Authors: Chloe Neill
Drink Deep (21 page)
Jonah reached forward and plucked a small plum from the platter. I opted for a grape nearly as big as the plum had been; smaller fruit, less enchantment by volume, I figured. And credit where credit was due—it was the best grape I’d ever eaten. As sweet as a grape could be, with a flavor that sang of springtime and sunshine and sun-kissed skin. If this was enchantment, sign me up.
Claudia glanced between me and Jonah. “You are lovers, I think.”
“We are friends,” Jonah said, shifting a bit in his seat, unhappy with the admission.
“But you desire more,” she countered.
Awkwardness descended, and Jonah and I avoided eye contact.
Claudia took a long drink of wine, then looked at me. “You are hesitant, for you have lost your king.”
I caught Jonah’s rueful expression out of the corner of my eye. The grape turned bitter in my mouth. “The Master of my House,” I corrected. “He was killed.”
“I knew the true Master of your House. Peter of Cadogan. He did a service for my folk, and he was rewarded in the manner of our people. He was given a jewel of great repute and fortune. It was nestled in the eye of a dragon.”
I’d seen that reward in Ethan’s apartment. It was an enamel egg around which was curled a sleeping dragon. The dragon’s eye w {gon"3">I’d as a great, shining ruby. Ethan had kept the treasure in a glass case.
“The dragon’s egg came to Ethan after Peter died. He treasured it.” The memory tightened my gut, and I forced myself to keep talking, to keep the tears walled away. “But I was told the egg was a gift to Peter Cadogan from Russian royalty.”
Claudia smiled faintly. “The worlds of the fae are not limited by human boundaries. We are royalty regardless of our environs, King or Tsar, Queen or Tsarina. I have known many in my time.”
“That must have been fascinating,” Jonah said, but Claudia was unmoved.
“We care little for politics, for shifting of alliances and changing of guards. They do no service to longevity, to loyalty, to honor.” She looked away, staring blankly across the room.
As she did, the food on the table disappeared again, leaving only the scattering of rose petals behind. I reached out and traced my finger across one; I wasn’t sure about the food, but the petal was definitely real.
“The lives of humans are transient,” she said. “You connect yourselves to them, and you can only expect the same of your own lives.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Jonah reminded her. “I assume you know about the sky?” I noticed he kept his tone light, carefully not mentioning the fact that my de facto master had sent us here to accuse Claudia of being behind the transformations.
“The sky is no concern of yours.”
“It is when the sky is burning and humans believe vampires are responsible. And now the water has darkened for the second time.”
She arched a delicate eyebrow. “The problems of humans have nothing to do with the sky. Nor are they reflected there.”
Jonah and I shared a glance. Was she unaware? Had she not looked outside? Although now that I thought of it, I couldn’t hear the crash of lightning in the tower. That was odd.
I stole a glance at the guards and checked their expressions. A bit of guilt, I thought, and maybe a little malice. Maybe they’d dissuaded her from opening the door. Shielded her from the happenings outside, not unlike Rapunzel in her tower.
“My lady,” Jonah said, “with all due respect, you may wish to look outside and see the world for yourself. The sky isn’t normal, and we don’t know why.”
There was indecision in her eyes—only for a second, but still there. The debate whether to acknowledge a vampire and look foolish, or refuse Jonah’s request and risk discovering the same information later.
“It is not so easy as that,” she said. “I cannot look outside. The rules of your world do not apply here, not to me.”
“What rules?” I wondered.
She slid me a disdainful glance. “I am an ancient one, child. I have lived more lifetimes than you can even conceive. But we are not an immortal race. I survive in my tower because I am protected here.”
Not unlike the portrait of Dorian Gray
, I thought. That explained why she didn’t know about the sky.
, I thought. That explained why she didn’t know about the sky.
“Nevertheless,” she said, “I have companions to advise me of matters of which I should be aware.” She offered a nasty look to the guards, then strode across the room to a table.
She picked up a clear glass orb the size of a grap {izeen coefruit and held it in front of her at chest height. She closed her eyes and began to murmur words beneath her breath. The language wasn’t one I’d heard before, but the room filled again with dusty magic, the magic of ancient books and antique tapestries.
Slowly, she released her hands, and the sphere floated in the air in front of her, spinning slowly on an invisible axis. She opened her eyes again and watched it spin. Whatever she saw there, she didn’t like it.
Her eyes widened, and she let out a banshee-esque scream. The spell broken, the globe hit the floor and shattered into a spill of glass.
“The sky is bleeding!” she said, then flipped her head around, strawberry locks framing her face, to glare at her guards. They cowered at her murderous expression.
“I have seen it,” she said. “I have seen the bleeding sky, the dark water. The city drips of elemental magic, and you thought not to tell me?”
The guards looked at each other. “My lady,” one quietly began, “we only just learned, and we didn’t want to concern you.”
“You didn’t want to
concern
me? We are the sky folk. We master the moon and sun. You didn’t think I should be called upon?”
concern
me? We are the sky folk. We master the moon and sun. You didn’t think I should be called upon?”
My stomach fell—and not just from the burgeoning magic in the room. This was our third attempt to connect the supernatural dots, and we still hadn’t managed to do it. Not only had the fairies not caused the sky to change, the queen hadn’t even known about it.
“My lady,” began the other guard, but Claudia held up a hand. She closed her eyes, her expression pained.
“Is she unspelling it?” I whispered, hope rising in my chest.
Jonah shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
After a moment, she opened her eyes.
“There was a time when the fae were free to roam,” Claudia said. “Before magic was forbidden. When the world was green. The world is no longer green, and I am relegated to my tower. Those years have passed, and the fae hardly remember the shape of the green world. They become entangled in human drama just as you do. They believe they know how to survive. Am I no less to blame? The world moves slowly here, and on occasion I forget the meadow and the field.”
Without ceremony, she strode across the room to the guards, the gauzy fabric
shushing
against the stone with each step. She reached the first guard, the man, took his katana in hand, and before I could even grip the handle of my sword, she whipped it through the air.
shushing
against the stone with each step. She reached the first guard, the man, took his katana in hand, and before I could even grip the handle of my sword, she whipped it through the air.
A long red line of crimson appeared at the guard’s cheek.
“You have
failed
me,” she hoarsely said.
failed
me,” she hoarsely said.
The scent of fae blood flowed across the room, and my eyes rolled back at the temptation of it. However much I might have enjoyed blood of the bagged and vampire varieties, the hunger they inspired was nothing compared to the scent—from across the room—of a few droplets of fairy blood.
My fangs descended. I struggled to retain control over my hunger, to avoid leaping across the room and jumping on the bleeding fairy for a snack. Thanks to Frank’s restrictions, I’d had barely any blood in the last few days, and my hunger roared back to life.
I squeezed my fingers around the hilt of my katana until my nails began to bite into my palm, confident that if I lost control, we’d lose the fair {loss around ies . . . and possibly our lives.
“You defy your queen,” Claudia told him, “and you will bear the scar of it.”
She dropped the sword to the floor, where it bounced and clanked, steel against stone, and finally came to rest, a drop of crimson hanging from the finely honed edge.
Claudia moved to the female guard, pulled away her sword, and repeated the act, the air now doubly permeated with blood and magic.
I shivered in anticipation. “Jonah.”
“Merit,” he gritted out. “Hold it in.” But his voice was hoarse, and when I looked, I saw that his eyes were silver, as well.
Had no one known about this reaction? Had no one thought to warn us that if mercenary fairies bled—when violence was in their names—we’d be in trouble?
The second sword hit the ground, and both fairies stood bleeding, their queen before them, the instruments of her wrath on the ground.
“You, too, will bear the scar,” she said. “For refusing to remember that I and I alone am your queen, to whom you owe all fealty. You do not make decisions for the fae!”
Her words rose to a crescendo. The guards dropped to the floor as the power in the room rose.
I fought back the urge to cower, the hunger for blood too strong.
I took a step. That first step taken, the second, third, and fourth were easier, and I was nearly to the fairies and the scent was delectable . . .
“Merit! No!” Jonah called out my name, but I crossed the room so quickly the fairy had no time to react, only to struggle in my arms as I moved in for a bite.
I was there and at his throat, my teeth bared and ready to strike. And it wasn’t an insult or a threat or a risk to his life. It was flattery. A compliment to the blood that coursed through his veins, liquid gold in its worth . . . But Claudia would have none of it.
“Bloodletter!” she cried, and without warning, I was in the air and flying across the room. I hit the stone wall behind me with energy enough to force the air from my lungs—and the bloodlust from my body.
My head rung, my body aching, chest heaving with the effort of pulling in air. I put a hand on the floor and just managed to raise my head enough to see her striding toward me.
“You dare to seek the blood of the fae in my home? In my tower?”
Claudia was furious, her eyes black with it, and she strode toward me with such anger there was little doubt about what she’d do when she reached me.
But then she was blocked from view. Jonah stepped between us, his katana outstretched.
“You touch her, and I will strike you down, the repercussions be damned.”
If I hadn’t already been on the ground, you could have knocked me over with a feather.
“You defy me, bloodletter?”
“I defy anyone who would seek to harm her. We have advised you of things no one else would, and you have had your fun with us. We leave here with the scales balanced. And besides, she is a bloodletter, and that makes her kith and kin to me. You would do the same—have done the same—to protect your own.”
My head was reeling with the truth of that one.
“She attacked my guard,” Claudia persisted.
“Because you baited her with blood and violence, and you attacked her in kind. We are even. As master of the sky, you will see it is just.”
Silence, and then a nod. “I will spare your life on this day because you speak the truth. Let it be recorded that I have no quarrel with you or yours.”
The deal struck, Jonah reached out a hand to me, and when I took it, he pulled me to my feet. Every bone and muscle ached, and the room was still spinning, although I wasn’t sure if that was an aftershock of the bloodlust, the throw, or the magic that still peppered the room.
He scanned my face for injuries. “You’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Heed this, bloodletters,” Claudia said. “There was no enchantment. The sky was not turned because someone wished it. Because someone spelled it for revenge or love or power. If you look to the sky, you see the symptom, not the effect.”
“Then what caused this symptom?” Jonah asked.
“That would be a question for those who did it, aye?”
As I’d seen with the guards, Jonah was kind, but not especially patient, so I stepped in. “Do you have any idea who that might have been? The humans are growing restless, and the mayor seeks to punish us for transgressions that aren’t our own.”
“The punishment of bloodletters is no interest of mine.”
“More than vampires are affected,” Jonah persisted. “The lake pulled magic from others in the city. From the nymphs. From the sorcerers. It was dangerous and created trouble for everyone.”
“I am Queen of the Fae, bloodletter, not a waif who seeks the blood of others to survive. I have knowledge of sky and mastery over it. I have legions of fae at my command and Valkyrie to ride with them. Do not dare to tell me what is and is not dangerous.”
She sighed and strolled back to the table, where she took a seat. “The sky has not been burned by me or mine. There is magic on the wind. Old magic. Ancient magic. And we will not stand aside while that magic destroys the world.”
My heart began to beat again; that was a clue I could work with.
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