able to wrench herself away from Hart and turn to face him.
To her amazement, Hart was pale. Beside him stood a woman resplendent in traditional Japanese dress … holding a wooden dagger to Hart’s ribs. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes conveyed all the meaning required. They were full of cold fury.
“Is there a problem here?”
Cora felt the air rush back into her lungs as Queen Miranda and her Second, Faith, appeared on either side of Cora. Both were glaring at Hart with the same look as the Asian woman’s.
“No, of course not,” Hart said smoothly, recovering his aplomb as quickly as he always had after an outburst of violent rage. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie; as he drew back from Cora, the Asian woman removed her weapon from his side and it vanished.
“I was simply asking the young Queen here to dance,” Hart went on.
Cora felt the first real stab of emotion since he had approached her: wrath. She held it in check, but straightened and said, her voice full of ice, “I’m afraid I must respectfully decline.”
“Very well.” Hart gave her an extremely shallow bow and a poisonous smile. “I’m certain we’ll meet again soon.”
The Asian woman, who Cora realized was wearing a Signet set with a milky green stone, gave Cora a silent nod, then turned and was gone, her footsteps as soundless as her imposing countenance.
Miranda sighed. “That bastard,” she muttered. “Faith, what did Mameha say to him?”
Faith smiled a tad wickedly. “Basically, ‘Lay a hand on her, and you draw back a bloody stump.’”
Cora’s breath was coming in harsh gasps, though she tried to keep her calm; now that Hart was out of her sight, she felt her entire body weaken with relief and start to shake.
Miranda gave her a penetrating look, then touched her arm. “Come on,” she said gently. “Let’s get some air. “
Miranda led Cora around the perimeter of the ballroom, ignoring the couples that turned slowly on the dance floor to the orchestra’s flowing music. There was a door half-hidden by a huge tropical potted tree, and she beckoned for Cora to follow her through it.
The hallway beyond was dark and quiet. She sat Cora down on an upholstered bench and let the Queen ground herself; Cora was no slouch at energy work, with her yoga experience, and before long she had slowed and deepened her breathing.
Not two minutes later Miranda heard something tapping along the floor and looked up to see Cora’s gigantic dog trotting toward them. Miranda blinked in surprise; she had seen pictures of Nighthounds, but the real thing was even larger than she had expected. The dog’s head came up to Miranda’s shoulder.
Vràna gave Miranda a quick look of appraisal, deemed her harmless the way David’s horses had once upon a time, and sat down at attention at Cora’s feet.
Finally, Cora looked up at Miranda; she wasn’t crying, but there was such sadness in her eyes. “I thought I could do it,” she said.
Miranda nodded and sat down, crossing her arms and toying with her Signet. “Before I came here, back when I was human … I was attacked by some men in an alley. They did things that …”
She didn’t look at Cora, but she could feel the Queen’s eyes on her as she groped for the words and the will to continue. “When they were done, they intended to kill me … and for a minute, I wanted them to. I couldn’t imagine living with that. All I could think was that at least it would be quiet … that I would be safe, and no one could ever hurt me again.”
“But you escaped.”
Miranda met her eyes again. “I killed them,” she said. “All of them. There’s this thing I can do … I didn’t really understand it at the time, but I hit them with so much emotion, so much rage, that it snapped their lifelines. Their hearts just … stopped. In a way, mine did, too, and it took a long time for it to beat again.”
Cora took a deep breath that was heavy with unshed tears. “You are saying, then, that you understand how I feel.”
“What I went through was only one night, and your ordeal was years long. But I understand violation, fear, and anger.”
The Queen tilted her head back to rest against the wall, regarding Miranda with something new in her face; after a moment she said, “If you were to face those men now, what would you say?”
Miranda smiled. “I would kill them all over again … but this time I would take a lot longer.”
“I want Hart to die, Miranda. I do not like feeling this hatred … not even for such a monster. And I cannot kill him—even if I were able, I do not think I could. So I am doomed to face him every ten years … forever.”
“Not forever.”
“What do you mean?”
Miranda lowered her voice until it was barely a whisper. “All I’m saying is … if things continue as they are and Hart continues to bait us, his continued safety is in serious doubt.”
Cora considered that, then asked gravely, “Could you kill him? Is it easy to take a life?”
Miranda started to say that she’d already killed quite a few people and yes, it was incredibly fucking easy, but something in Cora’s tone made her pause. “I don’t think about it much,” she admitted. “I accepted that in this life there are things worth dying for and things worth killing for. I’m one of those things. My people are also. So are my friends and my Prime.”
“I ask myself if I could kill Hart,” Cora said. “If I were to stand over him with a stake, knowing the shot would be true, over in an instant, and the suffering of all his harem girls and servants and those killed by his legions would end … in that moment, could I do it? And, in doing it, what would that do to me? What would I become, then?”
Miranda found herself smiling softly at the irony of a vampire
Queen who was, at this moment, hiding in a hallway outside a gala event, theorizing over the moral implications of killing a murdering rapist in a society of vampires. “I have to say, my Lady, you are the first person who has made me think about any of this since I became Queen.”
Cora looked surprised. “I would think that such questions would be at the center of everything we do. If God has appointed us to this rule, we must be clear on where the lines are drawn.”
“There,” Miranda said with a smile. “There’s the difference, Cora. You have faith in God, and that faith leads you to ask these questions about right and wrong. Most of us just bypass them and then deal with the consequences.”
“So your way is … efficient.”
“Yes. But it’s not a moral high ground by any means. I … I admire you, Cora, more than you probably realize. I never had faith in God. I’ve only learned to have faith in my own strength. Where that comes from … I have no idea.”
“But something saved you that night, when you lay upon the ground …” Cora’s eyes grew cloudy, and Miranda knew she was Seeing something as her slender fingers rested lightly on Miranda’s arm. “And when you were beneath the dark water, drowning … you found that God within you, that … Dark Warrior Queen, who came to you … a serpent.”
Miranda stared. “How do you know about that?”
Cora let go of her arm with a sigh. “I touch people and I see things. Past, present, glimpses of the future. Lord Jonathan has visions. You feel emotions and know the hidden truth of the heart.”
Miranda remembered how rattled Kat had been when Miranda read her; well, now she knew how that felt, and it was creepy. “So, I guess I had faith in something then. But right now, I’m doing the best I can without a higher power. So I envy you your surety.”
Cora looked down the hallway at the ballroom door. “Do not envy me now, my Lady Queen.”
Miranda stood up and took both of her hands. “Cora, look at me. The one thing you absolutely cannot do is let Hart make you run and hide. You are no one’s harem girl, no one’s slave. So whatever you do, do it as Queen.”
Shadow’s Fall Page 6